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The Making of Markova

~ A biography by Tina Sutton

The Making of Markova

Tag Archives: ballet costumes

Costume Dramas: Ballet Wardrobe Mishaps

03 Thursday Apr 2014

Posted by Tina Sutton in Uncategorized

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Alexandra Danilova, Alicia Markova, André Derain, ballet costumes, Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo, Ballets Russes, Barbara Karinska, Christian Bérard, Giselle, Hamburg Ballet, Isamu Noguchi, John Neumeier, L'Epreuve d'Amour, Leonide Massine, Les Sylphides, Martha Graham, Paris Opera Ballet, Serge Lifar, Sergei Diaghilev, Seventh Symphony, Tamara Toumanova, The Australian Ballet Collection, The Making of Markova, V & A Museum

Markova in The Water Lily, 1935 (photo by Gordon Anthony)

Markova beautifully costumed in The Water Lily, 1935 (photo by Gordon Anthony).

Pity the poor ballet costume manager. While researching Markova’s biography, I was continually amazed at the painstaking, and enormously expensive, process of designing, constructing, and maintaining dance costumes for an entire company. Just one loose sequin falling on the stage can cause a dancer to slip and be seriously injured. And even in the grand Ballets Russes days, a single extravagant costume needed to be repeatedly altered to fit each prima ballerina performing the same starring role.

Choreography demands greatly influence costume design. Markova in The Nutcracker, photo by Maurice Seymour.

Choreography demands greatly influence costume design. Markova in The Nutcracker (photo by Maurice Seymour).

Then there’s the original design. As London’s V & A museum explains, “Dance costume is a highly specialised field and as well as having to reflect the overall concept of the work, body movement, the demands of the choreography of a particular work and the effects of different fabrics in motion all have to be taken into consideration.”

And what happens if those precious costumes somehow never make it to the dancers’ dressing rooms by curtain time? Simply put: no costumes, no show.

Markova, Alexandra Danilova and Mia Slavenska buried behind their costume baggage.

Alexandra Danilova, Markova and Mia Slavenska buried behind their costume baggage.

As a star performer with the Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo, Alicia Markova spent much of World War II criss-crossing the United States by train. The schedule was grueling, with the dancers often spending only one or two days in each city before moving on to the next venue.

And this went on for months.

Though they traveled with their scenery and costumes in a second railcar – quite a time-consuming project to pack and unpack at every stop – wartime needs sometimes intervened. As reported in the Arkansas Gazette in 1942: “Scheduled to give a performance at 8:30 P.M. at the Auditorium yesterday, the [Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo] troupe was unable to appear for the first time in 50 scheduled performances.

No costumes, no performance.

No costumes, no performance.

“Coming from Columbus, Missouri, scenery, props and wardrobes were sidetracked at Memphis to allow passage of troop trains. ‘Our performances have run late before due to delay of wardrobes, but we have never had to cancel a performance until now,’ Leon Spachner company manager said.'”

Though one would think modern air and overnight shipping would prevent such an event in today’s world, think again. As reported by the Chicago Reader this past February: “Costumes for one of the most anticipated offerings of the season, the internationally celebrated Hamburg Ballet, headed by onetime Chicagoan John Neumeier, were stuck on a storm-delayed freighter. They wouldn’t make it to [the Harris Theater in] Chicago in time for the performances.”

The Hamburg Ballet costumes never made it to the theater.

The Hamburg Ballet costumes for their signature Third Symphony of Gustav Mahler never made it to the theater.

Amazingly, “That crisis was resolved before the public heard about it, when the legendary Paris Opera Ballet, another recent visitor to the Harris and one of the few other companies with the piece in their repertoires, came to the rescue, shipping its own costumes to Chicago by air. The Harris popped for alterations, and everything was back on track.”

But the Hamburg Ballet was twice-cursed in the “Windy City.” During the pre-opening dress rehearsal, an electrical fire broke out in the theater forcing the dancers out into the cold, some wearing just ballet slippers and tights. The show never went on.

Modern ballet pioneer Martha Graham performing against a Noguchi-designed set in 1944

Modern dance pioneer Martha Graham performing against a Noguchi-designed set in 1944

The Martha Graham Company had even worse luck when Hurricane Sandy devastated New Jersey and New York in 2012.

“In what has proved to be a fateful decision,” The New Yorker reported at the time, “the company’s sets and costumes—including pieces like the white throne from ‘Clytemnestra’ (1958) and the cloth set for ‘El Penitente’ (1940), both by [Isamu] Noguchi, as well as the Karinska gown from ‘Episodes’ (1959)—were placed in a series of rooms in the basement.”

