From Puppets to Sacrifice: A Night of Stravinsky
April 5th, 2025: Premiere of Stravinsky´s Petrushka and The Rite of Spring in SĽUK Theatre, with the Slovak national folk dance ensemble (SĽUK) Bratislava
Reflections by Dr. Simona Noja-Nebyla, in creative dialogue with Boris Nebyla
SĽUK (Slovenský ľudový umelecký kolektív)
We had the privilege of attending the premiere of Stravinsky’s Petrushka and The Rite of Spring at the SĽUK Theatre in Bratislava, danced by the SĽUK (Slovenský ľudový umelecký kolektív), the Slovak national folk dance ensemble. Founded in 1949, SĽUK became the most prominent professional Slovak folk ensemble, with the mission to preserve, interpret, and evolve Slovak folk traditions, especially through dance, music, costume, and storytelling. While rooted in traditional folk culture, SĽUK has, over time, broadened its artistic language—sometimes incorporating contemporary, theatrical, or even ballet elements into its productions. Primarily a national folk dance company, it is also known for pushing creative boundaries, which makes it especially noteworthy when it stages works like Petrushka or The Rite of Spring—works that are not part of the traditional folk canon but can be reimagined through its unique lens.
A collaboration between a professor and his former disciple
In a less conventional interpretation of choreography, we witnessed a collaboration between a professor (Igor Holováč, choreographer of Petrushka) and his former disciple (Hana Vidová, choreographer of The Rite of Spring). This performance not only showcased two dance pieces that redefined 20th-century music and dance (the original production was done by Stravinsky, Fokine, and Benois for Sergei Diaghilev’s Ballets Russes in Paris in 1911) but also posed a 21st-century challenge to education and artistry.
"Everyone hears only what they understand”
Using Goethe's insight—that "everyone hears only what they understand"—we dare to affirm that all the creators and co-creators of the evening infused their work with deep thought and emotion, bringing to the stage unique, often hidden aspects of the human soul. The strongest impressions that echoed after the curtain fell were rich and multilayered: artistic messages about how pagan rites still resonate with us today through music and movement; a demonstration of education as a collaborative process between teaching and learning, highlighting the subtle bond between what the teacher intends and what the student understands; the innovative use of ballet language to expand the repertory of traditional dance companies; the creation of exemplary productions where dance takes a central role—within realistic budgetary constraints; and the nurturing of local talent to develop an individual choreographic voice through interpretations of universal cultural themes.
Petrushka, in the choreography of Igor Holováč
The first ballet of the evening, Petrushka, in the choreography of Igor Holováč, “tells the story of three puppets with human hearts, brought to life by a puppeteer (magician) during a carnival fair in St. Petersburg. Petrushka (a half-comic, half-tragic character) falls in love with the Ballerina, but loses the duel for her to the stronger Moor. The original story of the three puppets carries a deep, still-relevant message. Currently, the theme of manipulation is added: anyone can become a puppet in the hands of a manipulator, but anyone can also become a manipulator."
Petrushka is a rich character, layered with symbolic and archetypal meaning—both comic and tragic—ridiculed yet capable of deep feeling. He can be seen as a tragic clown or as a holy fool, a figure dismissed and eventually underestimated, yet capable of carrying deep emotional truth and moral insight. Kristián Sorokáč, as Petrushka, evokes empathy through his suffering and authenticity despite being "just" a puppet. He also conveys the aspect of the rebel, the one who doesn't fit into the societal mold and resists imposed roles and limitations, a soul trapped in a body that isn't truly his—fighting against control, even unto death. Kristián Sorokáč helps us envision that Petrushka can feel, love, and suffer, raising the question: if a puppet can surpass its mechanical role, why should a human being not be able to do so as well?
