Gediminas Taranda was a principal dancer in the Bolshoi Ballet during the Soviet era and today is the artistic director and co-founder of the Imperial Russian Ballet. He tells Lorraine Chandler that despite being subjected to KGB suspicion and travel restrictions until the glasnost era, his spirit was never broken.
Gediminas Taranda is a formidable looking man, with shoulders that appear broad enough to balance a house and an enigmatic Russian face that seems to portray a million emotions without settling on one in particular.
The 45-year-old looks more like a builder or bodyguard than a dancer and choreographer, but is more charismatic than either could ever be.
I spend almost an hour waiting to speak to him before his company performs Swan Lake at Dubai's Madinat Theatre, but it gives me ample time to watch him at work, directing his troupe. He is a man of few words and expressions but of many emotions.
When I do finally meet him, I'm a tad disappointed to find that his English isn't very strong and we need the assistance of a translator. I can't help feeling that something is lost in translation.
He is definitely the strong silent type and his masculine build and handsome face make a striking contrast to the more effeminate stereotype of a male ballet dancer.
Still, it's not surprising that Taranda doesn't speak English well. Despite being a one-time star of Russia's Bolshoi Ballet, he hardly left Russia prior to the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991.
In the early 1980s, successful ballet dancers in the Soviet Union were suspected as being potential defectors. The young Taranda seemed a likely prospect as he frequently criticised the Soviet regime and was at the height of his powers, having recently been elevated to stardom.
Taranda says the KGB threatened that if he continued to talk about reform, he would be prevented from leaving the country - a step that would mean disqualification from the Bolshoi Ballet, which regularly toured abroad.
Like other dancers, he was forbidden from going out after 10 pm, watching political movies or gathering in groups of five or more. Taranda was discouraged from talking to foreigners and KGB spies regularly shadowed his dance troupe, he says.
"The whole political environment at the time wasn't normal and that's what I was speaking up against," Taranda says with a shrug. "But it was too early for talk like that, so they started to push me, wanting to break my spirit."
In 1984, the troupe headed off on a tour, performing the ballet Ivan the Terrible at the Metropolitan in New York, the Grand Opera in Paris and Covent Garden in London.
Taranda, the star of the ballet, had prepared for his part (Prince Kurbsky) for a year, but just before performing in Paris, he says a KGB director approached him and told him, "You're not doing that role. You've been talking too much and you need to be taught
a lesson."
Despite having his name on the billboard as a lead soloist, he danced a minor role.
"It had been my dream to dance in the Grand Opera, so after the show finished, I danced in the empty hall with an audience of just the technical workers," he says, his tone betraying a hint of bitterness. "They didn't kill my dream."
Despite numerous attempts, the regime was unable to destroy his spirit, such is the strength of Taranda's determination.
The troupe then returned to Moscow, from where it was to leave for London. Taranda says he arrived at the airport with his passport, tickets and baggage, but a KGB director told him that he wasn't going on this trip either.
"They could have told me earlier," he says grimly, "but they wanted to break me like a pencil."
The director of the ballet warned him that they might call him at any time to perform and that he should rehearse in readiness for that. So for two months he rehearsed alone in an empty theatre, but the call never came. Even after that time, they told him to get ready for the next leg of the tour, but when he got to the airport, he was again told to go home.
In 1988, he was included in a ballet scheduled to appear in New York. He had broken his collarbone, but was still expected to dance. It was tough, but he managed to struggle through rehearsals, encouraged by the knowledge that his talent was needed.
However, it was to be a repeat of Paris. Despite his name appearing on the billboards, he was again told at the airport that he was not to take part.
The official story was that he was sick.
"The first time this happened, I left the airport by bus, but I was so angry the second time that I walked 30 km home. I was both angered and saddened. Again, I spent two months rehearsing without music, and again I was not asked to join the troupe. It was all very demoralising, and to this day, I cannot stay in a rehearsal hall without music."
Taranda had earned a reputation as an extremely talented and charismatic dancer, so although he was prohibited from touring, the Bolshoi Theatre wheeled him out regularly to perform for visiting heads of state.
