Unstoppable

“Spartacus”
Ballet of the Krasnoyarsk State Opera and Ballet Theatre
Hvorostovsky Krasnoyarsk State Opera and Ballet Theatre
Krasnoyarsk, Russia
October 18, 2024 (video)

by Ilona Landgraf
Copyright © 2024 by Ilona Landgraf

This October, the Krasnoyarsk Ballet revived Yuri Grigorovich’s epic Spartacus, which had been absent from their stage for seventeen years. The production was therefore announced as a premiere. As Spartacus has rarely been danced by Western companies (the Bavarian State Ballet performed it in 2017, and the Ballet of the Teatro dell’Opera di Roma in 2018), I was glad to view a video of the opening night in Krasnoyarsk.

Spartacus is an icon of Russian ballet culture. Its title character, the captive King of Thrace, leads the slave uprising in the Third Servile War (73-71 BC) against the Roman consul Crassus. A man of honor and principles, Spartacus fights for freedom no matter what. But female intrigue undermines the strength of his army and leads to his execution in an unjust one-against-many showdown. Spartacus’s unfaltering—and ultimately self-sacrificial—courage resonates with Russians who have great esteem for their war heroes. Perhaps that’s why the story of Spartacus was choreographed twice—first by Leonid Yacobson in 1956 and two years later by Igor Moiseyev—before Grigorovich also turned his attention to it in 1968. His version, like its predecessors, is accompanied by Aram Khachaturyan’s sweeping score and became the most acclaimed.

What makes Grigorovich stand out as a choreographer is his profound knowledge of the human soul. The depth to which he plumbs the psyche of the protagonists and the way he translates it into movement is stunning. In Spartacus, each of the four protagonists (Spartacus, his wife, Phrygia, Crassus, and Crassus’s concubine, Aegina) is characterized by danced monologues of different lengths. Against Simon Virsaladze’s minimalist design, their spirit and intensity deepen. The solos (and some spectacular pas de deux) are intertwined with group scenes of various patterns and styles. Combat-ready Roman legionaries step in sync, then gritty feet pound the floor in the rebels’ camp. Inevitably, the parties clash.
Spartacus is a story about good versus evil. Whip-wielding wardens force the slaves into obedience, buoyant shepherds celebrate life (before joining Spartacus’s men), and a procession of apparently dignified patricians moves through Crassus’s decadent villa. It resembles Sodom and Gomorrah. Lecherous courtesans prostitute themselves, clownish mimes mock defenseless slaves, and the master of the house, Crassus, enjoys a corrupt gladiator fight (as evidenced by the match between the blindfolded Spartacus and his likewise blindfolded comrade). By contrast, Spartacus and his followers radiate purity and integrity despite being enslaved.

Irreconcilable differences separate the leading couples. Crassus is a mentally unstable power player consumed with pride. Causing others’ pain turns him on. His lust for Aegina’s flesh becomes a frenzy (and allows her to manipulate him). Spartacus, however, is the epitome of physical and spiritual strength, which inspires the masses, even if some of his followers fall prey to Aegina’s seductive scheming. Respect and care characterize Spartacus’s love for Phrygia. Compared to Aegina, Phrygia doesn’t need a stylish, glittery facade. She has depth, virtue, and a heart.

The premiere’s Spartacus, Matvey Nikishaev, radiated strength even through the hope and resoluteness in his eyes. Prudent and wary, he reflected on himself before acting. Realizing that he had smitten his comrade (Olexiy Skalyun) when forced into a gladiator duel, he hurled accusations against himself. But he regained clarity and knew that he had to fight his way out of captivity. An inaudible “Aargh!” seemed to emanate from his leaps as he mustered his force. And whether slaves or shepherds, as resolute and lightning-fast as his guys were, victory seemed certain.
No doubt, Crassus’s army was better equipped, but they sashayed in formation as if combat was a mere play to show off their spiffy shields.
Nikishaev’s Spartacus was both tough and soft. As soon as he was acknowledged as the revolt’s leader, his thoughts shifted to Phrygia (Ekaterina Bulgutova, Honored Artist of Russia) and, as if having read his mind, she ran to sit at his feet and leaned her head toward his knee, protected by his hand.
When stretched out, Bulgutova’s expressive arms wavered between begging for mercy, pleading for divine help, and reaching out for superior justice. Several times, her arms opened wide as if blessing everyone around her. The purity of Phrygia’s soul was especially striking when she was mocked by the perverts at Crassus’s villa.
Yury Kudryavtsev’s Crassus was a young, vigorous leader who carried the legion’s aquila in front of him like a tool of self-affirmation. He often lost control as if he were driven by demons and, overwhelmed by wrath or horniness, his handsome face distorted into an ugly grimace. Although he deserved credit for being ready to die when he was defeated by Spartacus, his final reckoning revealed his weakness. Had he been a true man, he wouldn’t have commanded a whole troupe to spear a single man while watching idly.

It was Aegina (Olesya Aldonina, Honored Worker of Culture of the Krasnoyarsk Territory) who broke through Crassus’s humiliation and disgrace from his initial defeat. Slowly but determinedly, she pushed him toward revenge (a brilliantly constructed pas de deux!). Each fiber of Aegina’s being was phony, each action calculated. Sadly, she was victorious. But, as it turned out, time restored justice.

Dmitry Yurovsky and the Orchestra of the Krasnoyarsk State Opera and Ballet Theatre provided Khachaturyan’s score with a triumphant force that was at times softened by a romantic sound.

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