The Ballerina in Petrushka is also a compelling character that fits into specific archetypes. She plays a pivotal role in the emotional and narrative arc of the ballet, and like Petrushka, her role can be interpreted through different lenses. While the Ballerina does not act with malicious intent, her beauty and affection (which is initially directed at Petrushka but quickly shifts to the Moor) serve as catalysts for the tragic events that unfold. She represents an ideal of love that is unattainable for Petrushka, and her shifting affections are a driving force in his emotional turmoil and ultimate destruction. Sofia Bendovská portrays the role more as an innocent being than a muse. She is the object of Petrushka's (and the Moor's) desires. To both of them, she represents an idealized form of beauty and love, a passive symbol of what they both long for but cannot have. She is not malicious, but her behavior and romantic choices ignite the conflict between Petrushka and the Moor. In many ways, she remains unaware of the intensity of Petrushka's feelings or the larger tragedy playing out around her, a quality well-transmitted by Sofia Bendovská. As a "puppet of desire," she embodies the symbol of how individuals can be caught in societal or emotional forces beyond their control—almost as if she is a puppet in the drama too, playing a part without realizing the full impact of her actions on the other characters.
The Moor, interpreted by Dominik Lukáč, plays the role of the antagonist who overpowers or mocks Petrushka, often making the hero appear weak or foolish. The Moor is the object of Petrushka's jealousy and fury. He embodies the tyrannical force that defeats Petrushka's emotional desires, a role strongly underlined by Dominik Lukáč. While Petrushka fights for love, the Moor represents the harsh, unforgiving reality that crushes those who are weaker or less favored by fate. As the antagonist in the love triangle, the Moor becomes a symbol of the darker, more primal aspects of human nature: aggression, rivalry, and unrelenting passion, serving as the shadow to Petrushka’s character. While Petrushka is the emotional, spiritual figure, the Moor represents the raw, unfiltered aggression and desire that Petrushka cannot express. The Moor's primal instincts and physicality highlight what is repressed or denied in Petrushka’s nature—his inability to confront or act on his desires with force.
The Magician in Petrushka is the one who brings the puppets (Petrushka, the Ballerina, and the Moor) to life and sets them into motion. Vladimir Erištik's role as Magician is to direct their actions and fate, though they are unaware of their true nature. He manages to create a world in which the tragedy unfolds, controlling the interactions between the characters, yet remaining detached from the emotional turmoil he sets in motion. He is the master of manipulation, whose actions shape the destinies of those he controls. While his role is crucial to the performance, he remains a distant figure, an observer, much like a trickster who watches the consequences of his actions unfold without engaging directly in the drama. Like a deity, he has control over their fates, yet he is also detached and uninterested in their emotional experiences. His indifference to the suffering and emotional complexity of his creations brings out a deeper, darker layer to his role in the story, making us aware of often invisible forces that shape our lives—forces that can either guide or trap us.
The sets and costumes designed by Peter Čanecký echo Benois’s original concept of merging Russian folk tradition with emotional symbolism. However, instead of the vibrant, bustling chaos of the Shrovetide Fair in St. Petersburg—an emblem of early 20th-century modernism—we are immersed in a metamodern “structure of feeling” that oscillates between tradition and innovation. In this reinterpretation, chairs become stepping stones in the characters’ journeys as well as lethal weapons, transforming everyday objects into symbolic extensions of conflict and transformation.
This aesthetic re-engages us with the meaning and authenticity of the story while maintaining a quiet self-awareness of the contemporary world. The Ballerina’s white tutu evokes memories of Romantic ballet, a nod to classical purity, while Petrushka’s comical trousers and iconic floppy, drooping cap—a hallmark of the tragic clown—enhance his pitiful, endearing presence, as if even his costume bears the weight of his sorrow. The well-composed black attire of the Magician resonated with the dark outfits of the women and men at the Shrovetide Fair, creating a striking contrast with the Moor’s brightly colored costume—the only one that seemed to be rooted in a distant past.
