An Unexpected Legend in ‘Fall River Legend’

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The New York Sun

Over the years, I’ve grown more appreciative of Agnes de Mille’s “Fall River Legend,” which she created for American Ballet Theatre in 1948. It returned this season to the company’s repertory for the first time since 1999, with Julie Kent making her debut as the Accused, aka Lizzie Borden.

Even in 1948, de Mille’s work already flouted the stringent tenets of formalist “purity” that were beginning to emerge as the dominant doctrine for ballet. The credo of high modernism dictated that the highest form of dance was that which explored its irreducibly kinetic potential, rather than finding common cause with allied media. Viewed from this pious perspective, de Mille’s work, employing many theatrical modalities, including speech, would appear highly “impure.” Another factor mitigating against complete acceptance of de Mille’s ballet is its obvious derivations from Antony Tudor’s “Pillar of Fire,” as well as from the canon of Martha Graham, which are here blatant to the point of being defiantly provocative. But Tudor himself took a great deal from Graham and from modern dance in general, and all choreographers borrow, lift, or receive inspiration from other choreographers’ works.

Upon reflection, one sees that “Fall River Legend” is certainly the work of an experienced craftswoman, and there are many effective things in it. Particularly vivid in ABT’s revival was the scene in which the crowd silently gathers outside the Borden home, and we spot Lizzie moving around dazed inside until everything in the pit and onstage goes haywire with her hysterical run out of the house and confession to her neighbors. Lizzie, the populace, and the landscape all become disordered.

With repeated viewings, one can even enjoy the way de Mille reworks other choreographers’ tropes, for example the way the ax becomes equivalent to a phallic Noguchi sculptural element on the Graham stage. At first Lizzie approaches the ax almost innocently unaware; later she is drawn inexorably to it but tries to resist its pull. Finally, on her errand of retribution, she strides over to it with the inevitability of a long-held pledge being fulfilled.

There is no question, too, that today “Fall River Legend” registers as something of a period piece: To her Victorian heroine, de Mille added some of the classic World War II shorthand for female neuroses and sexual frustration, such as Lizzie’s compulsive finger snapping. But all works bear the imprint of their time, and ABT proved the vitality and viability of “Fall River Legend” once again; the hour-long work didn’t drag.

Ms. Kent isn’t the obvious choice for this role. She is very thin and fine-boned, and lacks the sound box needed to voice the many stentorian notes of this role. But she performed with unflagging intensity and taut concentration, and drew the spectator into her narrative. Ms. Kent was ready, willing, and able to investigate de Mille’s vast compendium of movement and dramatic detailing: from the ungainly walks in parallel position or on the backs of her heels to the role’s frequent expressionistic statements such as a fast relevé, arms “screaming” in outstretched distress. These are necessary to de Mille’s conception of Lizzie from the beginning as meek and traumatized, but also sheltering a temperament all the more possibly violent for its repression. Throughout the ballet, the Accused must spiral down rapidly to the ground in the manner of Tudor’s choreography, and Ms. Kent threw herself into these movements with ferocious energy. Equally powerful were her stances of empathy as Lizzie watched her past unfold and her younger self make her pain-wracked way through youth. Ms. Kent’s performance was an object lesson in when and how to command center stage, how much claim to make of a meaningful yet unobtrusive periphery, and when to almost get lost in the crowd.

In addition to Ms. Kent, most of the cast was new to the ballet. As the Accused’s father, Roman Zhurbin accomplished the challenge of moving and reacting as a man much older than himself. Georgina Parkinson, on the other hand, is a veteran in this role of Lizzie’s wicked stepmother. Ms. Parkinson was able to avoid caricature in a role that is unalloyed malice. As Lizzie’s doomed young mother, Melissa Thomas was lovely but didn’t have the necessary authority — in their dream encounter after the homicide, she seemed like Ms. Kent’s sister. Gennadi Saveliev as Lizzie’s pastor was mired in a certain neutrality, but he framed Ms. Kent nicely.


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