Dowell: what I'd like to

When five dancers made a dramatic exit from the Royal Ballet the company was thrown into chaos.

Artistic director Sir Anthony Dowell says he'd like to throttle his critics, while star turn Tetsuya Kumakawa, leader of the rebels, hits back ACCORDING to recent Press reports, there are so many nails in the coffin of Sir Anthony Dowell, artistic director of the Royal Ballet, that there is hardly room for a corpse.

Since the closure of the Royal Opera House for a GBP 274 million refit in July last year, the iron-mongery has thudded in relentlessly. Dowell is blamed for high ticket prices and low audiences, for lack of artistic vision and an overemphasis on youth, for too many classics yet too much modern dance, and for being lily- liv-ered about backing his dancers against the tyrants on the board. Then bingo - Tetsuya "Teddy" Kumakawa, the Royal Ballet's scintillating virtuoso star, walked out without a backward glance to set up a company in Japan, and five senior male dancers gave notice to quit to join him. Final proof, the experts gloat, that Dowell is not only incapable of holding his company together but has lost it altogether. According to Dowell, life is not so simple. A week ago last Friday, an agreement was signed between the management of the Royal Opera House and the dancers of the Royal Ballet. After months of acrimonious, often bitter wrangling, the management has imposed its vigorously resisted economies on the dancers' working practices. In return, the dancers, unlike their unfortunate colleagues in the Opera Company, have won finan- cial viability to keep dancing until Covent Garden reopens in December 1999 and a guarantee of full employment when it does. So will the critical onslaught on Dowell let up? Does he care? "During these past months of conflict and uncertainty," he says, with none of his customary recoil from a straight question, "I have tried to explain to my dancers that if the Press really feels it's wrong keeping the company alive to move into the new house, and in the interim survive financially by performing a safe repertoire, that's their right. But if the Press wants to contribute realistically to t h e debate it must deal with the inconvenient facts of life here, as I do. Is it aware,for instance, that I was asked to save money by sacking 12 dancers? Merely throwing accusations at me and ignoring the fact that we are in difficult financial times achieves nothing. "It's the destructiveness that really riles me about some of the things written recently, when real damage seems the sole intent. "Maybe it's the critics who are tired of their subject and should move on," suggests Dowell, "because they seem unaware that the big classics actually keep dancers in shape, they're still the most difficult to do. I don't believe the quality of dancers the Royal Ballet produces can be created any other way. And at the moment the bottom line is money and most of the public prefer to pay to see Swan Lake or Sleeping Beauty." When the Royal Ballet was founded, as the Vic-Wells Ballet by Ninette de Valois in 1930, it was on a mixed repertoire of classical and contemporary works. London-born Dowell, 55, has been in the Royal Ballet system since he was 10. As well as earning a distinguished international reputation, his dancing partnership with ballerina Antoinette Sibley was a brilliant homegrown counterpoint to Margot Fonteyn and Rudolf Nureyev in the Sixties and Seventies. "This company is my bloodline," he says. "I have grown up here." How does he feel about accusations that his caring stance has been so low in profile as to seem non-existent? "So," he replies after a long, deep breath, "I suppose my trump card should have been to threaten resignation? That would not have been my way to support my company. What I did do was lobby the powers that be at every opportunity behind the scenes. Table thumping is not my scene and if for some people headlines mean more than results - too bad." Under the circumstances, however, Dowell could be excused if the words rats and sinkingships passed through his mind when faced with the defecting dancers. Kumakwa, Stuart Cassidy, William Trevitt, Michael Nunn, Gary Avis and Matthew Dibble resigned when the company's very existence was in doubt. "The past months' stress and turmoil have frayed all our nerves," is all he will say in criticism of their action. "They've got a marvellous offer with huge money - I couldn't compete. Maybe moving into a smaller pond will help their careers. A dancer's life is short, but they're taking a gamble." UNLIKE many men under duress, Dowell has refrained from taking up stamp-collecting, train spotting or similar practices to relieve the stress of the past embattled months. "I switch off when switch on the television," he explains, a dedicated couch potato. "I can watch anything. "I also own two densely coated chow dogs who require a lot of heavy therapeutic grooming. The poor things are currently almost bald." But on a personal level, Dowell dissipates the rage he feels at what he describes as "a crescendo" of criticism with a favourite fantasy: "First about what I would like to say to each of my critics, then, if they're small enough, kicking them into the street and, finally, the ultimate revenge - a glorious bloodbath." Dowell has been director of the Royal Ballet longer than any of his predecessors except the company founder, Ninette de Valois. And though he knew he would become a natural sniper's target when he took the job, he is concerned about the effects on the dancers of what he sees as the recent onslaught. "What the critics overlook," says Dowell, "is our core loyal audience. It's there and it's growing and it wants to see us dance. The number of appreciative and affectionate letters we receive from the public, the people who actually pay to see a performance, are a very potent boost to our morale. "In the time I have been here I have seen the company's talent develop and the productions improve. The dancers are dancing well and have continued to do so during closure. Had they not done so, I would have seriously questioned whether I should still be behind that desk. This job only means something when you get a feeling back from the dancers, and their positive reaction to events, and me, proved I must be doing something right. "As for the doubts expressed about my lack of ability to battle, well, we haven't gone down the tubes, have we. And believe me, we were very, very close."

Copyright 1998
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