I’ve seen the wonderful Balanchine ballet “Concerto Barocco” many times, but never with Suzanne Farrell, one of the greats. Despite the poor quality of the footage of her in the video later in this post, it is extraordinary to watch. Farrell eclipses the other half of the solo pair, but not in an egotistical show-offy way. Her technique is secure and her extensions are high—but never in the service of “Look at me, see what I can do!” And never in the service of mere steps.
What Farrell specialized in was flow. “See, see how this dance goes, a dance in which ‘I’ disappear in deference to it?” is what she is saying. The tempo in “Concerto Barocco” is sometimes very fast, but Farrell seems to have all the time in the world. Never rushed and never too slow, always part of the music, she is doing what seem to be the only steps that can possibly be imagined to match the music, to become the music.
The words that come to mind when watching Farrell dance are “luscious,” “luxuriant,” “unique,” and even “private.” That last is a paradox, because although the performer is on the stage, she doesn’t seem to be aware of an audience. Dance is a private ritual between Farrell, the music, and God.
You think that last bit is an exaggeration? I wrote those words before I read this review of Farrell’s autobiography (although I had read her book when it first came out, about twenty-five years ago), which contains the following Farrell quote:
From early on Farrell appears to have regarded her career as a sort of divine mission, a destiny that was sent to her and that, consequently, we would all simply have to acknowledge and cope with. Never does she seem to have felt that she was dancing for the audience. “I dance for God,” she said, “who gave me the gift of dancing.” She also danced for Balanchine. As for the public, “We’re stuck with each other,” she told the critic Holly Brubach. “You’re stuck looking at me, and I’m stuck being out there in front of you.”
It is doubtful that any dancer has ever worked harder than Farrell””and with a disinterestedness such that, free of the lower forms of vanity (need for compliments, fear of looking foolish), she was never deterred from moving toward her chosen goal.
Farrell was a self-possessed loner who came from a family with a remarkably determined mother who overcame all hardships, as did Farrell. Those hardships included the isolation that came with promotion at a very young age (still in her teens):
But once Balanchine began to concentrate on her more and more closely, and cast her in more and more roles, to the exclusion of other dancers, she found herself utterly friendless. In the book she tells the terrible story of how the dancer Patricia Neary, whom she liked and had roomed with on tour, not only had to give up to her her role in Concerto Barocco but had to teach it to her as well. Neary taught it, through her tears. “I learned the ballet but lost a friend.” Farrell says. Soon she had none left to lose.
It’s well worth reading the whole article. If you do, you’ll understand a lot about Farrell, although she will remain a mystery.
But you’ll understand a lot more if you watch her dance:
As the years have gone by, ballet has become more athletic. You can often feel the dancers’ muscles working and the physical effort, even if it doesn’t look strained. But Farrell managed staggering technical feats with a total absence of visible athleticism. Her dancing seemed like water pouring—fluid, and with no effort at all. Watch this series of arabesque penché promenades (arabesques with the upper body close to the ground and the leg very high, while circling around on the standing leg) that last for about a minute, with particular attention to the final one. No one else can make this look so easy, so beautiful, or so meaningful:
There aren’t many renditions of this ballet on YouTube to compare it to. But here is a good version of the same passage (by the illustrious Russian company, the Maryinsky). But to me it doesn’t even begin to measure up:
The Russian dancer is good, and she’s strong. But you never know why she’s doing any of this, except that it’s in the choreography, so she does it. She doesn’t go into the actual penché in the earlier promenades, either; perhaps she’s conserving her energy.
Farrell doesn’t worry about things like that. Farrell is saying something like, “Here’s what the music tells me to do; my front leg unfolds high, high, to the sky. And then the opposite; my back leg goes up, up, up. And as I turn around, my upper body leans in a slight spiral, so that it looks as though I’m being pulled around and around by some irresistible outside force. That force propels me forward when the leg goes up, and around in the circling arabesque, but something keeps leading me and pushing me, and I must follow it.”
You see the spiral effect? No one else does that.
Nor would I expect anyone else to. Farrell is Farrell, the only Farrell that’s ever been or that ever will be. I first saw her as a teenager in the 60s (both of us were teenagers, that is, although she’s older than I). She retired in 1983, has had two hip replacements (and came back briefly after one of them), and is still going strong as a teacher.
Here is the entire ballet featuring Farrell:


