User:RyanKnight55/Leonid Yakobson

LEONID JACOBSON []

Leonid Jacobson (1901-1975) was one of the greatest choreographers of the XX century known, acclaimed and often despised and misunderstood by his contemporaries for his most original way of thinking and inexhaustible creative fantasy, still seen in all his productions that are lovingly preserved at the theatre carrying its name.

It is a well-known fact that the fate of any original thinker living in conditions of totalitarian regime is not only ever easy, but often tragic. Unfortunately, this can be said of Leonid Jacobson who, despite having some vast artistic plans for the future, had been unable to fulfill even the half of them, this being due, for the most part, to the oppressive soviet regime in which Jacobson lived and worked.

Leonid was born on 14 January 1904 and wanted to be a dancer since an early age. In 1926 he graduated from St Petersburg (then Leningrad) Vaganova Academy of Choreography [], worked at the Kirov (Mariinsky) and Bolshoi Theatres initially as a dancer and soon thereafter as a choreographer. As such, Jacobson tried to follow in the footsteps of his acclaimed predecessor Mikhail Fokine [], choosing to go against the grain, as it were. Developing Fokine's groundbreaking tradition, Jacobson also sought to move beyond some stereotypical dance traditions, even though at an early period of his work he would denounce classical ballet per se. At a later stage would advocate the return of dance plastic to ballet. He is known as a founder of so-called dramatic ballet based upon the specific principles of choreography used to resolve the subject matter in terms of both dramatic and strikingly visual means. Mr Jacobson would always seek new expressive forms and methods in his work, even upon his return to the fundamental traditions of classical ballet as a mature artist. He transformed it in an attempt to reflect his own outlook upon the world.

In 1969 Mr Jacobson founded and became the first Artistic Director of the troupe Choreographic Miniatures (currently St Petersburg Leonid Jacobson Ballet Theatre) which has recently celebrated its 40th anniversary. Here he was able to put into practice some of his creative ideas by staging his most spectacular and enduring works of the XX century choreography: ‘Shuraleh’ (1950) based upon Tartar folklore, the protagonist in it being a forest goblin; ‘The Bedbug’ (1952) – a scathing satire of the soviet regime by Mayakovsky. Interestingly, the main parts in that ballet were performed by the future stars Mikhail Baryshnikov []and Natalya Makarova []. Mr Jacobson’s most cherished and endearing work ‘Choreographic Miniatures’ (1958) was inspired by a series of sculptures of Auguste Rodin []and contained such masterpieces as ‘Eternal Spring’, ‘The Kiss’ []and ‘Eternal Idol’ among others.

Russian audiences had their initial view of Jacobson’s work in ‘Choreographic Miniatures’ in 1958 when it was first performed there as an evening of a successive ballet pieces, each filled with an intense drama and noted for their most accomplished dramatic performances. Jacobson’s ability to stage his works tailored specifically for particular performers might have occasionally backfired as the dancers who would replace his original stars could not always dance at quite the same high level. When that happened, an actual miniature would fade and wither. Nonetheless, the mere presence of Jacobson in the theatre would inevitably create a buzz, with many seeking an opportunity to watch him in rehearsals. While rehearsing, the master was known to possess an intense and raw energy of an artist deeply immersed in his work. At work, he could be tyrannical or, on the contrary, affable, easy-going, approachable and very witty. However, what most of his contemporaries did agree on was that he was by no means an affluent diplomat as far as the soviet art authorities were concerned. He could not deal with the apparatchiks currently in office, and those paid him in kind: Jacobson was often branded a non-entity, a renegade, an artless parvenu and what have you. For instance, take the production of his first ballet ‘Shuraleh’ at the Kirov Theatre, which, incidentally, has been restaged there this season in Jacobson’s original choreography. This was a great success with the public at the time, and Jacobson was awarded the State Prize for his pioneering choreography. However, not everyone was delighted at that: as usual, quite a few of ill-wishers would call Leonid behind his back an anti-Semite, a moron and even – it is hard to believe this now – but ‘an enemy of the soviet ballet’. Eventually, he was fired from the Kirov only to be reemployed later. He would leave and return there a number of times during his creative lifetime.

