"Elegant, Witty, and Brilliant"

The Pulcinella character was introduced in the 17th century as one of the archetypal figures in the Italian theatrical tradition of commedia dell'arte. An anarchic, buffoonish fellow, Pulcinella could be aggressive, sly, and retributive, or bumbling and foolish, or all of the above, sometimes in a single performance; in any case, he was generally portrayed as opposed to authority—whether because he was downtrodden by circumstances or because he was greedy for more than he already had—and his features usually included a hunched back countered by a rotund belly and topped off by a pronounced nose. Productions featuring Pulcinella often involved his hapless romantic or financial schemes. Otherwise, he could be known to partake in vigilante justice, or, in earlier instances, to appear as his feminine alter-ego, Pulcinellessa. Polymorphous and playful, Pulcinella was also known for the so-called “spaghetti-eating bit,” in which the inelegant fellow would chaotically wolf down the messy dish to audiences’ delight.

By 1919, Stravinsky had completed a number of commissions for Serge Diaghilev and his Ballets Russes, including the wildly successful run of The Firebird (1910), Petrushka (1911), and Rite of Spring (1913). Having retreated to Switzerland to escape the ravages of the first World War and avoid returning to St. Petersburg, and nursing various grievances with the impresario, Stravinsky was eventually wooed back to Paris by the promise of collaborating with Picasso on a new ballet. Diaghilev proposed that Stravinsky orchestrate a score by the 18th-century Italian composer Giovanni Battista Pergolesi; though he wasn’t a fan of Pergolesi’s work, Stravinsky agreed to “look over” the music and, as he later recalled, “I looked, and I fell in love." Listeners today may find this recollection amusing, as the original music has now been attributed to a number of composers, none of which are Pergolesi. 

Diaghilev also furnished a manuscript from 1700 featuring various Pulcinella-led tales which would provide the inspiration for the eventual ballet. Pulcinella premiered in May 1920 and was a success, receiving particular praise for Picasso’s dramatic cubist decor, including a white floor that had to be repainted for every performance. Stravinsky’s score was a shock, though in terms quite unlike those of his earlier Rite; as the composer reflected: 

I was . . . attacked for being a pasticheur, chided for composing "simple" music, blamed for deserting "modernism," accused of renouncing my "true Russian heritage." People who had never heard of, or cared about, the originals cried "sacrilege": "The classics are ours. Leave the classics alone." To them all my answer was and is the same: You "respect," but I love. 

And yet, Stravinsky’s Pulcinella is now considered one of the foundational instances of neoclassicism, celebrated for the subtlety and brilliance of the composer's treatment of the original music. In 1922, Stravinsky excerpted the full ballet for a suite that has since become a popular choice for the concert hall, and which would eventually serve as the score for Peck’s ballet. 

Not long after Pulcinella’s premiere, Balanchine, then Balanchivadze, had begun creating works for a small ensemble of dancers under the banner of “The Young Ballet” in St. Petersburg. He’d seen Stravinsky’s Pulcinella score and hoped to choreograph a new work to it, but was denied permission by the state. The score would remain in his back pocket, so to speak, until the 1972 Stravinsky Festival; amidst an impressive slate of revived and original works, including the momentous Symphony in Three Movements, Balanchine and Robbins collaborated on an elaborate and fairly outrageous take on the spaghetti-eater’s ballet. Both choreographers appeared as "Beggars” in the production, with Edward Villella in the title role and Francisco Moncion as the Devil. “We’re using the characters but not the plot of the original Diaghilev production,” Balanchine said. “The story is funny, a bit dirty, and quite cruel—more like the real commedia dell’arte plots of the early sixteenth century.” 

As the Festival went on, Pulcinella apparently underwent significant changes from performance to performance. Though the crowds were entertained by the clownish character’s antics, critics noted that the overly complicated costumes hid what little ballet the work contained; the majority of the show was devoted to storytelling through mime. One of the more striking images, as described in reviews and by Balanchine, is from the opening of the ballet, in which Pulcinella, a prone corpse, is carried by an array of smaller Pulcinellas to his grave. The Devil appears and promises to revive the schemer in exchange for signing a Faustian pact; mishaps, misidentifications, and mischief of all sorts ensue, until the Devil eventually ends up in a giant spaghetti pot himself. 

