To produce a version of Stravinsky's The Rite of Spring at the age of ninety is so unlikely a prospect that Martha Graham's life has taken on an aspect of her work—triumph wrested against odds, whether of time or fate. Graham seems more and more like her chosen heroines, more like Emily Dickinson and Emily Brontë, of course, than like Clytemnestra, Medea, Joan of Arc, or Jocasta, yet they are all women transfigured by extraordinary experience. Graham's drama consists of turning despair into psychological release, the worst blows life can muster into mastery, whether over the self or in art. The Rite of Spring provides no opportunity for the dramatization of triumph; a human sacrifice and a primitive ordeal of renewal, it is communal, not heroic, and though it has a central figure, the Chosen One, her choice is random and she is not of the slightest psychological interest. The only questions are: how she is going to be killed, and how quickly.
Review, 2063 words
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