After 1953, following the death of Stalin, the Russian theatres were finally allowed a limited degree of artistic freedom, and Mr Jacobson was invited to stage at the Kirov the newly-written ballet by Khachaturian []. When first considering work on ‘Spartacus’ [], Leonid must have realized an enormity of the task he was facing and the amount of difficulties he would inevitably encounter while bringing this modern-day symphonic masterpiece to the ballet stage. As it so happened, he had to go through a great number of conflicts many of which had occurred with none other than Khachaturian himself – already a titan of soviet music – who proved extremely reluctant when it came to certain necessities of altering his score. Failing on many an occasion to obtain the composer’s permission to do that, Jacobson tried to make some changes of his own in order to sharpen and magnify the dramatic conflict among the protagonists in his production. Predictably, this caused an extremely violent reaction from Khachaturian who would strongly oppose to any alterations to be made to his score. Somewhat of a traditionalist, the composer was rather conservative in his musical tastes and would allow for no changes in his existing piece. Both he and Jacobson were of a fiery disposition, so one day, as they walked to the theatre for a rehearsal together, they began a tense argument which ended up in a fistfight between the two. Moreover, Jacobson would often conflict with the Kirov’s leading dancers finding it difficult to explain to them the lead principles of his modern choreography. Trained in rich traditions of the Russian classical ballet, some of those were vehemently opposed to many of his creative ideas, with some even sabotaging his rehearsals. Nevertheless, ‘Spartacus’ was premiered in 1956 to have become one of the milestones of Russian and world choreography. Incidentally, in 1968, some 12 years after the original Jacobson production, another version of ‘Spartacus’ was presented by Yuri Grigorovich [] at the Bolshoi Theatre in Moscow. In response, Jacobson wrote an article titled “Why my ‘Spartacus’ is better than Grigorovich’s?” which was never published. It was just as well: as mentioned before, Jacobson was no diplomat when dealing with colleagues and especially the authorities.

At any rate, Leonid continued working at the Kirov in Leningrad, staging three more productions there. These were ‘The Twelve’ based on the poem by Alexander Blok []; ‘The Bedbug’ based on an eponymous poem by Vladimir Mayakovsky []. The third production – ‘A Country of Wonders’ – turned out a soft and poetical show, which, however, soon after staging was removed from the theatrical repertory by the communist rulers. Due to this, Jacobson grew firmer in his resolve to finally leave the conservative Kirov which, as of mid 50s, came to be managed by Konstantin Sergeev – a well-known traditionalist and conservative – and try to form a ballet troupe of his own.

This turned out to be no easy task and Jacobson realized it. At first he was promised a company in Moscow [], but his further negotiations did not amount to anything. He then moved back to Leningrad [] in the hope to begin negotiation talks with the local culture authorities there. He was lucky: they agreed to help him and even announced auditions for prospective dancers to form a new troupe. However, at the last moment the company was entrusted to Pyotr Gusev [] with whom Jacobson had worked before and who actually held him in high esteem. Furthermore, Gusev invited him to stage a new ballet of his own choice – a generous offer which Jacobson had rejected at the time. For some reason, Gusev was unable to maintain the management of the newly created theatre and soon enough it was given back to Jacobson. Leonid was truly over the moon. The company members were first gathered in 1975 at the Russian Theatrical Society Hall in Leningrad. Jacobson could not have felt more triumphant: his cherished dream of having a theatre of his own had finally come true. As he took the floor, he began to speak excitedly about many plans for the future, of the impending foreign tours, and of an image he could foresee for his troupe. He must have felt truly exhilarated.

