Following in the Folksteps

THE DANCE

First, with a yelp and a soaring leap, came the Yugoslav National Folk Ballet. Then came the Poles and the Georgians and the Ukrainians and the Rumanians and the Bulgarians-- all with a yelp and a soaring leap. In the past ten years, the U.S. has been yelped and leaped at by more than a dozen different folk-dancing troupes from Eastern Europe, and with each successive wave it becomes increasingly difficult to separate last week's folk from this week's folk. Without fail, fear or falter, they follow in one another's folksteps.

There are the apple-cheeked girls in their travel-poster costumes, twirling their skirts and assorted petticoats, skipping through elaborate variations of Ring-around-a-rosie and London-Bridge-is-falling-down. There are the lordly males who do everything except side-straddle hops. They fling their bodies about the stage like bean bags-somersaulting, jackknifing, slapping their heels. Always they smile, smile, smile. It is all good fun and, despite the Slavic sameness of it all, for sheer exuberance and whoopee making the folk dancers from Eastern Europe are matchless. Americans apparently cannot get enough of them.

Last week the Hungarian National Ballet and Folk Ensemble appeared in Manhattan with 110 members and seven tons of scenery. The mustachioed men excelled at jumping and, while still airborne, slapping their foreheads, shoulders, thighs, heels and whatever else was handy. One jack-in-the-box leaped into the air and somehow kissed the toe of his extended foot. For their part, the girls glided through some close-order drill routines while balancing wine bottles on their heads. Unfortunately, the rhythm of the program was broken by too many interludes of peasant singing and gypsy cafe music.

The Rumanian Folk Ballet, performing in Washington, D.C., danced even less: 13 of their 19 numbers were vocal or orchestral. The dancers traded on speed, unflagging vigor and, as a handout from the Rumanian Embassy advised, smiles that "always blossom on the cheeks of our people." In a spectacular number, The Forest Mountains, the men reeled off a series of backward somersaults over the shoulders of their girl partners, falling on the stage and twitching furiously, then leaping up for the thigh-slapping routine. For a finale, a panpiper let loose with a spirited version of Yankee Doodle, which brought smiles to everybody's cheeks.

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