Although I knew deterioration had set in with the old de Basil company—so much so that it had been one of the salient reasons for the formation of the new Monte Carlo Ballet Russe, quite apart from the recurring personality clashes—I was now faced with a deterioration in the latter company, one that had occurred earlier in its history and that was moving more swiftly: a galloping deterioration. As I watched the Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo company performances, I was acutely conscious not only of this, but I saw disruption actively at work. The dancers themselves were no longer interested. They day-dreamed of Broadway musicals; they night-dreamed of the hills of Hollywood and film contracts. Some were wistfully thinking in terms of their own little concert groups. The structure was, to say the least, shaky.
From the reports that reached me of the Original company’s success and re-establishment in Australia, I sensed the possibility (and the hope) that a rejuvenation had taken place. Apart from that, there had been new works added to the repertoire, works I was eager to see and which I felt would give the American ballet-goer a fresh interest, for that important individual had every right to be a bit jaded with things as they were.
Since I had taken the precaution to have the “exclusivity” clause removed from my Universal Art contract, I was free to experiment. I therefore arranged to bring de Basil and his Original Ballet Russe to America from Australia. They arrived on the Pacific Coast, and we played an engagement in Los Angeles, another in Chicago, yet another in Canada. Then I brought them to New York.
This was a season when the Metropolitan Opera House was not available for ballet performances. Therefore, I took the Hollywood Theatre, on Broadway, today rechristened the Mark Hellinger.
I opened the season with a four weeks’ engagement of the Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo, followed immediately by the Original Ballet Russe, making a consecutive period of about fifteen weeks of ballet at one house, setting up a record of some sort for continuous ballet performances on Broadway.
Christmas intervened, and, following my usual custom, I gave a large party at Sherry’s in honor of Mrs. Hurok’s birthday, which occurs on the 25th December, at which were gathered the entire personnel of the company, together with Katherine Dunham, Argentinita, and other distinguished guests.
If I should be asked why I again allied myself with the “Colonel,” I already have given a partial answer. There was a sentimental reason, too. It was a case of “first love.” I wanted to go back to that early love, to try to recapture some of the old feeling, the former rapture. I should have realized that one does not go back, that one of the near impossibilities of life is to recapture the old thrill. Those who can are among the earth’s most fortunate.
This ten-week season was expensive. The pleasure of trying to recapture cost me $70,000 in losses.
There were, however, compensations: there was the unending circus of “Mutt and Jeff,” the four-feet-seven “Sasha” Philipoff and the six-feet-two “Colonel.”
There was a repertoire that interested me. It was a pleasure once again to luxuriate in the splendors of Le Coq d’Or, although the investiture had become a shade or two tarnished from too much travel and too little touching-up. It was refreshing to see Baronova and Toumanova in brisk competition again in the same company, for the latter had already become one of the Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo defections.