NEWSWEEK: When did you know you were a choreographer?
Mark Morris: Well, I was making up dances–actual ones that were performed–when I was 12. But it was not until I made up this dance called “Barstow” when I was 15 that I knew I was good. And at my first show in New York at the Cunningham Studio in 1980, “Barstow” was on the program. I really just made it up without any modern dance training.
You are frequently called a musical choreographer, someone who really digs into a score, bringing to mind George Balanchine.
Speaking of the devil, here’s a Balanchine quote: “Choreography can only be the result of music.” And that’s true for me. But it doesn’t have to be. Merce [Cunningham] does it a different way. But I like music. That’s why I choreograph. It’s not ‘cause I like dancing. Dancing is fine, but it’s not that big a deal.
So how do you work with the music?
Here’s another Balanchine quote: “Music is structure. It is not just melody, not just rhythm. It is something that occupies architecturally a certain position of time.” That’s brilliant! That’s Balanchine quoting me [laughs]. Actually, I never met him, isn’t that funny? Well, what I do is I find a piece that I love, and listen to it many, many times. Then I study the score with the music. Then I drop the music and just study the score. Then I drop the score. I learn as much as I possibly can, and then from there I go into the studio and say, “Go like this,” and then the dancers do it. Really. That’s what I do. During the first week of rehearsal on a new dance, I make up moves to specific melodic areas of the piece or rhythmic figures. I make stuff up–I do anything to make something happen, and I manipulate it the way one does any kind of editorial approach to music or writing or painting. The difference is that these dancers–unlike musicians and actors who always have something they can refer to–must memorize everything very, very well.
The last full-length ballet you created was “The Hard Nut,” your inventive, nutty riff on “The Nutcracker.” You are now tackling another warhorse of 19th century, “Sylvia,” with music by Leo Delibes. Why did you pick this piece, and what will you do with it?
I was asked to do a full-length ballet by Helgi Tomasson, artistic director of the San Franciso Ballet, and I like that company. Then I found this “Sylvia” score, which is far, far superior to “Coppelia” in my opinion. In fact, I think it is one of the greatest ballet scores ever written! Tchaikovsky thought so, too. The piece is from 1876 and features an early use of the saxophone, which I love. It’s a story that scares off people because it’s Arcadian Renaissance faux-classical mythology. There’s Eros, Diana, Orion and huntsmen. There’s Sylvia, one of the nymphs of Diana, and the shepherd who falls in love with her. You know, it’s one of those. But there are no dead virgins in it–the women triumph in this ballet. It’s not about coyness and flirtation. It’s about power and self-reliance. Since it’s a ballet, I work on point, since that’s what ballet companies do. I don’t have them rolling around on the floor–they’d end up looking stupid and hurt themselves.
Are you going to continue to perform in your own dances?
Not much longer. I do an occasional something. I like to perform, and I’m good–I can dance better than anybody! And if you think I’m too old and fat, then wait in the lobby. You can skip that part. But if we were in Samoa, people would pay more if I were old and fat.
