The relationship between George Balanchine and Jerome Robbins, twin pillars of American ballet, could be the subject of several novels. Robbins adored his mentor Balanchine, who respected his acolyte - but couldn’t resist putting him down.
So this programme serves up a certain poetic justice: it is dominated by Balanchine but it’s Robbins who triumphs. His In the Night, fashioned at the end of a deeply turbulent period in his life, is a wonder - and the Mariinsky perform it to perfection.
On a stage bare except for a backcloth of stars, to the sound of four Chopin piano nocturnes, three couples appear in turn. The first (Yevgenia Obraztsova, Filipp Stepin) seem to be in the first swooning throes of love - she approaches him tentatively, softly feeling her way into his heart as he raises her aloft in high, swooping arabesques. The second (Alina Somova, Yevgeny Ivanchenko) are more formal, but her emotion is revealed by the way her legs tremble as he holds her, the manner in which she teases him with her arms, leading him on. The third (Uliana Lopatkina, Daniil Korsuntsev) arrive in the middle of an argument, all tempestuous lifts and high, grumpy jumps. But they can’t quite part, and suddenly she stands before him and touches his body before kneeling at his feet - then he picks her up and drops her gently into his caressing arms.
Balanchine hated this: “Can you imagine, old man stand, and beautiful woman in beautiful dress goes down on floor!” But in Lopatkina’s hands, it becomes a thrilling moment of redemption and recognition. Each of these outstanding ballerinas makes a poem of her part - and when the couples finally meet and part at the close, it is as if you have witnessed an entire story told by nothing more than the simplest gesture. Glorious.
Ballet Imperial is also a wonder, but one of a sterner visage. To Tchaikovsky’s second piano concerto, Balanchine choreographed a tribute to the St Petersburg style - no wonder it suits the Mariinsky so well. Vladimir Shklyarov flies around the stage, with beaten jumps to take the breath away, and Viktoria Tereshkina’s steely technique is a marvel, though she is very forbidding.
In Scotch Symphony, a camp tribute to romantic ballet, set to Mendelssohn, the tone was less certain. Anastasia Matvienko doesn’t have an ounce of mystery in her body, which makes her encounters with Alexander Sergeyev’s beautiful dreamer, workaday rather than dramatic. But Yana Selina was a triumph of sharp-footed brio as the cheeky female Scottish dancer.