Costume and set storage area for the Martha Graham Company following Hurricane Sandy.

Storage area for the Martha Graham Company following Hurricane Sandy.

Everything was later found to be submerged under six feet of water.

A similar waterlogged fate, but under very different circumstances, befell another historic ballet design when Markova was dancing with the Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo in 1939. From The Making of Markova:

André Derain's beautiful sets and costumes for Michel Fokine's L'Epreuve d'Amour were lost at sea.

André Derain’s exquisite sets and costumes for Michel Fokine’s L’Epreuve d’Amour were lost at sea.

Dubbed “the Riviera afloat,” the gargantuan S.S. Rex was too large to enter Cannes harbor, where the Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo was to disembark. That necessitated smaller boats being sent out to ferry the dancers, costumes, and cumbersome sets to the dock. As luck would have it, the Italian ocean liner was running late for its final destination, Genoa, so the captain decided to hurry things along. 

In their haste, remembered Markova sadly, the overzealous crew ended up dumping several crates overboard. One was filled with André Derain’s exquisite Chinoiserie costumes and sets for [Michel Fokine’s] L’Epreuve d’Amour. The dancers watched horrified as the packing cases sank into the Mediterranean Sea and were quickly washed away. The company was never able to perform the ballet again.

Markova had her own series of costume mishaps at the Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo. As the first British prima ballerina in a predominantly Russian company, she was considered an interloper who had no right to “usurp” starring roles that “rightfully” belonged to the Russian ballerinas. (Markova’s great lifelong friend Alexandra Danilova, also a prima ballerina at the company, was happily an exception.) Not only did Markova have to contend with jealous dancers, but the all-Russian contingent of costume designers and seamstresses also had it in for her.

Only half of Markova's Seventh Symphony costume was ready by curtain time

Only half of Markova’s Seventh Symphony costume was ready opening night

The first costume debacle occurred on opening night of Léonide Massine’s glorious Seventh Symphony in 1938. Markova starred as the “Spirit of the Air and Sky,” with a lighter-than-air costume designed by French artist Christian Bérard. Topping an all-over white silk leotard was a sky blue silk chiffon skirt appliquéd with almost imperceptible horsehair pale pink clouds. A larger cloud was to be appliquéd across Markova’s breast and one shoulder, leading up to a delicate winged hair ornament.

Bérard to the rescue.

Bérard to the rescue.

On opening night, the Russian couturière Barbara Karinska (whose famous Martha Graham gown was destroyed in the above-mentioned flood) waited until the last minute to deliver Markova’s costume – or half a costume as it turned out. The ethereal skirt was finished but had no top or headpiece. Whether it was out of spite or poor planning, the result was the same. Markova couldn’t go on. Fortunately, the wildly creative Bérard came to the rescue. Rushing to Markova’s dressing room, he spotted a pale blue chiffon gown she had planned to wear to the after-party. Grabbing its matching scarf, the designer quickly draped and stitched the material into a top. Next he took a pair of scissors and cut wings from a piece of white paper, decorating them with black eyebrow pencil from the dressing table. The makeshift headpiece was fastened to her hair as Markova rushed on stage. The ballet was a triumph!

An unhappy pas de deux: egotistical Russian Serge Lifar had it in for the British Markova in Giselle (1938).

An unhappy pas de deux: egotistical Russian Serge Lifar had it in for the British Markova in Giselle (1938).

Markova’s next costume calamity was decidedly premeditated sabotage. Following her great success in Seventh Symphony, she was to star in the company’s debut performance of Giselle in London. It was Markova’s most acclaimed role to be danced in her hometown – sure to be a sellout.

But her partner was the egotistical Russian star Serge Lifar, who bizarrely re-choreographed the ballet to greatly expand his own role, that of Prince Albrecht. (A joke went around Paris that his Giselle should be renamed Albrecht!) Lifar wanted to dance London’s opening night with his fellow Russian, the beautiful Tamara Toumanova, a less fragile, curvier ballerina than the tiny Markova. The two Russian dancers were incensed that Toumanova had to play second fiddle to Markova. So too were the Russian seamstresses.

With constant costume sabotage, Markova kept a back-up Giselle costume under lock & key, like this one from 1934.

With constant costume sabotage, Markova kept a back-up Giselle costume under lock & key, like this one from 1934.

