On Friday, February 2, 2018, Mikail Baryshnikov took the stage at The Harris Theatre for Music and Dance, 200 E. Randolph, in “Brodsky/Baryshnikov”, a performance he repeated on Sunday, February 4th. The house was packed, many Russians were in attendance; the crowd was solemn and reverent.
A hush descends and inside a slightly rundown gazebo in the center of the stage we perceive the inimitable presence of quite possibly the greatest classical dancer the world has ever known. For the next 90 minutes the audience is privileged to witness a personal communion in which Mikhail Baryshnikov invokes the persona of his great friend, the Nobel Laureate and U.S. Poet Laureate Joseph Brodsky. Time hasn’t dimmed the transparently supple movements or the sophisticated shades of meaning he can invoke with a step, raised arms, a pivot and glide. Whether seated outside on a bench intoning Brodsky’s poems, or moving gracefully inside the edifice while Brodsky’s taped voice recites the words, one is bewitched by his presence; he is inseparable from the language.
“…and when “the future” is uttered, swarms of mice
rush out of the Russian language and gnaw a piece
of ripened memory which is twice
as hole-ridden as real cheese.
After all these years it hardly matters who
or what stands in the corner, hidden by heavy drapes,
and your mind resounds not with a seraphic “doh”,
only their rustle. Life, that no one dares
to appraise, like that gift horse’s mouth,
bares its teeth in a grin at each
encounter. What gets left of a man amounts
to a part. To his spoken part. To a part of speech.”
From “A Part of Speech”, 1975-76
Nadezhda Mandelstam, Russian writer and educator, once described Brodsky’s voice as a “remarkable instrument;” it is nasal and very resonant. Baryshnikov’s is no less distinctive, but bell-like, polished, clear as glass. I don’t speak Russian, and for the first half of the event, I tear my eyes from the living artist to read the English translation in supertitles above his head. I am struck by how often words are pronounced almost the same- tragedy, centaur. And when I give up on the lines to watch the dancer, I feel I haven’t lost anything at all- the atmosphere is dense with meaning.
Baryshnikov, unshaven, lean and agile, is spellbinding to hear and to see. The poems are dark and deep; crafted of the mundane, the arcane, they watch the clock tick by and mourn the world’s/youth’s passage.
“All the huskies are eaten. There is no space
left in the diary, And the beads of quick
words scatter over his spouse’s sepia-shaded face
adding the date in question like a mole to her lovely cheek.
Next, the snapshot of his sister. He doesn’t spare his kin:
what’s been reached is the highest possible latitude!
And, like the silk stocking of a burlesque half-nude
queen, it climbs up his thigh: gangrene.”
From “A Polar Explorer”, 1977
Several days before the performance, this reviewer was privileged to speak with Director Alvis Hermanis about the conception of the project and it’s execution. Like Baryshnikov, Hermanis was born in Riga. Latvia; he was recently named among the 10 most influential European theatre personalities of the last decade by DU Magazine. Hermanis, the Artistic Director of The New Riga Theatre, worked with Baryshnikov Productions and the Cherry Orchard Festival to create and tour this show. His thoughts, also expressed like fine poetry- evocative, thoughtful, significant- are paraphrased below:
“I was aware that Brodsky and Baryshnikov were very, very close, best friends for 22 years. This combination of outstanding poet and legendary dancer, of poetry and body movement, provided a strange chemistry to think about”, he said. “For me, Brodsky’s poems inspire a physiological image, a reaction on the bodily level… I am very interested in images that resonate on multiple levels”.
He described the underlying thread in these poems as “the existential tragedy of human beings being imprisoned in the material world and the materiality of our existence. The human body is our happiness and our prison”.
About Brodsky, he mused, “As we all know, he has been living for the past 20 years in a Venetian cemetery. He was fascinated by this Italian city. Venice itself is a metaphor for something that is disappearing.”
About the piece, Hermanis noted, “This is the only performance I’ve had a chance to witness where I can easily imagine no audience; it is a spectral séance between the 2 men. We are not completely able to understand what is really happening on stage. Baryshnikov’s way of reading poetry is very strange, he’s not a dramatic actor, and in this case, that has a positive side. Really good theatre is about moving energies, not about sharing information”. Hermanis- like Brodsky himself- doesn’t like how professionals read poetry. “They bring a narcissism to the performance. But Baryshnikov has an innocence and originality. In rehearsal, I was struck by his level of sensitivity”.
The man on stage appears to be wending his way through a dream. There is no obvious showmanship, simply the melded musicality of form. The show closed with clauses that seemed like a benediction:
“May many successes await you/ more than are waiting for me./ May the battle resounding in your chest,/ be magnificent and strong./ I’m happy for those,/ who may happen/ to travel/ along your way.”
From a poem written when Brodsky was 17, in 1957; newly translated by Jamey Gambrell, writer on Russian art and culture
Unless otherwise noted, all photos by Janis Deinats
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