Nureyev has way of breaking barriers

Press, 4 March 1988, Page 3

Nureyev has way of breaking barriers

By, BRENDON BURNS i . | in Wellington j Two weeks short of ' his half-century, Rudolf ; Nureyev has no intention of retiring as a dancer. Nureyev and his Paris Opera dancers will tomorrow evening open the New Zealand International Festival of the Arts in Wellington. The first event on the programme, Stravinsky’s “Invitation to the Dance,” could be Nureyev’s message for years to come. At a press conference in his Wellington hotel yesterday he politely brushed aside suggestions made recently by London critics that! he was limp and flabby. “I am not dancing for critics,” he said. “There is one person I have to satisfy and that is myself.” If he was happy with his performance, his audience would be content, he said. ! The question, as with all of the press conference, was handled with much charm by Nureyev. He began by answering a query as to why he had accepted the invitation to appear in Wellington. “Gosh, you were cooking that question for quite a few. days,” he teased the reporter. Nureyev said he had been waiting several years for an invitation to come to New Zealand and was delighted to accept. His timing is perfect. Wellington is basking in warm, calm days.

Nureyev can view the harbour from his penthouse suite, and is looking forward to sightseeing. : He will also see the Royal New Zealland Ballet this evening, when it performs “Firebird.” Nureyev has danced both classical and I contemporary ballet in his time, and said) he played a role in allowing the two disciplines to meet. I ,He divides hiisj life into the periodj before he came to the West, and the period [ that followed his dramatic leap over a French customs barrier in 1961. | Before he detected, classical and modern ballet were divided. Now’ this ( has changed, and although classically trained and still working with a classical repqrtoire, Nureyev is happy at the coexistence. j “I think I had) something to do with it. You had a bridge between classical dance and modern dance.” | It took Nureyev until last year to be able to return to the ! Soviet Union, where his biography records he was born aboard a transSiberian train, j He said the visit showed him that the policy of “glasnost” had improved Russia. “Life is better,” he said, and the Irule of Mikhail Gorbachev had so far been very good for Russians. I Nureyev’s purpose in visiting his homeland was to see his ageing

(mother, who died sodn 'afterwards.; Asked I if j he would [defect again if he were j now the young man, I aged 23,1 who “leapt ito tyureyev said ihe would do what dll' lowed him to dance for [ as wide an'audience as I possible. 1 ' I “I wouldn’t change ; anything,” he said. '

His life was predestined. He never wanted — and still does ■ not want — to be anything other than a dancer.' | “I never had a doubt that I should be dancing.” I But how long can he continue to dance?, “As long as it gives me pleasure,” he said, adding with a gentle

smile, “And it does.” He could not, he said, live without dancing. Dancing professionally for three decades had not, he said, meant his body had been punished. “Quite the contrary. This is one of the reasons I insist on keeping dancing. It has kept me in shape, kept

me young.” Again, he paused and smiled, and said “...and for ever hungry-” His body shows no sign of strain or overeating. His shoulders are held high, draped with a black and mauve spotted jacket. The waist is trim, his movements gentle, charming

and graceful. After his second performance on Monday, Nureyev will fly to Los Angeles for a performance of “Giselle.” This was the ballet he performed in London to the panning of some critics. He declares it is his favourite opera — “and I’m good at it.”