True to form, Leonid started working in earnest to fulfill his plans, creating a bunch of soloists and corps de ballet whereby each and every performer was offered a chance to show what they could do. What should be emphasized here is that an individuality factor has always been paramount in Jacobson’s choreography. He actually tended to stage most of his miniatures intended for a specific dancer he had in mind at the time. Unfortunately, not all of those were able to fully comprehend the extent of his creative genius, with some clearly opposing to his innovative ideas. What was worse, the bureaucrats from the Culture Ministry were by no means friendly and understanding either. Jacobson would write in his diary: “I’ve obtained by own theatre far too late, I’m afraid. But never mind that: I’ll still show them what I can do with it…”

Already in his 70s, he nonetheless worked tirelessly on many new shows and programs dedicated to the theatre’s impending opening, his creative fantasy and hard work (he has always been what is known today as a workaholic) utterly limitless. Although not all of his own dancer could understand and appreciate his methods, these still attracted some of the biggest names in Russian ballet at the time. For instance, the lead prima ballerina of the Kirov Alla Osipenko eagerly came to work with Jacobson, accompanied by her husband and partner John Markovsky. These experienced dancers were welcome additions to the young troupe. For them Jacobson was to stage two of his well-known choreographic miniatures ‘Minotaur and Nymph’ and ‘Taglioni’s Flight’ (Marie Taglioni being a celebrated Italian-Swedish ballet dancer [].

However, as on so many previous occasions, Leonid was still constantly impeded in his work by the communist party authorities. They banned one of his choreographic masterstrokes ‘The Wedding Cortege’ at the very end of the dress rehearsal right before it was due to premiere the next day. This little gem of modern dance was to present a Jewish marriage procession [], which the powers that be had found too anti-Semite at the time. Jacobson would grow coarse trying to prove his point, arguing with the apparatchiks incessantly. As was indicated above, he never was a diplomat, nor did he ever become one, in liaising with those. Once he forcibly elbowed out of the dance hall a local party functionary who was meant to censor the forthcoming production, calling him a dork who understood nothing in art and who should never be re-admitted to the theatre again. In reply, all foreign tours his ballet company had been promised were promptly cancelled. ‘The Wedding Cortege’ has never even made it to the stage. Jacobson would have to spend his precious time running in between the offices of numerous bureaucrats trying to defend his productions and dancers. He would faithfully record in his diary later: “Today I have never been admitted to see such-and-such. Perhaps better luck tomorrow – we’ll see.” Unfortunately, he barely had any better luck at all: in fact, he was repeatedly refused an admission to the Smolny Institute – the seat of Leningrad municipal authorities at the time – and could obtain no audiences with the powers that be.

At long last Mr Jacobson was allowed an unexpected trip to Italy where he was to stage a show at La Scala []in tandem with Yuri Lubimov []–a well-known drama theatre director from Moscow. In a twist of bitter irony, the show in question was to be devoted to the Italian communist party []. Around that time Jacobson’s health had begun to deteriorate rapidly; he had been unwell before and when he returned from Italy he was already one foot in the grave. In spite of that, he still proceeded to go to Moscow to demand an audience with the newly-appointed Minister of the Culture Ministry in an attempt to try and lift the ban from his ‘The Wedding Cortege’. Waiting in the ministerial reception room alongside his wife Irina, Jacobson suddenly felt elated for some reason. ‘This is it,’ he told his wife, ‘now I shall be seen at long last. They’ll not be able to ignore me anymore.’ Unfortunately, he felt to the floor unconscious in a few minutes and was rushed to a local hospital straightaway. He died there soon afterwards without never regaining consciousness.

But Mr Jacobson’s cultural legacy has never died. Quite the reverse: it has been and is lovingly preserved up to this day at the theatre that still carries its name where all of his shows have been restored and maintained in his original choreography. These are shown to the great acclaim of both Russian and Western audiences.

Mr Jacobson’s widow Irina continues to work as a ballet master and is currently employed by John Neumeier [] Hamburg Ballet.