Ballet's Prodigal Genius

On a recent return flight to Russia from New York, Russian Life Executive Editor Mikhail Ivanov had a chance meeting with Andris Liyepa, who, like his late father, Maris Liyepa, is an internationally-renowned Russian ballet star. Liyepa recently produced a program for the Russian television series Zakulisye (Behind the Veil) and was returning from a Dance on Camera festival held in NY, where Liyepa introduced his first film, The Return of the Firebird. Ivanov took advantage of the meeting, on the eve of Nureyev’s 60th anniversary, to ask Liyepa about Nureyev.

Russian Life: Andris, did you meet Nureyev in your lifetime? If you did, tell me under what circumstances, and what were your impressions about his personality?

Andris Liyepa: Yes, I knew Rudolf Nureyev for a long time. To begin with, I saw him in photos and in books my father (Maris Liyepa) brought back from his foreign trips. Of course, he himself had met Nureyev. I met Nureyev for the first time in 1985, when Soviet dancers were not, well, encouraged, to meet with Rudolf.

RL: How old were you back then?

AL: I was born on January 6, 1962, so you can count for yourself, 23 years old, right? So, back then, I was on a tour in Paris with the Bolshoi Theater dancers’ troupe. We were performing on the stage of Concorde Lafayette Hall, while Nureyev was rehearsing his Cinderella at the Grand Opera. We were all told not to approach the building of the Grand Opera. So, when I asked the Bolshoi’s general director for permission to go and see the rehearsal of Nureyev’s Cinderella, I was told that, if I went to or was seen approaching the Grand Opera, then it “would be very difficult for me to ever go abroad again.”

So I had to let Nureyev know that I couldn’t go. But this friend of ours called me back and said that, since I could not go to the Grand Opera, we could meet at Nureyev’s apartment, in front of the Louvres. That was a real clandestine secret mission... A woman under the name Douse, Nureyev’s close friend, called me. We exchanged the password (Cinderella) and then I drove, abandoning the car two blocks away from Nureyev’s house.

I had just bought my first video-camera, so the first thing I did was film this spectacular apartment of his (later these unique shots were to be included in my TV program dedicated to Nureyev) ... as a true partisan, I asked Nureyev if I could film his beautiful house. He burst into laughter, and said “sure,” and asked me how much it would cost to air this program in Russia. I told him that airing this film in Russia would be the most ill-thought-out act in my life, that I could then simply forget my dancing career. I never showed this video to anyone [until the TV program] and now the time is ripe to show this unique and unusual apartment. Unfortunately, this apartment doesn’t exist anymore, as these things were auctioned off at the famous Christie’s auction. By the way, the special Christie’s catalogue published for the auction became a rarity overnight – the number of people in the world that possess this catalogue could be counted on the fingers of one hand. This catalogue, in fact, is the collection of all this life.

RL: So, you never had any trouble because of your connection with Rudolf?

AL: Well, when I was coming back to Moscow in 1985, I brought back a book featuring photos of Nureyev - photos taken by the French photographer Serge Lido. Soviet Customs confiscated the book from me – I was told Nureyev should not be promoted in the Soviet Union. This is particularly sad, because Rudolf was not quite, shall I say “indifferent” towards everything which was happening in the Soviet Union.

RL: Which leads me to think that his fate was somewhat tragic, don’t you think so?

AL: Well, time and again there is this cliche approach to people’s destinies. What do you mean “tragic”? It’s a somewhat primitive approach. It’s like asking, was Lenin’s life tragic or not ...

RL: Well, I mean that, for a person to be forced to live away from his motherland is a tragedy, no? The press in Russia wrote about his short visit here in 1987, when he was permitted to see his mother, who was then in the throes of death, was paralyzed and could not even recognize her son. That’s tough, no? Today the Russian press also notes that “a multimillionaire could really do nothing to help her.” To me this is all tragic ...