Quite nervous that her new costume wasn’t ready for the full dress rehearsal, Markova was nevertheless assured it would be in her dressing room opening night. When it finally arrived just a few minutes before curtain, lo and behold, the dress was way too big, having been “accidentally” made to fit Toumanova’s measurements. While this is a long and very entertaining story in all its detail (yes, you’ll have to buy The Making of Markova to find out!), Markova outfoxed everyone by bringing one of her old Giselle costumes to the theater as back-up. Lifar exploded, there were tears and screaming, but the show eventually went on.

Jealous ballerinas hid steel needles in Markova's Giselle costume underskirts, stabbing into her leg on stage.

Jealous ballerinas hid steel needles in Markova’s Giselle costume underskirts, stabbing into her leg on stage.

Despite such a ruckus, Markova received an astounding 24 curtain calls, but Lifar refused to let her take any center stage bows without him. He was not only booed by the audience, but had to be physically restrained in the wings by stagehands to appease the Markova-loving crowd. This led to a major donnybrook – death threats, fisticuffs, and even a proprosed duel! – when Markova debuted the same role with Lifar at the Metropolitan Opera House in New York. For more on that story, see my former post “Dirty Work Afoot: Treachery at the Ballet.”

Markova continued to experience costume sabotage with the company: an Act II costume slashed while she was on stage in Act I, packing needles hidden in her tutus, and other nefarious plots to physically harm or unnerve her – all to no avail. She would become the most famous, widely traveled, and highest paid classical ballerina of her generation.

The "winged" Markova

The “winged” Markova in Les Elfes. (photo, Gordon Anthony)

One of my favorite “costume” stories took place in 1934, the year Markova made her London debut in Giselle. From The Making of Markova: . . . even people who had never been to the ballet now knew the name of Markova. One evening, a taxi driver escorted the ballerina, her flowers, and costume/makeup cases home from the theater. As the driver helped unload all her belongings, he suddenly called, “Ere, Miss, you’ve left your wings in the cab.” “My wings?” Markova asked.

The driver pointed to a single remaining case. ”They tell me you’re the dancer with the invisible wings, so I suppose you take ‘em round with you.”

Markova did indeed appear to effortlessly fly on stage, sometimes even letting her “wings” show, as when costumed for Les Elfes or Les Sylphides, one of her most celebrated roles. A pair she wore in 1926 as a sylph at Diaghilev’s Ballets Russes is carefully preserved for posterity in The Australian Ballet Collection.

Markova's wings on display in The Australian Ballet Collection.

Markova’s wings

 

 

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Tulles of the Trade: lifting the veil on ballet costume design

30 Tuesday Jul 2013

Posted by Tina Sutton in Uncategorized

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Alexander McQueen, Alicia Markova, Anna Pavlova, ballet costumes, ballet fashion, British ballet, de Young Museum, Giambattista Valli, Leonide Massine, Madame Manya, Marie Rambert, Rambert's Ballet Club, Rudolf Nureyev, Sarah Kaufman, Stanley Judson, tutu construction

Markova considered the right tulle as important as toe shoes

Markova considered the right tulle as important as toe shoes

In the close to 10 years I’ve been writing about fashion trends for The Boston Globe, I don’t think a year has gone by without a runway show influenced by the ballet. Those dreamy gossamer fabrics and figure-enhancing silhouettes are catnip to both designers and the their amply-funded clientele.

While researching The Making of Markova, I learned a great deal about the fascinating intricacies of ballet costumes. To enraptured audiences, the legendary ballerina seemed to float effortlessly in the air – her tutu as featherweight as the dancer herself. That combination of otherworldliness, fragility, and seductive transparency – now you see flesh, now you don’t! – has inspired countless fashion interpretations over the years, from breathlessly romantic to rather scandalously modern.

Fall 2013 is no exception. Numerous collections incorporate ballet design elements in show-stopping evening wear, with corset tops, short flounces, veiled headpieces, transparent armlets, and multi-tiered pouf skirts plentiful.

Markova as the Sugar Plum Fairy

Markova as the Sugar Plum Fairy in The Nutcracker Suite, 1950

Tutu-like couture. Giambattista Valli, Fall 2013

Tutu-like couture. Giambattista Valli, Fall 2013

Ballet-inspired fashion Alexander McQueen Fall 2013

Ballet-inspired fashion. Alexander McQueen, Fall 2013

Markova as the otherworldly spirit of Giselle (1939)

Markova as the otherworldly spirit of Giselle (1939)

But as costly and elaborate as those designer gowns may be, they pale in comparison to the complexity of classical ballet costumes. First is the issue of fabric choice. A form-fitting corset of lustrous satin might look magnificent but can also cause a ballerina to slip from her partners hands during a lift. Markova sometimes had two different tops made for the same skirt (at her own expense, I might add): shiny satin for important press photos, and a matte version to perform in. Textured silk taffeta can present a different problem, especially in a layered full skirt. Markova laughingly remembered a corps of taffeta-clad ballerinas rustling so loudly that they could no longer hear their music cues! And then there’s ornamentation. Every sequin, silk flower, and bead needs to be hand-sewn and carefully fastened tight. If one were to fall on the stage during a performance, a dancer could easily slip and injure her foot.

