The Hard History: Joffrey’s Steady “Sylvia” Is Vintage Neumeier

John Neumeier, Director and Chief choreographer of the Hamburg Ballet, has always had an appreciation for history, dating back to his time growing up in Milwaukee. The 73-year-old choreographer has often recalled his childhood with great specificity, most notably a fascination with the ballet pioneer Vaslav Nijinsky. Neumeier, who has choreographed a modern-day ballet based on Nijinksy’s life, also happens to be a collector of some of the biggest pieces of dance memorabilia in the world. And if you’ve been reading the Sun-Times, you know that Neumeier aspires to, one day, build a museum dedicated to the art of dance. His ambitions have always been of high-minded, gilded quality, a deep reverence for the record of the craft that is somehow much more whimsical than his contemporaries. He believes that dance is of a mystical quality unlike anything else, and it shows in the abstractions of his ballets.

 

“Sylvia,” performed by the Joffrey and receiving its American premiere last night at the Auditorium Theatre, is one of those ballets, a modern-day vision that sows its seeds from the remnants of the original, which was conceived in the late 19th Century and was the first work created at the Palais Garnier, receiving little notice. It made a comeback in 1952 when Margot Fonteyn took on the title role, thanks to Frederick Ashton. And the reviews then were good enough for this epic story to inspire a new-look by the Hamburg Ballet chieftain in 1997 for the Paris Opera Ballet, using the mega score by Leo Delibes, about a young, mythic huntress who feels the urge of independence. Love, pride and heartbreak come at the expense of her much more powerful goddess-mentor, Diana, who isn’t necessarily thrilled by Sylvia’s natural impulses. Neumeier took much of this to heart in his version, though with an expressionist flare that wavered between prodding and delicate. Call it a stretch, but I’m not sure any American company aside from the Joffrey could have pulled it off with all its intentions in firm control. Scott Speck and the Chicago Philharmonic Orchestra—spectacular on all counts—were equally instrumental in getting this performance to a happy place.

 

Neumeier’s construction is decidedly tame in comparison to his other ballets. The drama is slightly less evident, the characters a little more vain in their staging. It’s a slow, determined story, which doesn’t ignite much fanfare. But that may be the point, and Neumeier is clever enough not to give us what we’ve become so accustomed to in this new age of contemporary quickness and rushes of lyricism. Instead, he goes for calm, steady constructions: pas de deux with slow, burning caresses, turns that emphasize balance over speed. Even before the story begins, for example, the dancers move in slow progressions as people find their seats, a beginning that feels like a wistful dream. The impending “hunt,” by contrast, as seen in the first act, is excitable. Like a pendulum, “Sylvia” ventures back and forth between realms.

 

Neumeier’s evening-length work is divided into three acts: The Art of Archery, In the Realm of the Senses, and Winter Sun. Each has its melancholy quirks: the men in Seuss-like hats and overalls, the huntresses in short bottoms and leather-like helmets. The backdrop is a blank canvas, stretching with (usually) a bright color and minimal décor. The hunt begins, and we’re introduced to Sylvia (played wonderfully by April Daly). The impressionable huntress displays skill with her bow, thrusting her hips and making time for subtle glances at male suitors in the secret woods. It’s a nod to young love, girlishness, flirtation.

 

Act two is pulled straight from an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel—white panels and an elegantly constructed Roman statue with no limbs—and proves to be the highlight of the ballet. The men dress in formal tuxedos with coattails while Sylvia explores in a red, velvet dress. It’s practically ritualistic, even dangerous, as Sylvia is surrouned in a lustful and confrontational series of scenes. Temur Suluashvili, is a standout here. His conniving, mischievous Eros/Orion is Syliva’s temptation and he pulls it off brilliantly, enticing her with sly glances and slithery phrases.  

 

As the third act reverses our point of view (Sylvia and her love, Aminita, played by a skilled Yoshihisa Arai, are now aging pedestrians), we’re left to dissect all that’s come before it, and there’s much to dissect. Not everything comes full view. We depend on program notes to get us through Neumeier’s imagination, and even then the plot is not fully clear. At the conclusion, I heard more than one person remark that they didn’t understand who was who, what was what. I confess to thinking the same at times. But it may not matter. If Neumeier intended for “Sylvia” to be straight forward and to appeal to conventional norms, then it wouldn’t be John Neumeier. Just something to think about.