Third Age
June 2012
The sweat and the beauty of ballet
Whenever I think of the first night, 50 years ago, of the Australian Ballet at Her Majesty’s Theatre, Sydney, I see the flash of diamonds.
It was not my first glittering occasion. For the ballet I wore the long rose pink frock that A. T. Shakespeare, the proprietor of The Canberra Times, had allowed me to buy at the newspaper’s expense, for Princess Alexandra’s ball in Parliament House not long before. It still hangs in my wardrobe, its 20-inch waist ensuring that, after the ball and the ballet, it was never worn again, by me or my descendants. But nothing prepared me for the total glamour of this historic night: the dance, the music, international stars, very rich people and the hopes and excitement attending the birth of a large Australian arts company, longed for over many years.
How beautiful we were. We dressed like mad for the occasion in those days. Even the reporters. I think I can date, almost to the night, the last time we dressed for the theatre anything like that. It was the opening of the Queen’s Silver Jubilee organ in the Festival Theatre in Adelaide 25 years ago. Before then, jeans and a casual look had crept into the theatre first nights of the big capitals, but Adelaide kept its dress- to-the-nines traditions longer. Readers may have different memories.
On that first night of the Australian Ballet, Adelaide’s fondly remembered Harold Tidemann was The Advertiser’s ballet critic; Harold was a great encourager and almost part of the AB family. Twenty five years later, he was to write a loving piece about the Australian Ballet for their silver jubilee publication. I tagged along with Harold to write the facts and the “colour” for a page three feature, but the clever people of the new company had an eye to the future, foreseeing the struggles after the initial excitement faded. Two great public relations people, Annette Massie and Noel Pelly, took me, the young reporter, under their wing, taught me about the ballet and the artists, allowed me for years to stand in the wings, to watch rehearsals and dancers at the barre, fed my infatuation with dance and gave me the goss. It led eventually to my being a dance critic, writing for a range of publications, and to a love of ballet that has outlasted many other loves.
I can remember shyly interviewing the incomparable danseur noble Erik Bruhn and his dazzling Bulgarian partner Sonia Arova, the stars of Swan Lake on that first night – and two dancers in the company, Leonie Leahy and Helen Magner. I talked to choreographer Rex Reid, who was to present his ballet, The Melbourne Cup, in the new company’s second program.
Noel Pelly sat with me, in the second row of the circle, if I remember rightly, and taught me the vocabulary of the ballet, his pride in the new company and a few bits of wicked tattle. Annette Massie, who returned home to Australia from a well-established career based in London, for the new company’s birth, was the one who ensured I saw what the dancers went through for their demanding art. I remember how shocked I was to see for the first time, from the wings, a magical pas de deux, and then the dancers crash, flat-footed and cursing, backstage. From gods to mortals in seconds. The dancers in those days seemed to lead an almost cloistered life: most were very young in a very young company, like Warren de Maria, a soloist at 17. They were shy and single-minded, preoccupied with their injuries and insecurities. A hard life, a short career, and an awful lot of pain. But then the nightly transformation to beauty… “First comes the sweat,” Balanchine said. “Then comes the beauty – if you’re very lucky and have said your prayers.” Sounds a bit like everything else worth doing, really. But for me the ballet is not like anything else and for the dancers it is everything.
Between then and now the Australian Ballet has become a great company with its home-grown stars, pushed along the way by great artists and teachers of our time such as Sir Robert Helpmann and Dame Peggy van Praagh, by immortal stars such as Dame Margot Fonteyn and Nureyev, and our own brilliant dancers, conductors and designers. There have been fights; even a dancers’ strike in 1983, threats to funding, interstate rivalries… but the triumphs at home and abroad have saved it. In the late 70s, it appeared possible that classical ballet would lose out to the new dance companies, forms and styles. But these days they co-exist and intermingle in a most satisfactory way for dance lovers.
The company seems in safe hands now with its brilliant artistic director David McAllister, whose own dancing days are well remembered. The company is still something of a miracle, in this country where arts funding has rarely been a priority. People are welcome to be excited by visiting foreign companies, but for me the artistry, strength, health and beauty of Australian dancers have always been what I enjoy the most. They have provided some of the best memories for my third age.
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