The dramaturgy of Petrushka, signed by Eva Gajdošová, played a pivotal role in shaping the emotional and narrative depth of the ballet. The careful blending of folk tradition with psychological complexity guided the audience through a journey that felt both timeless and strikingly modern. The dramaturgical choices not only highlighted the contrast between the external vibrancy of the carnival and the internal despair of the puppet characters but also crafted a dialogue between tradition and innovation. Through symbolic set design, expressive choreography, and subtle visual cues, the dramaturgy invited us to experience Petrushka's internal conflict, making the puppet's struggles deeply human and relatable. In doing so, it elevated the ballet into a reflective exploration of love, rejection, and the search for meaning—an emotional experience that speaks to us in the present, even as it echoes the past.
The Rite of Spring conceived as a ballet from the beginning—a radical, groundbreaking one
The Rite of Spring had its premiere in 1913 (music: Igor Stravinsky, choreography: Vaslav Nijinsky, scenario: Stravinsky and Nicholas Roerich) and was an original production for Ballets Russes in Théâtre des Champs-Élysées, Paris. The Rite was conceived as a ballet from the beginning—a radical, groundbreaking one. It depicted pagan rituals, culminating in the sacrificial dance of a chosen maiden. Stravinsky’s rhythmic complexity and Nijinsky’s revolutionary choreography made it one of the most shocking and influential dance premieres in history.
The Rite of Spring in the choreography of Hana Vidová
The Rite of Spring, in the choreography of Hana Vidová, is a testimony of the choreographic courage of carrying the fire from the past to redefine the future.
“Igor Stravinsky drew the theme for his work from the mythology of the period in which pagan rites dominated Russian life. Every year, spring was ritually redeemed by a human life, and only in this way, according to superstition, could the fertility of earth be restored after winter. The content of the ballet is the pagan perception of the awakening of nature after winter sleep and the revival of human life thanks to the sacrifice of a chosen being. The old Seers sit in a semicircle and watch the dance of death of a young girl, whom they sacrificed to the god of spring to gain his favor. In this adaptation, however, her older sister takes fate into her own hands - she decides to sacrifice instead of her. This act transforms the story into a drama about the power of sisterly love, about choice and about who ultimately bears the burden of sacrifice.”
The Rite of Spring in the version of Hana Vidová is explicitly inspired by pagan rituals, particularly the idea of a sacrificial rite to ensure the renewal of the earth in springtime. Her choreography taps into themes that remain powerful today, such as the embodied ritual, where the dancers' movements are grounded, percussive, and communal—evoking ancient tribal dances: joy combined with danger, fear combined with sacrifice. Even if we may not perform these rites today, we recognize their power, feel the pulse, the collective emotional force in the dance, as if recalling something stored deep in the collective unconscious. The theme of the Chosen One sacrificing herself is archetypal. It echoes timeless questions: What must we give up for change to occur? What is the cost of survival or progress? These questions still matter, even if we no longer hold literal sacrificial ceremonies. How do we reconnect with natural rhythms in an over-technologized world?
How do pagan rites still resonate with us today through music and movement?
Even though these ballets were created in the early 20th century, they still speak to us because they touch on archetypal experiences: love, power, sacrifice, fate, community, death, and the yearning for transcendence. Petrushka’s ghost appearing at the end—mocking or mourning—evokes the idea that the spirit lives on, that emotional truth cannot be killed. This recalls ancient beliefs in the soul's immortality and the thin veil between the worlds during festival times.
The premiere of Stravinsky´s Petruska and The Rite of Spring in Sluk Theatre, Bratislava, stirred something deeper in us and reminded us that beneath our modern lives, these old rites still pulse within all of us. Do we understand them well enough so that we can “hear” them properly? Or do we “hear” them before we even try to understand?
What is a demonstration of education as a collaborative process between teaching and learning, highlighting the subtle bond between what the teacher intends and what the student understands?
