Douglas McLennan: October 2003 Archives

Competition and competitions were the spur. "I got outside my own little town and saw so many other kids from all over who were so good—a hundred times better than me—and so excited about what they were doing. That's where I saw what was happening and what was possible." He noticed that several of the most adept kids were pupils of the Kirov Academy in Washington, D.C. He decided that's where he needed to be. Doors open to evident talent; the Kirov Academy gave him a scholarship.

What brought about his conversion from jazz to ballet? "Jazz is raw, edgy, and real. It's a release. And when you get onstage and the audience receives what you're doing, it's so fantastic. Ballet is the opposite; everything you do is about rules. It's harder to get this dance form across to an audience, and there's always something you could do so much better. Those challenges keep me interested. Ballet is very idealized and very glamorous to me. You get onstage and you can just stand and move your arms and everyone knows how you want to be. I love the music. I love the movements. I love doing tricks. I love partnering with a girl—the feeling that you're together with another human being. I love connecting with the audience. I love it all, every part of it."

"I was at the Kirov Academy for two years. It was the best and the worst experience of my whole life." The unremitting rigor of the Russian training system, as he describes it, makes the place sound like a cross between boot camp and a monastery. The social isolation only intensified the pressure. The academy is a boarding school for an international crop of gifted students who have nothing in common but dancing and, it would seem, no space in which to do anything else. "I was totally shocked and totally stressed out. It worked for me, developing me as a dancer, but I saw it not working for others." After a summer of intensive preparation for the Shanghai International Ballet Competition, where he took the silver medal (no gold was awarded), he quit the Kirov program. "I couldn't live without my freedom."

"I went home, took a year off and did a lot of finding myself, went to New York and did jobs here and there—you know, Debbie Allen's shows, stuff like that. Then I got a scholarship to SAB [the School of American Ballet], which I hated even worse than I hated the Kirov Academy, the kids were so unaccepting, the teachers so unmovtivating. I needed to be pushed, I needed to know that ballet was more than just taking class, I needed for someone to care about me. I lasted there about two months."

The lure of competing saved a career that might have been over before it had even began. Tidwell decided to whip himself into shape "for Jackson" [the USA International Ballet Competition in Jackson, Mississippi—these things have fancy names] and copped the silver. Kevin McKenzie, ABT’s artistic director, saw a video of his prize-winning performance and suggested to John Meehan that he offer Tidwell a place in the Studio Company. No audition was required.

Now, toward the end of a year with this springboard group, Tidwell is sure he has found his place. His immediate goal is a slot in the parent company, though he still keeps up his jazz and acting lessons "so that Broadway will be an option if ballet doesn't pan out." Joining the ABT corps, it turns out, is only the first in a series of escalating aims. Call them dreams, if you prefer, but, while Tidwell’s manner is disarmingly modest in talking about them, his focus is precise. When it comes to roles, he hankers after the hero parts, which obviously means attaining high rank on the roster. "I want to do my Swan Lake, my Giselle, my Don Q, my Bayadère. I want to conquer those roles. I'd also like to do Romeo and Juliet. Of course I'd like to learn how to dance Balanchine the right way, but my training has been for those 'big' parts. I also love contemporary stuff. I feel sometimes that I'm better at it than I am at ballet," he adds wistfully.

Stalwartly, he continues, as if, once having confessed to ambition, he can reveal the full extent of his hopes. "I want to choreograph, too. I've made some dances already. Naturally I want to be a principal dancer. Then, when I'm finished dancing"—deep breath before he dares to bring it out—"I'd like to be the artistic director of ABT." He has the grace to pause after this, note my astonished silence, and add, "Well, if not here, then maybe somewhere else."

Meanwhile, he's still young enough in his career to be looking for role models. His choices, keen-eyed and intuitive, suit the kind of dancer he promises to become. "First, Jose Manuel Carreño. He's beautiful. It's the way his muscles work and the way he makes everything look effortless. His dancing is so clean and clear, and yet it's not finished, ever. When he's offstage, you want him to come back, because you don't want him to finish. And he never does; he never stops. When he performs, he's not showing off his talent; no, it's a conversation with the audience. He seems to be saying, 'I'm dancing for you.' This is so comforting and inspiring.

"Then Carlos Acosta. He's a freak of nature. He's so tall and his movement is so huge. He's such a story. When he runs—well, he's just this big, massive man just running and turning and jumping. He defies gravity and he turns more than you'd ever think possible—and he still holds his fifth position perfect. Amazing.

"And Desmond Richardson, especially in his contemporary dancing, which is absolutely brilliant. You should see him in hip-hop class—moving and isolating and just living."

"But the one is Jose Manuel."

Fast Forward

Shortly after our interview last spring, Tidwell’s career took off. The Studio Company toured to Belfast and London, where, according to eyewitness reports and newspaper reviews, the young dancer was a sensation. Back in New York, following performances at the Kaye Playhouse, he was summoned by the parent company to join its ranks, without having to do the customary apprentice stint. Like every newcomer, he learned a slew of corps de ballet roles and, with just a single rehearsal, carried out a soloist assignment—the bravura Neapolitan Dance in Kevin McKenzie's Swan Lake. "He did tremendously well," John Meehan reports, adding dryly, "He has not gone unnoticed by the powers that be." At the same time, Meehan counsels patience. "In a large classical ballet company, you have to learn to wait." And Tidwell himself has grown more temperate—cautious, perhaps—in expressing his hopes for the future. He's still going for the gold but reports, "This is my year for observing." Meanwhile, New York balletomanes will be observing him, in the course of ABT’s upcoming engagement at the City Center, October 22-November 9, which will feature two of his role models, Acosta and Carreño. Every move these heroes make will serve the young dancer as a lesson.

Coda

Will Danny Tidwell be “the one” of his generation? There’s no telling, really. To become and remain a memorable dancer takes staying power, the kind of talent that continues to expand as it rises to ever-increasing challenge, an imagination that refuses to be extinguished by the relentless pressure of the banal—and lavish good luck. Whoever the great ones in the rising generation turn out to be, though, right now they probably look a lot like Danny Tidwell.

Photo credits:

1. Rosalie O'Connor: Danny Tidwell in Le Corsaire

2. Marty Sohl: Portrait of Danny Tidwell

© 2003 Tobi Tobias