A Cultural Marvel in Crisis

Defections and artistic disputes rock the Bolshoi Ballet

It was a mild spring evening in Moscow, and the city's balletomanes had turned out in force. The setting was familiar: the ornately gilded, plush-trimmed Bolshoi Theater. So was the program, which included an adagio from Sleeping Beauty and variations from Don Quixote and Le Corsaire. But wait. Up onstage were none of the usual Bolshoi Ballet stars, no Plisetskayas or Vasilyevs, no familiar figures at all. In fact, although the dancers showed flashes of the rigorous technique and expressive line that mark the Bolshoi style, there was here and there an unaccustomed slip, a slack fouette, a leaden lift. What, then, accounted for the electric atmosphere in the theater? Why was the audience applauding so encouragingly, pointing out dancers and scribbling notes in programs?

Answer: a great cultural ritual was being enacted. The occasion, two weeks ago, was the graduation program of the Moscow Academic Choreographic School, training arm of the 204-year-old Bolshoi. The young dancers were making their traditional debuts on the stage where they hope one day to reign as soloists. Bolshoi training--indeed, Soviet ballet training in general --imbues the students, from their first moments at the barre, with a deep sense of style and history. Says the Bolshoi Ballet's administrative director, Pyotr Khomutov: "When our classical heritage is made a part of the educational program, the students, afterward, can do anything. In the West, you seem to be anti-this and anti-that, as if such an approach were modern and novel. But anything new must be bolstered by a true knowledge of things past."

No doubt. But Khomutov is mistaken in suggesting that the Bolshoi's classical heritage is under attack in the West. At the moment, it seems far more endangered from within. Even as the company celebrates its latest crop of dance graduates, it is torn by internal dissension and wobbling in its artistic course. Its troubles broke out into the open last summer, as the company began a U.S. tour. One of its most forceful stars, Alexander Godunov, asked for asylum in New York City. Three weeks later, in Los Angeles, two of its lesser known principals, Leonid and Valentina Kozlov, bolted as well.

At the center of the troupe's difficulties is its wiry, intense artistic director, Yuri Grigorovich, 53. There is a widespread feeling among the dancers that he is arbitrary and dictatorial, plays too many favorites and tampers heavyhandedly with the traditional repertory, while stifling new choreography by reserving the major assignments for himself. Prima Ballerina Maya Plisetskaya, now 54 and a revered figure in the U.S.S.R., has become leader of a rebellious faction of Bolshoi veterans, including Maris Liepa and Mikhail Lavrovsky. Many younger dancers, not outspoken, are nevertheless known to feel that Grigorovich denies them opportunities if they fail to catch his capricious favor.

If some of Grigorovich's problems appear to be backstage ego jostling, many others involve fundamental questions of policy. A former character dancer, he came to the Bolshoi in 1964 from its great rival, the Kirov, bringing successful new works with him. Then as now, the Kirov exemplified the ideal of a pure, classical style. The Bolshoi, by contrast, championed a more soulfully Slavic style, often bold and gaudy. Grigorovich seemed to offer the hope of synthesizing the best of both companies. In 1968 he created a hit, Spartacus, with its surging mass movements, virile male roles and a long, lyrical pas de deux.

Since then, however, his work has begun to seem monotonous and eccentric. Two years ago, in an unusual article in Pravda, the much beloved Liepa accused Grigorovich of showing a "disrespectful attitude" in his sweeping revisions of traditional productions like Romeo and Juliet.

Grigorovich had a lot riding on last year's U.S. tour. A smashing success could have reconfirmed the Bolshoi's stature, boosted morale and quieted the critics. His dancers certainly won their share of bravos: his wife Natalya Bessmertnova, Godunov before his departure, and the young ballerina Lyudmila Semenyaka. In particular, audiences took to their hearts the husband-wife team of Vyacheslav Gordeyev and Nadezhda Pavlova. But Grigorovich's choreography only came in for more lumps. Then there were the defections. Grigorovich returned to Moscow more embattled than ever. He is well connected in the bureaucracy, but his company faces stricter KGB surveillance and curtailed foreign travel.

The Bolshoi's ten-month season, which normally finishes in June, is being extended through Aug. 3 this year to accommodate Olympics visitors. To the international audiences that will soon flock to the Bolshoi Theater, the company may still seem to be a marvel of Moscow, an institution that glories in lavish productions and virtuoso dancing. But to dance buffs, the current season has been lackluster, relying heavily on stock repertory and a dwindling pool of leading dancers. The most eagerly anticipated new production, Plisetskaya's The Sea Gull, which she performed to music composed by her husband, Rodion Shchedrin, evoked the atmosphere of Chekhov's play in stylized vignettes but contained little real dancing.

Particularly with Godunov gone, there is a shortage of up-and-coming stars. Hence all eyes are on Gordeyev and his wife Pavlova --"Slava" and "Nadya," as they are affectionately known--the young comets of the company. Gordeyev, 32, a Muscovite and a product of the Bolshoi's school, has been dancing with the company since 1969. Pavlova, 23, is an example of the Bolshoi's growing need to reach out to regional companies for new soloists. A former co-winner of the U.S.S.R.'s national dance competition, she was recruited in 1975 from the ballet company in Perm. Five months later, on the same day that she made her debut in Giselle, she and Gordeyev were married.

Gordeyev is an immaculate classical dancer. When he leaps, he seems suspended in air, an illusion that never fails to thrill audiences. He is also fiery enough to fill up a role like Spartacus. Pavlova is soft and romantic next to his virility, more an ingenue than a dramatic performer. But she cuts the air with quicksilver leaps and pirouettes, and her precision and control, especially in adagio movements, can be breathtaking.

So far the pair appear to be basking in Grigorovich's good graces, as well as enjoying the blessing of Plisetskaya. Dedicated and rather conservative, they remain apart from the controversies raging within the company. Says Gordeyev: "Our lives, after all, revolve around the ballet, our art." It will be a good thing for the Bolshoi if they, and dancers like them, can keep it that way.

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