[In his TV program dedicated to Nureyev, Andris said that news about Nureyev’s successes in the West did get through to his mother and sister but “of course, there was this tragic moment in his life” when Nureyev stayed for two days in Ufa (his hometown). On his way back to Paris, Andris’ video tells us, Nureyev stayed at Liyepa’s apartment in Moscow for three and a half hours and “the famous tea cup is still there,” marked as Rudolf’s cup.]

AL: You know, he had all the reasons in the world not to love this country very much. He didn’t see much good from this country during his lifetime, nor from the political system at that time. So, in 1961 [the year of Nureyev’s defection] he was leaving a country which didn’t treat him very tenderly. He was an independent, creative person and, back then, such people were not much loved in our country. I know that in 1961 he could have secured a quieter life and career, had he joined the communist party as he was offered at the time. He was probably our only dancer to become a man of international scale. He was a true citizen of the world, in the real sense of this word...

Interestingly enough, he called himself a gypsy, for he had luxurious houses spread out all over the world. He had seven places to live. But, strange though it may seem, when he was dancing in New York, he would rent a hotel room at the nearest hotel, to be closer to the stage. He had a very fascinating house at a farm near Washington. At the end of his life, he became the owner of a unique island [named Galli, 40 minutes by sea from Capri – Ed.], which used to belong to the unique Russian dancer, Leonid Myasin. And this island indeed sweetened the hardship of his last years. He was really enamored of his house there.

Wealth didn’t fall on Rudolf out of the blue. For, abroad, not a penny is paid for nothing. His fabulous honorariums were justified by his unique work, which occupied his entire life. Rudolf dreamed of turning this island into a school of ballet art. It’s a pity that, due to this fight around his Foundation and his legacy, this dream will never come true.

RL: So, for you, he seems to be an example of a true artist who, in order to make his creative life complete, broke all barriers in his life, is that what you are saying?

AL: Well, yes, you could say so. In a way, artists who stayed here were not as able as he to develop their personal creativity. Everyone who saw him perform live say he was like a “snake charmer.” You should have seen him perform live, for dancers live not so much in photographs or books or even in films, but rather in the memory of the spectators.  His attraction was just uncontained and this could be seen even beyond the stage. Wherever he was in public – at a restaurant, at a gala-soiree – he was the highlight of the event, so high was his energy level.

During his most fruitful seasons, he was dancing as many as 250 concerts a year. As a professional dancer, I can tell you that this is almost impossible. This is on the brink of self-destruction, on the brink of suicide. Someone who dances more than 200 concerts a year is going on stage virtually every day.

Rudolf created for himself such a frenzied rhythm and he lived at this rhythm all his much-too-short, but very complete, life. Even when he was very sick and could no longer dance, Rudolf began conducting. And here again is a good case in point, showing his professional approach to everything. When I saw him conducting, I realized he could not but have taken professional lessons, even though such a talented man could sort of play it by ear. Indeed, he was taking lessons from one of the world’s  best conductors - our compatriot Yuri Temirkanov. Nureyev was taking these lessons quite seriously.

RL: What was his impact, specifically, on your personal dancing career?

AL: My conversations with Nureyev in 1985 became crucial for my own fate. He gave me food for thought. By that time I was already dancing a lot at the Bolshoi, I was not even thinking about the one-sidedness of our dance. Whereas, he was saying to me “but you, guys, are not seeing much.” Back then I kind of liked dancing with [Yuri] Grigorovich [the Bolshoi’s famous choreographer, who led the theater from 1964-1995 – Ed.].

RL: So what was so special about his dance, what made you feel he was simply “magic” as you say?

AL: Well, it is hard to define the phenomenon – Rudolf Nureyev in the world ballet. It is just beyond description. Because everything which is going on in the world of ballet, both in the West and in our country, is all influenced by Rudolf.

... For instance, he exerted a tremendous influence over the designers who tailored suits for him. He was feeling all the subtleties of the line, the color, the composure ... He once told me that the neck line should go two-fingers below [the neckline], so that the neck could be seen. I rarely heard such professional subtleties from anyone - maybe only from my father, and these family traditions were inherited by me, for there can be nothing superfluous on stage.