Despite the fact that glasnost ('openness') had started to thaw Russia's political climate under Mikhail Gorbachev in the 1980s, the KGB continued to exercise a certain amount of control. Taranda says it was only in about 1990 that things started to improve for him and his contemporaries and he were free to tour abroad.
"I started to take things into my own hands, taking on international roles abroad and that's when I also got into choreography," he says.
Yet it was a difficult period at the Bolshoi Ballet.
Yuri Grigorovich had been running the ballet company with an iron fist for nearly 30 years, Taranda says. He was artistic director, chief choreographer and principal ballet master, keeping a tight rein on all his dancers, and restricting creativity by using an old repertoire of ballets.
Taranda was one of a group of vocal critics of Grigorovitch, but the breaking point came in 1993 when Grigorovitch dramatically accused him of leading a group of Bolshoi Ballet dancers on a tour of the Netherlands without permission. He made the accusation on stage, where he fired Taranda, despite the fact that he was rated as the Bolshoi's best dramatic soloist.
With his indomitable spirit, Taranda refused to give in. In 1993, he attracted the attention of legendary ballerina Maija Plisetskaya, who invited him to dance in Carmen with her. When he left the Bolshoi Ballet, she encouraged him, together with Nikolai Anokhine, a soloist from Igor Moiseyev's Folk Dance company, to set up the Imperial Russian Ballet.
The company now has 40 artists from Russia's top ballet schools; Moscow, Saint Petersburg and Prem. It is a member of the European Cultural Centre in Moscow under the patronage of the European Parliament and has toured the world, including a recent performance at the Winter Olympic Games in Turin, Italy.
Taranda is a man who holds firm to his dreams and cannot be conquered either by failings of his own body or any external adversities.
I
I always wanted to be a professional sportsman (when I was a child) and I used to compete in basketball, athletics, judo, karate and football. Nowadays, sport is coming together with ballet and I am currently working on a project starring (Russian gymnasts and) Olympic gold medallists Alina Kabayeva, Irina Chaschina and Lyasan Utyasheva.
Because I started in sport, I like the idea of linking sport and ballet. They use many of the same skills; it could be interesting for both disciplines.
I had some amazing ups and downs when I worked for the Bolshoi Ballet. I was really lucky because usually big ballets are kept for the major stars, but I started working as a soloist almost immediately, despite the fact that I had just come from studying at the Moscow Ballet School.
I put my success down to good teachers and dedication. I practised 10 hours
a day to become a great dancer. In order to become a star, it's not enough to just have the talent. You have to work very hard at it.
I felt a great sense of freedom when I left the Bolshoi Ballet, but after a while I realised that I now have a big responsibility. I have a troupe of 40 dancers dependent on me and I have to look after their material well-being and also the development of their art. So I laugh a little when I remember that I thought I would be free!
Me
Me and the early days:
My father, Leonas, is from Lithuania and my Cossack mother, Galina, is from Voronezh (a city in southwest Russia).
I was born in Kaliningrad and grew up in Voronezh. My father and his father before him were in the army so it was always expected that I, as the eldest son, would also go into the army. In fact my father was later to die while serving with the army in the Czech Republic in 1980.
I have three brothers. Constantin lives in the United States, Dmitri lives in Portugal and my younger brother, Vitautas, works with me in the Imperial Russian Ballet as a choreographer and director. He's also a dancer. We just recently toured China and he got ill on the flight back so I insisted he stay in Russia while we came to Dubai.
I got into ballet by chance. When I was about 14, my friends were at ballet school and used to get free cinema tickets, so I thought I would join up so as not to pay either! But when I saw the hall, the lights, and especially the girls, I never wanted to leave ballet. I have to say that the ballerinas were a big incentive for me to join ballet.
My parents were against me joining the ballet and there was no history of it in our family. However, my grandfather had once attended a ballet performed by the famous ballerina, Galina Ulanova.
