Flotilla of Fun

By William Bender

What's in a flag? To George Balanchine, who is as symbol-minded as the next choreographer, a flag stands for the ritualistic, pride-bearing side of a nation. How and why the repetitious pace of ritual should be transformed into dance are questions that Balanchine alone seems able to answer. In Stars and Stripes (1958), he made a brilliant humoresque out of close-order and other U.S. military drills. In his latest creation, the hour-long Union Jack, he has come up with a visually stunning, three-part divertissement that masses the clans, changes the guard and salutes the Queen.

Part 1 unfurls to the ominous tattoo of unaccompanied drums. Six Scots clans and one all-girl Canadian regiment strut forth for a radiant massing of the colors. Rouben Ter-Arutunian's kilts are ravishing in their tartan greens, blues, yellows, scarlets and burgundies. At first the clans, led by such soloists as Jacques d'Amboise, Karin von Aroldingen and Suzanne Farrell, yield the floor to each other for classical ballet variations on the reel, jig and sword dance. But what Balanchine weaves at the end is a counterpart in motion for the plaid costumes. As 70 dancers--the largest ensemble Balanchine has ever used --march past one another in columns, one can almost see the choreographer's loom working.

Dandied Breed. The second part features Patricia McBride and Jean-Pierre Bonnefous as a couple of turn-of-the-century footlight entertainers who dance to old music-hall songs. Their act is based on the antics of a dandied breed of street hawkers known as costermongers (after the costard apple). It is frail, bathetic stuff, yet touching for the loneliness Balanchine suggests.

In the finale, he calls out the British navy. Against a shimmering pastel backdrop of ships and harbor waters, the company reassembles for a flotilla of fun. Salutes, crawl strokes and the gestures associated with rope hauling are incorporated into Balanchine's choreographic concept as smoothly as the jete and fouette. The leader of a squad of WRENS (women's naval service), Farrell ambles sexily, as though she had a chip on her hip or, just perhaps, an invisible set of bagpipes. If such a thing as an apotheosis of the sidle can be imagined, Farrell has done it. The evening ends wholesomely, however: the orchestra strikes up Rule Britannia, a huge Union Jack is lowered as a backdrop and the ensemble, now holding semaphores, spells out GOD SAVE THE QUEEN.

Like the still snappy Stars and Stripes, the new Union Jack should become a staple at the New York City Ballet. Balanchine plans to combine them, then add Tricolor, a celebration of France, promised for 1977. The result will be a full night's entertainment called Entente Cordiale. It should be fun. It should also reaffirm Union Jack 's basic assertion that tribute is possible with out aesthetic taxation and its suggestion that glory, old or otherwise, is where you find it.

William Bender

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