... His British partner, Margot Fonteyn, with whom Rudolf formed one of the world’s greatest couples, recalled how Rudolf had changed the attitude of the Western spectator and Western dancer towards traditionally ballerina-oriented performances. Thus, Nureyev added a strong male role to Sleeping Beauty and Swan Lake, which both became not just ballerina’s ballets but also dancer’s ballets.

RL: What about Nureyev as choreographer?

AL: ... I familiarized myself with Rudolf’s choreography in Paris, at the Grand Opera, where I was invited to dance his version of Swan Lake. His version was one of the most interesting ... These concerts had a huge impact, both on my technical level, and on my creative vision of ballet. For instance, Western dancers work more with the foot; women are especially good at tiptoe work, at the points. Of course, I realized how grateful Grand Opera dancers must have been to Rudolf, who encouraged them to grasp the best in the Russian school of ballet, and to combine this with the best elements of the Western school.

I also remember how my partner, Nina Ananiashvili, and myself were invited to dance at New York’s City Ballet in 1988, at concerts choreographed by the famous Russian-born US choreographer [George] Balanchine. The rehearsals didn’t really work well. So here was Rudolf lending us a helping hand ... and, over the course of just one rehearsal, he managed to instill confidence in us, to make us feel that Russian dancers, too, can dance foreign choreography ... a few remarks or notes were enough to set everything on its right place. As a result, the performance was a success. One year later I was invited to join the troupe of Mikhail Baryshnikov [who defected from the USSR to the US in 1974 – Ed.].

RL: In some books and other materials about him, many authors note his uneasy temperament, and some other negative traits of his character ...

AL: You know, my approach is the old one - about the deceased, one says either good or nothing, as the Romans said. I, personally, strange though it may seem to some, didn’t feel any of the negative traits people are now writing about.

RL: Maybe, but one of the most recent biographies said he liked to curse people, especially in public, which shocked and offended people. Or that he could spend $50,000 on a sculpted man’s torso and be very frugal with people working for him? Or should all this be discounted on account of his genius? For, as they say, no genius is easy to deal with ...

AL: Absolutely. For instance, don’t you happen to curse people yourself? I am kind of aghast at these media speculations about his private life and all this hype around his legacy, his money.

RL: Don’t you think it would have been great for him to have come to Russia for longer than he did in early 1990s? To stay and dance here as Mikhail Baryshnikov did this year would have meant a lot for Rudolf, no?

AL: I think it’s a stretch to draw any parallel between these two artists; they are just like two different planets. Plus, Baryshnikov came back not to Russia but to his hometown of Riga, which is no longer Russia. I think all these now emphatic stories around Rudolf are redundant; it’s a bit like it was after [Vladimir] Vysotsky’s death [see Russian Life, February 1998]. In general, you know, I think Rudolf Nureyev finished his circle of life; he didn’t really need any more recognition, even at home. He was dancing mostly for himself. At his 52 years, he was dancing like no other dancer could dance at his age. He was amazing you by being Rudolf.

RL: What could his fate have been, do you think, if the anti-AIDS drug had been invented earlier? This could have prolonged his life considerably ...

AL: You know, I believe each man lives as long as God wants him to. My father also died very young, so it means this was his fate. The same with Nureyev. Such people are like shooting stars, they are burning themselves up, so they live as many years as God gives them. You know, Rudolf died on January 6, 1993, and I was born on January 6, 1962. This is all very symbolic. They also say that, if someone dies on the eve of Christmas [Russian Christmas, January 7 – Ed.], then the Savior will forgive all his sins. So let’s hope that everything worked fine for him out there ...

RL: Rudolf was a sinful man?

AL: We are all sinful. But, again, we should say either something good or nothing about the deceased. But, before we finish, I want you to write one more thing about him, before I forget. Rudolf was not at all jealous about other people’s creativity, a rare thing in this world ... For he liked it so much when people were dancing well ...  RL