THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Wednesday, November 23, 1994 TAG: 9411220076
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E01 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY DIANE TENNANT, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Long : 345 lines
CLARA PIROUETTED ACROSS the stage, resplendent even in baggy blue sweats, rehearsing the ballet of a child's dream come to life.
The Russian star of The Nutcracker spun in the arms of her cavalier, as 112 American eyes stared, awestruck, from the wings.
``Look at her feet,'' whispered a teenage dancer. ``It makes me sick.''
``She's so pretty,'' whispered a second teenager.
From studios all over southeastern Virginia, from auditions at malls and private dance schools, hundreds of children had turned out to vie for a few spots dancing The Nutcracker with the Moscow State Ballet of the Natalia Sats Theatre.
For 56 lucky kids chosen from those hundreds, the dream was life. From grade-schoolers to teens, it was a chance to work with and observe professionals at the top of their form. For some of those watching, it would be their closest brush with stardom. For others, it was a step on the way to their own professional dance careers.
A child's fantasy unfolded on stage, but the gild had some tarnish for those in the wings. For the eight girls chosen to dance as Snowflakes, it meant grueling hours of rehearsal, a month of Sundays given over to practice, practice, practice in battered pink point shoes. It meant overcoming prejudice and competition to become partners with rivals from other dance studios.
``Attention,'' shouted the Russian choreographer. ``American. Attention, my darlings.''
``All Snowflakes on stage,'' called an American instructor. ``Snowflakes on stage.''
On stage. On point. The dream was about to begin.
Christmas Eve, and the partygoers are hastening to the dance. Herr Drosselmeyer, a mysterious guest, singles out Clara to receive a gift - The Nutcracker.
OCT. 7 WAS THE BIG DAY. AUDITIONS. The dance floor at Gail Harts' Portsmouth studio was packed with little girls in black leotards and baggy-kneed tights.
``Vun, doo, vun, doo, vun doo,'' chanted Elena Kopylova, ballet mistress for the Moscow Ballet, as she tried, without speaking English, to demonstrate the moves she wanted to see.
Kopylova had three days to select local dancers and teach Harts the choreography. Then Kopylova would move on to the next city on the troupe's tour and recruit children there. Harts and her part-time instructor, Keenya Thomas, would be left to train the local children.
Kopylova gestured frantically, and spouted Russian.
``She wants to see big girls for Snowflakes?'' Harts asked the translator, and a row of teens took the floor.
Alexis Ault, 13, shed her glasses and a bulky turtleneck to stand slim in a purple leotard. She warmed up at the barre, casually holding one foot over her head.
Akiva Talmi, the show's producer, watched her from the bench. ``From what I see, the one in the purple - she looks good,'' he said.
``This is what you're going to be doing all around the circle,'' Harts told the girls. ``Pointed toes, straight arms, PERSONALITY! Run, run, run. You've come from offstage. Lift up your butt.''
Kopylova stretched herself on the floor. Like this, she indicated. She slithered gracefully to her feet and stomped across the floor. Non, non, she said to the girls.
``Don't stomp,'' Harts interpreted.
``This one here. She's lovely,'' Talmi said, pointing to Alexis. ``Long legs, nice back.''
Harts turned to the translator. ``Tell her to tell me the ones that you want to pick.''
The first two she touched dared to smile, but they were prodded back to the barre. Too big to be Snowflakes.
The remaining eight were still lying on the floor, one arm gracefully extended, heads to the side. Kopylova walked the line, dragging them into better position by their extended leg.
The translator followed, interpreting in bursts. ``There are other artists lying down, also. . . and in the center. . . two other artists. The stage is big. . . and the center is the ballerina running and if you start going in, she's gonna smack you. That's all, Snowflakes.''
Talmi came toward Harts and the eight girls. ``Your rehearsal Madame, Mademoiselle, is 9 Sunday. Nine sharp.''
As the clock strikes midnight, the Nutcracker comes to life, sweeping Clara to a fantasyland. Suddenly, the Mouse King attacks, and there is a terrible fight.
BUT AT 9 SUNDAY, the Russians did not come.