A demonstration of education as a collaborative process between teaching and learning highlights that teaching is not a one-way transfer of knowledge but a shared, dynamic exchange. The teacher offers knowledge, guidance, and inspiration, but how it is received, interpreted, and embodied by the student depends on many factors: individual experience, sensitivity, creativity, and interpretation. The “subtle bond” refers to this invisible thread that connects intention and reception—what the teacher hopes to convey and how the student understands and transforms it. In the context of choreography and dance, this bond becomes visible and poetic: a professor (like Igor Holováč with Petrushka) may create with certain meanings and intentions in mind, grounded in tradition or his philosophy. A disciple (like Hana Vidová with The Rite of Spring) takes those teachings and builds upon them—adding her vision, adapting it to new contexts, perhaps challenging or reinterpreting it.
The performance becomes a living manifestation of this process. It shows how knowledge evolves when passed on. It honors the mentor’s foundation while also giving space for the student’s originality. It affirms that true education is not replication but interpretation and transformation. In this performance, the dialogue between Igor Holováč and Vidová’s works—subtle, respectful, and distinct—illustrates that learning is not about becoming a copy but a continuation. It’s a beautiful testament to how education lives through mutual trust, layered understanding, and artistic courage.
Both Petrushka and The Rite of Spring exemplify how the classical ballet language can be used not as a limitation, but as a flexible and expressive tool to enrich the artistic range of traditional dance companies.
In Petrushka, Igor Holováč infused the classical structure with character-driven movement, drawing from expressive ballet technique while integrating elements of mime and stylized folk gestures. His approach respected the roots of the traditional ballet idiom while expanding it to embrace storytelling that touches on modern themes like identity, manipulation, and resistance. The result was a fresh interpretation that felt both familiar and newly relevant.
In The Rite of Spring, Hana Vidová pushed the movement vocabulary further, blending academic ballet precision with raw, grounded physicality more commonly found in contemporary or even ritual-based dance forms. By doing so, she challenged both the dancers and the audience to experience ballet as something visceral, collective, and elemental—in perfect resonance with Stravinsky’s primal score. Her work expanded the notion of what ballet companies can perform, moving beyond classical narratives to include existential, ritualistic, and emotionally intense content.
Nurturing local talent
This production revealed how the innovative use of dance language can serve as both a bridge to tradition and a path toward evolution—expanding the expressive repertory of traditional dance companies, including the classical ballet education roots of their dancers. At the same time, it demonstrated the importance of nurturing local talent, providing space for emerging choreographers to develop their artistic voices. Igor Holováč’s and Hana Vidová’s works, while distinct, both drew from universal cultural themes—love, sacrifice, identity, transformation—and translated them into deeply personal choreographic interpretations. In doing so, they showed they could articulate their unique perspectives shaped by both mentorship and cultural inheritance. This creative dialogue between tradition and innovation affirms the power of education, collaboration, and local authorship in shaping a vibrant, future-facing dance landscape. Together, the two choreographies demonstrated how traditional dance companies can evolve, not by abandoning their roots but by reinterpreting them—transforming inherited forms into powerful vehicles for present-day expression.
The cast: April 5th, 2025
Petrushka
Set and costumes: Peter Čanecký
Dramaturgy: Eva Gajdošová
Lighting design: Igor Holováč
Choreography and direction: Igor Holováč
Petruska: Kristián Sorokáč
Magician: Vladimir Erištik
Ballerina: Sofia Benkovská
Maur: Dominik Lukáč
Ladies: Dorota Bystrianska
Lenka Gondová
Ema Jirku
Kristýna Krepelková
Gentlemen:
Matús Kotul'ak
Matej Oskera
The Rite of Spring
Choreography and direction: Hana Vidová
Lighting design: Hana Vidová
Saman: Kristián Sorokáč
Sacrifice: Viktória Purdeková
Sister: Zuzana Demcáková
Friend: Dominik Lukáč
Ladies:
Kristína Bazányová
Kristína Cicáková
Lucia Halamová
Veronika Lenártová
Pavlína Sojáková
Gentlemen:
Samuel Matas
Jakub Serence
Adrián Skácel
Adam Sobol
Matej Oskera
Amintindu-mi-l pe Béla Karoly sau despre gimnastica de performanță și înțelegerea depășirii de sine
În toamna târzie a lui 1977, la un concurs național de gimnastică, antrenorul Echipei olimpice de gimnastică sportivă a României, nimeni altul decât Béla Károlyi, antrenorul Nadiei Comăneci, în căutare de talente, m-a remarcat în concursul de la sol, unde, uitând coregrafia, am improvizat toată evoluția. Cu atât mai mare a fost surpriza mea, când am aflat că în urma concursului au fost selecționate doar două gimnaste să intre în Echipa olimpică de la Onești. Una dintre ele eram eu. Aveam 9 ani.
