Ballett des Staatstheaters am Gärtnerplatz: Stravinsky in Paris

Gärtnerplatztheater, Munich
July 17, 2025

Gershwin and Stravinsky. About as far apart musically as it is possible to get. Brought together in this Stravinsky in Paris double bill of new works by the ballet company of Munich’s Gärtnerplatztheater, the primary connection is the city. George Gershwin’s stay in in 1926 inspired him to compose An American in Paris, while thirteen years previously it was where Igor Stravinsky’s The Rite of Spring got its first outing. A second link comes in the way choreographers Jerome Verbruggen and Marco Goecke both ditch the usual scenario attached to the music.

The two choreographies are very different in style. Set largely to Gershwin’s music, Verbruggen’s Farewell in Paris draws heavily on Broadway musical theatre. It’s largely bright, upbeat, also coming with the high kicks, cartwheels and so on that one might see at the Moulin Rouge. It’s also very pink. Goecke’s Le Sacre de Printemps (The Rite of Spring) is a total contrast. It’s typical of his style in every way: monochrome in colour and full of the trembling, fast-flickering twitching hands and larger movement that slices through the air, that he’s become known for.

Verbruggen’s ballet does give us an American in Paris (even named Jerry, and danced by an American too) but there is no Lise and, as the title suggests, is rather about saying goodbye to a memory and a time.

The first thing that hits you is the colour palette. Pink is everywhere. In the costumes, in the stage décor. Pink jackets and pink striped trousers, and vice-versa, pink flowers on other costumes and umbrellas. It can be read as a metaphor for seeing things through rose-tinted glasses.

Apart from the music, the most obvious reference to the movie is the famous Four Seasons Fountain in Paris, seen in the final sequence of Vincente Minnelli’s Oscar-winning 1951 film starring Gene Kelly and Lesley Caron. In the ballet a representation of it (yes, pink) appears among the dancers. While the image gives a good impression of them dancing in it, it also gets in the way, partially obscuring the view.

Verbruggen’s choreography does give the flavour of 1920s Paris. As Jerry, Matthew Jared Perko, initially stands apart, observing the busy scene. There is a lot of coming and going. Ensemble unison moments appear and dissolve, the cast dancing confidently. It does feel like being in the midst of a city. And while the scenes are not as tight or as slick as a Broadway musical, but that is how cities are.

Our Jerry soon joins the crowd, moving through them, his dance as acrobatic and exuberant as everyone else’s. The choreography jollies along cheerfully, quieter moments coming when Verbruggen inserts four short sections from Aaron Copland’s Billy the Kid into the music. The interruptions are not entirely successful, a couple of the joins jar a little, but the additions do give breathing space, even if they don’t really clarify anything.

Two dancers (Ethan Ribeiro and Micaela Romano Serrano) in white bustiers add interest to the group scenes and appear in duets and trios with Jerry. Labelled as Anima, they presumably are supposed to represent part of his soul, although I couldn’t get away from seeing them as symbolic of the missing Lise.

Farewell to Paris is light and bright, but is rather marshmallow. The emotional journey that usually comes with saying goodbye is well-hidden. But the biggest problem comes with the music. It is so entwined with the film and original stage musical’s storyline that it’s impossible to get away from. It stalks the whole ballet. And it’s not going away.

Goecke’s Le Sacre du Printemps could hardly be more different. An opening solo grabs you immediately. And having pulled you in, it holds you all the way to the final moment.

There is no Chosen One, no sacrifice. This Sacre is not about a physical event, not about a sacrificial ritual but something altogether more psychological. Goecke rather deals with fundamental questions of humanity, with being alone, with fears, with sacrificing oneself for a cause. In solos, the dancers appear to be in dialogue with themselves. Constantly questioning. Even if answers are elusive.

The choreography doesn’t follow the music particularly either, but the latter still does its job driving the piece forward.

The cast was uniformly excellent. The ensemble sections are beautifully constructed. At times, everyone forms a line up the centre of the stage. Arms move sharply, from the stalls making the cast look like a multi-limbed creature. Individuals break out, but soon return, until eventually the bodies spread out across the stage.

But it’s the duets and solos where we really see the anxiety that the work is full of. There’s a constant tension in the trembling hands, outstretched angled arms and arched bodies. Stylised gesture, often repeated, is to the fore. Duets appear like a conversation. Images come and go at speed. When people are nervous, they often gabble. Imagine that translated into movement but with superb control and everything still cut-glass sharp.

It all takes place on a mostly otherwise empty, black stage. That makes the two changes feel very important. At one point, a simply gorgeous lighting effect makes it appear as if a waterfall of droplets is cascading down at the back. Time ebbing away perhaps. Later, a single, flickering light bulb descends, the dancers drawn to it like moths to a flame until the work ends abruptly as it goes out on the final note.

An unusual Sacre for sure. But also one with a rare beauty.