Sandra Balastracci, administrative director of the School of Contemporary Ballet Theatre in Williamsburg, was incredulous. But the voice on the answering machine told her to practice alone, that Kopylova was busy with the younger children at Harts' Portsmouth studio.
Keenya, at 21 the oldest of the Snowflakes, confirmed the message. Well, we'll rehearse anyway, Balastracci said, sweeping into the mirror-walled studio.
Around the hardwood dance floor, the Snowflakes were stretching. Amy Roither, 17, and already accepted in the Boston Ballet's professional school, yawned.
``Too early for you?'' Sandra teased.
Caitlyn Wendell, 13, went up on her toes, then staggered off. Two others fell out of pirouettes. It was early, but already tension was in the air. Some of the Peninsula girls had looked down their noses at Harts' linoleum dance floors. Some of the Southside girls had flaunted their studio's role as host and main instructor. The rivalry between dance studios would have to be overcome if the girls were to work together and become one graceful unit on stage.
In Portsmouth, Harts was dealing with more problems. Open auditions held at three malls had brought many more children than could be accepted into the cast, including some from as far away as Colonial Heights. Many parents, confused by the language barrier and Kopylova's gestures, showed up for rehearsal with children who had not been selected. In frustration, and not wanting to quash the children's excitement, Harts filled an entire second cast and decided to alternate them between the four ballet performances.
Only the Snowflakes were left intact, set to dance all four shows. Harts and Balastracci met to discuss the rivalry problem, and declared a truce. The offenders were lectured. The rehearsals began. But. . .
``Prima donna,'' sniffed one girl, as another came in the door of the Williamsburg dance school. Balastracci went on.
``Pull it up. . . strong stomach. . . fourth. . . step back. . . raise the leg up. . . take it around. That's better,'' she said. ``All together. And open. And stop, stop, stop.''
She strode over to the line of dancers lying on the floor, waving their arms slowly back and forth over their heads. Watch each other, she scolded. Follow the dancer on this side. Don't upstage each other.
``Long neck, like a swan,'' Balastracci instructed. ``Snowflakes are delicate, they're light and gentle and soft. Be gentle, soft.''
She rewound the tape. ``All right, from the top.''
``You want us to just run through it real fast?'' Alexis queried.
``No, I want you to dance it. That way, when you get up on the stage, in costume, you'll feel comfortable.''
The dance began, but Balastracci was annoyed that the girls were focused inward, watching themselves in the mirrored wall instead of dancing as a unit.
``Stop looking in the mirror!'' she shouted. ``All right, class, it is wrong. Stop looking in the mirror. You don't see the stage. You do your part. You have your instructions. Stop looking in the mirror! The minute you do like this it shows, and it shows you're unprofessional.''
She ended the class abruptly. Next Sunday, she said. Come next Sunday.
Clara and the Nutcracker, aided by the magical Drosselmeyer, enter a dreamland where they watch, entranced, as the toys come to life and dance.
A MONTH LATER later, Willett Hall was abuzz for dress rehearsal. Excited children scampered up and down the aisles. Harts and Balastracci hustled between the stage wings and the aisles, trying to keep the little dancers focused and quiet. The Snowflakes serenely stretched and warmed up on the pit rails, as the Russian men practiced on stage.
``Wow,'' Alexis said, ``that guy just did, like, 15 pirouettes.''
The music came up, and everyone stopped to watch.
``American,'' the choreographer called, and a group of children joined the troupe for the opening party scene. Wardrobe mistresses rushed back and forth, trying to match costumes to wriggling children who couldn't understand a word they were saying. Balastracci pressed a hand to her forehead. The choreographer swept grandly off the stage, and Harts followed her step for step, trying desperately without a translator, to figure out what moves had been changed since the troupe arrived, and what she would have to reteach the children.
The smallest Snowflake, Michelle Labrecque, 12, watched intently from the wings. ``I've gotta get a copy of this story,'' she said finally.
``Really,'' Caitlyn agreed. ``I've been here five hours and I don't even know who Clara is.''
They peered around the curtain as the other six Snowflakes started lining up to run on stage. What seemed like a hundred Russian Snowflakes rushed into place, and the American girls became flustered. ``Am I behind you?'' Michelle asked Gina Kondek, 15, from Yorktown. ``I am behind you, right?''