“The original Pulcinella is a much longer story ballet; I wanted to strip it of that, and I also knew that there was a shorter arrangement that had been made. The Orchestra loves playing it, too,” recalled Peck of the inception of his Pulcinella Variations. “I definitely saw this as an opportunity to breathe new life into the score, knowing that the company has a history with the music, but that it's far enough removed that we could do something fresh with it.” The final ballet uses the Pulcinella Suite, save one movement Peck felt didn’t fit with the overall tone of the work.

“I was inspired by a lot of the ballets that I loved seeing as a student, when I was first getting to know New York City Ballet and the repertory,” Peck shared. “There were these particular ballets, many by Balanchine, that were really about the craft of the variation and how it relates to the music—ballets like Divertimento No. 15, Donizetti Variations, and even Raymonda Variations. They’re displays of classicism that act as a vehicle for highlighting not just the individual dancers’ technical ability but performance expression as well. The dancers almost acknowledge that there's an audience, as opposed to being in a sort of snowglobe. It's a style of ballet that I don't do very often; I looked at it as an opportunity to expand my range as a dancemaker. It turned into this love letter to classical or neoclassical ballet, and I felt like the spirit in the room was always very positive.”

Original cast member Indiana Woodward remarked that Peck described Pulcinella Variations as an “ode to the dancers,” opening with what they nicknamed the “role call,” in which each dancer essentially introduces themselves. “The process of making a variation for a dancer is a combination of showing off what their strengths are while challenging them in ways that might help them grow as artists in the long run. Those are somewhat contradictory energies,” Peck noted. “I was trying to cast it in a way that felt like a natural fit between the dancers and the music that I had in mind. Indiana does this ‘bumblebee’ variation that’s very bubbly and has a lot of buoyancy to it, and a very specific kind of musicality. That in particular became a very unique, customized variation, but my process was to make sure that each variation felt very complete on its own—that you could almost excerpt each variation individually and it would have a satisfying shape to it.”

During the ballet’s premiere, Tiler Peck and former Principal Dancer Gonzalo Garcia danced “a very sensitive, slightly intimate grand pas de deux,” which follows the structure of a traditional grand pas of variation-variation-coda, “but it has less bravura and a slightly more sophisticated aesthetic to it; that came from the music as well,” Peck described. “The score drops down to a smaller arrangement for that section, so it makes you lean in a little bit more, as opposed to some of the fuller, louder sections of the score. In a true classical ballet, the grand pas would probably have the biggest, fullest music as you're building up to that moment, but in this case, it moves in the opposite direction. That's part of what makes it exciting for the audience members who have a sense of some of the company’s repertory; they can enjoy this ballet in conversation with what came before.”

For longstanding balletomanes and newcomers alike, an element of the work that makes an immediate impression is the costuming. “What was so successful about working with Tsumori Chisato on the costumes was that she wasn’t solely focused on the clothes. She asked, ‘What's the ballet, and what is it in conversation with, and how can we subvert that?’ And her approach was from a place of play. She worked with a kind of childlike imagination, which so many of us are always trying to harness. She was not precious about the designs; she would draw these costume sketches, on paper, in real time, in response to conversations we were having or prompts I was giving her. I remember sitting together in the NYCB Costume Shop at one of the fabric tables and just watching her draw. It was a beautiful collaboration.” The resulting costumes reflect the score’s commedia dell’arte roots and with surreal, saturated flair capture something of the original ballet’s Picasso designs. Each dancer’s look is unique, just as each variation is unique. From these cheeky bodysuits to the delights of the Stravinsky score and through the singularity of each variation, the overall effect is richly complex and ultimately alive with a sense of play. 

_{Photos © Erin Baiano}