Fire On Ice

By Jill Smolowe

In the top ranks of ice dancing, there are couples who dazzle with their crowd-pleasing flair and those who enrapture with their graceful lines; duos who amuse with their spunky choreography and those who astound with the technical brilliance of their footwork. But rarely do a couple bring such artistry and innovation to the sport that they leave unerasable tracks in the ice long after they have retired from amateur competition. In 1984 Britain's Jayne Torvill and Christopher Dean did just that with their gold-winning Olympic performance to Ravel's Bolero. Now come France's Isabelle and Paul Duchesnay, a sister-and-brother team as explosive and exotic as Torvill and Dean were cool and polished. If the British champions were elegance on ice, the French pair set the rink afire.

As the reigning world champions, the Duchesnays are favored to capture the gold medal in Albertville. Win or lose, however, they have already secured their place among that elite handful of partners who have transformed the sport. In 1988 they broke ground with their primitive Savage Rites routine at the Calgary Games. Although they were shunned by the judges, finishing a distant eighth, the Duchesnays were clearly the people's choice.

Four years later, dragging the judges and the sport behind them, they exemplify a bold, contemporary approach to ice dancing. While the two top couples from the former Soviet Union favor exacting, classical lines, Isabelle likens the Duchesnays' effect to "picking up a pail of paint and going splash, splash." The appeal of the two styles is strikingly different. "One is a Picasso, the other a Renoir," says Isabelle. These days a jarring number of other competitors also want to be Picasso.

The adulation and emulation pressure the Duchesnays to produce something ) newer still. And that, as they well know, is a risky venture. A year ago at the European championships in Sofia, they gambled on an abstract program titled Reflections. Skated to pianist George Winston's New Age music, the program bombed with a few judges and many spectators. After a disappointing second-place finish, the duo hastily prepared a new four-minute program in time for the 1991 world championships, just six weeks away. With choreographic inspiration and direction from Christopher Dean -- whom Isabelle married in May -- the Duchesnays prepared an upbeat sequel to their 1990 Missing routine and glided away with their first world title.

In the Olympics they will be on thin ice once again. Last month the Duchesnays withdrew from the European championships after Paul suffered a flare-up of an old groin injury. The default neither jeopardized the Duchesnays' berth on the French team nor presaged a no-show in Albertville -- "We will be there if we have to crawl," Isabelle assures. But it cost them a valuable opportunity to preview their new long program, an intricate dance choreographed by Dean and set to music from West Side Story. A routine that relies on such familiar strains is unlikely to meet with the resistance Reflections did. But this time the Duchesnays risk the unthinkable: appearing trite. "With West Side Story, it's twice as hard to come up with something that will impress people," admits Isabelle. "We're trying to show people that even with the old stuff, you can turn it around and do something else."

They have always skated at the edge -- and sometimes over it. Originally intent on the more athletic pairs-skating competition, the team switched to ice dancing in 1978 after Isabelle fractured her skull during a training session. In 1987 they had to skip the French nationals after Paul's blade sliced open three of Isabelle's fingers. Two years later they missed the European championship while Isabelle recuperated from three knee operations. Just last August, Isabelle was injured once more, this time pulling a tendon and snapping a bone in her foot. Though she was back on the ice after only two months of rest, a 1 1/4-in. screw now holds the fractured bone in place.

The children of a Canadian father and a French mother, they hold dual citizenship. Paul, 30, was born in the Lorraine region of France, while Isabelle, 28, was born near Montreal. For years, Canada judged their skating second rate. After being relegated by the Canadians to an alternate berth for the world championships in 1985, the Duchesnays accepted an offer to compete for France, then moved to the German town of Oberstdorf to train with Martin Skotnicky. Despite their mixed ancestry -- plus a German home, a Slovak coach and an English choreographer -- their loyalties are undivided. "If it were not for the French," says Isabelle, "we would not be here today."

On the ice, it is impossible to detect where one Duchesnay's effort ends and the other's begins. They insist that their musical, athletic and competitive talents are equally matched. "We split the stunts up fifty-fifty," says Isabelle. Concurs Paul: "There isn't one who's lazier than the other." Having spent almost every day of their lives together since adolescence, they claim to be totally in synch. "I know exactly how he feels on the ice every minute of every day," Isabelle states. Remarkably, the two say they have never considered splitting up the team. "Even if we lose," says Isabelle, "we'll go professional together."

Off the ice, the differences emerge quickly. Isabelle, who is pursuing a degree in psychology, tends to take the lead. Impulsive and peremptory, she is quick to cut Paul off and correct him when she believes he has misspoken. Whether listening or speaking, she conveys nervous energy, often jiggling one leg or the other. "I fly off the handle," she admits, "but Paul is strong too." Paul, who has completed a degree in molecular genetics, is as soft- mannered, courteous and obliging as Isabelle is wired and impatient. "People who see me stimulated on ice are disappointed when they see me in reality," he says. Interjects Isabelle, not one to brook any criticism of her partner, even from Paul himself: "He's such a puppy dog off the ice, but give him a pair of skates and he turns kamikaze."

These days, both are in killer mode, training as much as six hours a day. "Tilt it more! Arch your back!" Dean prods them during workouts in Oberstdorf. Sometimes the sessions are brutal. "I'm glad my mother isn't watching," Isabelle says. "We step on each other's feet, cut our hands. Paul was hospitalized once with a nose hemorrhage." Isabelle's melodramatic description may be part of the Duchesnays' Olympic psych-up. As front runners, they have to work all the harder to maintain the diehard, embattled anxiety they will be relying on to spin their dreams and defiant artistry into gold.

With reporting by Rhea Schoenthal/Oberstdorf