There are 34 yards of fabric in this ethereal ballet skirt.  Markova and Anton Dolin in Gislle.

This ballet skirt required 34 yards of fabric! Markova with Anton Dolin in Giselle.

But most complicated of all is proper tutu construction, truly an architectural marvel. There are 34 yards of net in each traditional ballet skirt like the one at left, and 18 yards in a short tutu. For each skirt, Madame Manya, Markova’s longtime costume designer (and Anna Pavlova’s before her), created nine different layers of tarlatan (a kind of muslin) topped with several more of diaphanous tulle. In between, a crinoline hoop was carefully hidden between the folds to give the skirt body without stiffness. Before the days of beautiful man-made materials, the fabric costs for ballet costumes could be exorbitant and beyond the budget of fledgling companies. That was the case when Markova pioneered British ballet in the early 1930s, dancing at one of the first London-based companies, the Ballet Club.

Budget fabrics lack ethereality. Markova, left In Foyer de Danse, )Ballet Club (1932

Budget fabrics lacked an ethereality on stage, said Markova, seen here at left in Frederick Ashton’s Foyer de Danse at the fledgling British company Ballet Club (1932)

Its founder was ex-Ballets Russes dancer/teacher Marie Rambert, who formed a combined school and performing troupe. One of Rambert’s money-saving tricks was to buy the cheapest tarlatan material she could find for the tutu underskirts, and then add just a single top layer of fine tulle. That might have fooled the audience, but the under layers itched the dancers like crazy!

Markova lamented that cheap fabrics cheated the audience, as they took away from the magical, dreamlike quality of ballet. Whenever she could afford it, she used her own money to buy quality fabrics so her costumes would look more luxurious and ethereal. In the early days, she hand-sewed the elaborate skirts herself (a talent she quickly mastered), later turning to experts like Manya when her salary improved. After Markova became famous – and well-paid – she insisted upon buying beautifully-made costumes for other dancers as well, as she once did for an entire ballet company in financial trouble.

Léonide Massine masked his problematic bowed legs with pants or knickers

Léonide Massine masked his problematic bowed legs with pants or knickers

While Markova’s main concern with costuming was to create a transportive illusion for the audience, many male soloists were driven more by personal vanity. The inventive dancer/choreographer Léonide Massine was bowlegged, not ideal for a male ballet star. Given that Massine’s strength was not in classical roles, but rather in showy character-driven parts (which he often created for himself), he was able to avoid second-skin tights, opting instead for camouflaging knickers and pants.

Rudolf Nureyev had his costume jackets cut short to make his muscular legs look longer

Rudolf Nureyev had his costume jackets cut short to make his muscular legs look longer

On the other hand (or foot), there was absolutely nothing wrong with the legs of Rudolf Nureyev, considered one of the greatest male ballet dancers of the 20th century. Many of the celebrated star’s costumes were recently on view at the de Young Museum in San Francisco.

Rudolf Nureyev's costumes  (de Young Museum in San Francisco)

Nureyev’s regal costume bodices (de Young Museum in San Francisco)

“He made it [ballet] sexier and more electrifying,” wrote Sarah Kaufman of the Washington Post in her review of the de Young Museum exhibit Rudolf Nureyev: A Life in Dance. “Nureyev’s costumes could have been a fantasy king’s couture, made to measure for an extraordinary slim waist and broad shoulders in silk, velvet and lace. As Cary Grant was with his suits and shirts – sending them back for fractional faults – so was the sharp-eyed ballet star with his stage attire.”

Markova and partner Stanley Judson in The Nutcracker, 1934

Markova and partner Stanley Judson in The Nutcracker, 1934

Russian-dance inspired Paris couture Alexis Mabille, Fall 2013

Russian-dance inspired Paris couture Alexis Mabille, Fall 2013

Interestingly, the elaborate ballet costumes of male soloists (see Markova’s partner Stanley Judson above left) also inspired Paris couture fashions this fall. The outfit, however, was for a woman.

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