He wasn't shy and invited her to dance after she had performed. So when I expressed an interest in ballet, he said that her hand had touched our family and he told my parents that I should be allowed to go ahead with it.
Me and the ballet bug:
From the beginning, without knowing exactly why, I knew I wanted to make a life in ballet. I attended the State Academic Voronezh Ballet School from 1974 to 1978. In 1976, I was the youngest dancer to win a bronze medal at the All Union Competition of Ballet Artists and Choreographers.
I couldn't believe it.
To reward me, my coach gave me a ticket for the Bolshoi Ballet (which was very hard to get at the time). I had a seat at the back and when I sat down all I could see were lights. But when the curtains opened on the ballet Spartacus, I was absolutely dumbstruck by the beauty of it.
After that, I knew I had to train in Moscow. So when I finished my training in Voronezh, I just got on a train to Moscow. Without an appointment, I went to see the director of the Moscow Ballet School.
I knocked on his door and told him, "I'm a very good dancer and I want to study at your school. I'm ready to work 12 hours a day. If you don't accept me now, I will come again next year and the following year until you accept me."
After an exam, they accepted me and from 1978 to 1980, I trained at the State Academic Moscow Ballet School. They were some of the best years of my life. We had fantastic teachers, perhaps the best in the world. We had great accommodation for students, and lots of sports facilities.
I joined the Bolshoi Ballet straight afterwards and stayed with them until 1993. My first big role was in The Golden Age in 1984 when I created the role of Yashka.
I became a big star after that, which was lucky, since (at 23) I was still young. I also won a number of prizes around that time, including awards from the All Union Competition of Ballet Artists and Choreographers in 1978, 1980 and 1984.
However, I suffered a lot of restrictions under the regime and was prohibited from travelling for many years. After 1993, I could not work with the Bolshoi Ballet any more and set up the Imperial Russian Ballet, together with Nikolai Anokhine.
I became artistic director and was able to bring on board friends who were dancers at the Bolshoi and Kirov ballets. Maija Plisetskaya, encouraged us and we performed at her 50th anniversary on stage in 1994 and afterwards accompanied her on a tour of Japan.
We went on to perform a wide range of ballets, including Sleeping Beauty, Raymonda, Nutcracker, Bolero, Romeo and Juliet and Swan Lake.
I continued dancing, while also working as a choreographer and producer. Although Moscow is our official home, the ballet spends most of its time on tour around the world. We recently performed at the Winter Olympics in Turin.
I also acted as a motivational coach for the Russian team in Turin and, earlier, in Athens in 2004. We've danced at a number of international gala events, including an annual appearance at Finland's Festival of Dance. Whether I am dancing or directing, I love ballet and I never want to leave this world.
Myself
Russians are famous for their contributions to the arts, including literature, ballet and music. Is there something unique about the Russian mind that helps it create great art, or do Russians feel things more deeply than any other nationality?
It's true that Russians are rather emotional and we also have very strong characters. As a people, we are very romantic and poetic. Every Russian man knows how to treat a woman properly, perhaps because he has this poetic Russian style and character. And there's no denying that Russians make the best ballet dancers!
Why are so many great ballet dancers Russian?
Under the Soviets, Russians could not talk openly but they could show their feelings through art and we know how to express ourselves through dancing.
Why did you choose to include 'Imperial' in your company's name?
We chose this name because we cherish the heritage of the Ballets Russes (one of the most influential ballet companies ever, established by the Russian Serge Diaghilev in Paris in 1909) and our company performs its original repertoire.
For many years you were prevented from touring but now you've been travelling around the world for over a decade. Haven't you got tired of it yet?
Not at all. I like travelling because I see the people and their countries - Germany, France, Italy, China, Japan Brazil and so many more. Sometimes my wife performs in the ballet and if the climate is good, we bring our little daughter with us - but no, we haven't brought her to Dubai this time!
Do you always get what you want?
Yes, but not always right from the beginning. My problem is I like to get things fast. While I've learnt to sometimes be calm and wait for things, I know that if something is worth fighting for, you have to fight until the last breath (is left) in your body.