Are we on the right side of the stage? one girl wondered, and after debate, they all ran behind the curtain to reach the other side.
On stage, Drosselmeyer caught a tiny Butterfly dancer and lifted her high over his head. Taken by surprise, her mouth dropped into an ``Oh!'' and her legs dropped straight down. The Russian dancer set her down lightly and slapped his leg. ``Arabesque,'' he said in English, trying to show her she must extend one leg and curl the other while over his head. The Butterfly collapsed in giggles.
A child rushed up to Balastracci. ``They need a translator,'' he said, gesturing down the hall. ``A translator?'' she responded. ``Like I speak Russian.'' But she hurried away anyway, vanishing into the dressing rooms.
On stage, the Snowflakes tiptoed on point, leading the magic sleigh that would carry Clara into a fantasy.
Clara and the Nutcracker are entertained by the dancers until it is time to return home. The dream comes to an end.
FRIDAY NOV. 18. Ninety minutes before the curtains opened on the first of four weekend shows, and pandemonium in the dressing rooms. Russian dancers, half dressed but already in heavy theater makeup, deftly wound their way through chattering groups of children. The Snowflakes strolled around in droopy sweat pants and oversized shirts, their elaborate silver and pearl headpieces already secured above tightly twisted hairbuns.
Amy leaned forward to gaze into the mirror as she outlined her eyes. ``You have to outline your lips with brown,'' Balastracci instructed. ``You have no definition in your face. Do you have brown eyeshadow? Take your brush, dip it in and rub it down the sides of your nose.''
``Oh, I'm a monster,'' Amy said, regarding her defined nose in the mirror. ``I'm really considering not becoming a dancer.''
``Are we having fun yet?'' a harassed mother asked, sticking her head in the door. ``When does the fun start?''
``On stage,'' replied a little girl dressed for the party scene, and already aglow with excitement.
But some of Snowflakes were nonchalant and still segregated by rivalry. Amy curled up on the floor and cushioned her head on a sweater. Two other girls sat with her. At the farthest end of the hall, Snowflakes from another studio squeezed each other into too-tight white tutus, and ignored the rest. Tiffany Howard and Michelle finally broke the barrier and sat next to each other. Michelle shyly confided that she had never danced with such a prestigious troupe before. Tiffany beamed and flipped the stiff skirt of her tutu. On stage, the ballet began.
One by one, Snowflakes trickled into the wings. They giggled away their nerves by wiggling their hips, and watching the shadows of their tutus on the wall. ``Shouldn't we be on the other side now?'' Caitlyn asked suddenly. ``Tiffany, come on.'' They scuttled behind the sets to get into position on the far side of the stage.
As one, they bounded into the lights, gracefully sweeping in their arms in perfect time, relying on each other as they never would in the dressing rooms. They tiptoed on point, delicately resting their hands on each others' shoulders for guidance and support. The music ended. The dance was done. They floated into the wings and scattered.
The choreographer took her bows. Harts and Balastracci accepted roses along with applause. Keenya, still dressed as a Snowflake, was beckoned onstage to accept thanks for helping teach the younger children. Her eyes glowed with pleasure. This over, she looked forward to classes at Old Dominion University and a possible career as a teacher. Keenya blew kisses to her students.
In the corridor, Amy, destined for the Boston Ballet's professional school, was as nonchalant as the Russians around her. Performing, by now, was old hat. She stripped off her point shoes and headpiece. ``One down,'' she said. ``How many more do we have?'' [The following articles appeared as side bars to this story.] IN PURSUIT OF DANCING DREAMS COMBINING DANCING, MOTHERHOOD
Keenya Thomas, 21, of Portsmouth is a part-time ballet instructor at Gail Harts Dance Company and is the mother of one.
I got started in dance when I was about 7, in Norfolk. I believe I was 11 when I danced the part of Clara in the ODU version of ``The Nutcracker.'' I did that about three years.
After that I went to the governor's magnet school (for the arts). Then I started dancing for Gail. I may have been about 13, and I danced with her until I started college.
Just this past summer, I started teaching for Gail.
