If you want to know what’s so great about John Cranko’s choreography, look at the opening phrase of the final duet in Onegin (1965). The male dancer encircles the ballerina in an embrace that is not reciprocated, and then falls at her feet; she lunges forward to walk away from him, but her motion is counteracted by the downward and backward pull he performs while crouching on the stage behind her. It is sheer simplicity and sheer genius. The basic game of opposition and the use of gravity — at odds with ballet’s traditional aerial nature — encompass a unique range of emotions. She tries to escape her unhappy memories while fighting the alluring echoes of the passion for the one who rejected her, and now wants her — whether out of love, remorse or desperation.
If that were not convincing enough, check out Lenski’s danced monologue before the fatal duel, arguably one of the most beautiful and demanding male solos in ballet history. Here, verticality, traditionally associated with ethereal femininity, is used to portray the young poet’s desire to transcend his earthly troubles, and leave the ground on which he kneels and finally falls, with a twinge of rebellion and pain, feeling death’s imminent approach. In both cases, you do not need to know what Onegin is about. The final duet resonates with everyone’s memories of unhappy love, while the earlier male solo comments poignantly on the pointlessness of a young life cut short. And then you might want to match those movements against Pushkin’s poem — and, lo and behold, they do encapsulate some of the most memorable verses of Russian literature.
Cranko’s Onegin is indeed the quintessential example of what dance drama is and should be.
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