Nobody could believe the Moscow State Ballet was coming here. We were like, yeah, right. It was the sixth of October; that's when things started falling into place. We have been rehearsing every Sunday for the past month with all the children. I think there are 56 of them.
As far as my future in dance, hopefully I will be attending ODU in January. Hopefully, I pray. Hopefully I will be in theater arts, or I might be crazy enough to be a teacher. I enjoy working with little kids.
I was accepted into the Alvin Ailey Dance Theater, their school. (The birth of Tyler, age 1, delayed that.) This next summer, we're going to New York. If I have a chance to go study, that would be very good. I'm working toward that.
I would be ever so happy if I could go and somebody would say, `I want you to study with me.' I'm not going to give up. Child or no child, I'm not going to give up. If I'm not a famous dancer, hopefully I could groom some dancers. That would be better than anything. FOCUSING ON ACADEMIC SUCCESS
Alexis Ault, 13, of Williamsburg is an eighth-grader at Walsingham Academy.
Dancing? I started dancing, um, gosh, 10 years ago. At one point, I was doing piano, art, gymnastics, swimming, tap, jazz. I did a maximum of maybe five things at one time.
School, for me, is my main kind of something I look forward to. I make first honors. I think I've only made one B. Pretty amazing.
Last year I won this award called the highest academic average. And I won the presidential physical fitness award - it's a little pin on my lamp shade. I want to be a well-rounded student and make it into National Honor Society.
Oh, I love, I love, I love, I love algebra. Oh, no, I like it. You would think most artsy people tend to like literature and English and things like that.
I'm very hard on myself. I expect a lot out of myself. I've been dancing en pointe since I was 10, that is three years, and I have, like, 50 pairs of pointe shoes. No, that's not right, I shouldn't exaggerate. I have 25 or 30.
I can honestly say I find strong dedication in dance. It may not be what I do professionally, but I try very hard in every class.
My legs are real short. I would like one day to just hang from a ceiling and get taller.
The thrill of all of these Russian dancers coming is quite amazing. I know our parts are small, but it's the small things that are important. SOMETHING YOU WORK ON EVERY DAY
Amy Roither, 17, of Williamsburg will graduate in January from Lafayette High School and has been accepted by the Boston School of Ballet.
I kind of decided I wanted to dance professionally when I was 12 years old. If dancing doesn't work, I've got back-up plans and other options, but dancing is my first choice.
I'm not a big bunhead. I have devoted a lot of my life to ballet, but I like other forms of dance, too.
Will I be a starving artist? That all depends. You can survive off it. I'm not expecting great riches.
I've never really taken off enough time where I'm not limber. It's something you have to work at every day. There's a silly saying in ballet: Take off one day, you'll notice the difference. Take off two days and the teacher will notice the difference. Take off three days and everyone will notice the difference.
You have to be serious about it. It's something you have to do every day. I wouldn't put myself through it if I wasn't serious about it.
I work two jobs. I don't sleep a whole lot, about five hours a night. The only thing that keeps me going is knowing I'll graduate in January. I don't think it's quite normal. I don't think it's the average dancer's life.
If dancing doesn't work out, I'm planning on going to college and studying foreign relations, particularly with Russia.
It seems like a really good opportunity to put on a resume that we danced with the Moscow ballet. ILLUSTRATION: Staff photos by BILL TIERNAN
THE PERFORMANCE: Tiffany Howard, 13, right, of Virginia Beach was
among the eight local girls chosen to dance as a Snowflake with the
Moscow Ballet.
THE AUDITION: Russian dancer Elena Kopylova, above, instructs Keenya
Thomas. Thomas, 21, is the oldest Snowflake.
THE REHEARSAL: Williamsburg's Jennifer Georgianna, right, is lifted
by dancer Igor P. Chirkov during one Sunday rehearsal.
THE AUDITION: Elena Kopylova, middle, had three days to select
dancers.
THE REHEARSAL: Janna Ridley of Virginia Beach was an Arabian in the
ballet while other dancers waited in the wings.
THE PERFORMANCE: Snowflake Keenya Thomas, left, waits backstage
during one of the four shows, above, at Willet Hall.
Keenya Thomas
Alexis Ault
Amy Roither
by CNB