Cantonamentul de două săptămâni la Oradea în ianuarie 1978 cu echipa olimpică, din care între timp Nadia Comăneci plecase, urmat de călătoria la București, de stagiul de la Onești și perioada de tranziție a întregii echipe la Deva în Transilvania, la noul centru specializat de antrenament sportiv, sunt primele mele întâlniri cu marea performanță.
Aveam două antrenamente pe zi: între orele 8-11 și după amiaza între orele 17-20. Între timp luam masa de amiază și aveam scoală. Cred că eram în totalitate nu mai mult de 10 gimnaste, care ne antrenam cu Béla Károly, cu soția lui, Márta Károlyi și profesorul de dans, Geza Pozsar. Aveam un medic specializat și o guvernantă. Prietena mea era Lelia Cristina Itu, gimnastă și ea, mai mare decât mine, tot din Cluj.
Pentru cei dinafară sportului de performanță, a te antrena 6 ore pe zi, a te cântari săptămânal și a-ți dedica în întregime timpul în ceea ce crezi înseamnă sacrificiu. Pentru mine, copilul de atunci a fost pasiune și bucurie, stare sufletească pe care din fericire am trăit-o apoi și ca adult.
Desigur că nu au fost doar momente fericite. Într-o după-amiază trebuia să execut un salt complicat pe bârnă, aparatul preferat al Mártei Károlyi și i-am mărturisit că îmi era frică. Mi-a spus să fac genoflexiuni în locul exercițiului. Am făcut. Am ajuns la 1000 de repetiții când mi-a dat voie să mă opresc. În mod ciudat, nu am avut nicio febră musculară. Doar la discuția telefonică cu părinții mei, aflând vestea pe care le-am dat-o cu seninătate, amândoi au intrat în panică. Ei mă vedeau încă foarte fragilă… Bănuiam eu că ceva era poate ușor exagerat… dar nu știam cu exactitate dacă era de bine sau de rău…
Am ales să cred că era de bine. Mă gândeam că experiența îmi va servi cândva. Așteptam cu nerăbdare viitorul...
Aventura mea în Lotul olimpic avea să se încheie înainte de olimpiadă. Dincolo de grija părinților mei față de fragilitatea mea, mai era o cauză, ce ținea de concepția lor față de prioritatea pe care cultura generală trebuie să o ocupe în educația copilului lor. Și aici lucrurile nu erau chiar în ordine din punctul lor de vedere. În Lotul olimpic eram fete între clasa a IV și clasa a XII-a, iar cursurile se țineau în același spatiu, în același timp, cu aceeași profesori. Era cert că în Lotul Olimpic performanta gimnasticii sportive devansa performanța intelectuală. Perspectiva de a avea o fiică mai mult sau mai puțin analfabetă, nu intra deloc în planurile familiei Noja.
Era de bine? Era de rău?
Aveam 10 ani. După o carantină provocată de îmbolnăvirea cu rujeola, în care am fost îngrijită de bunica mea maternă, Buna, venită de la Mănăstireni la internatul din Deva special pentru a mă îngriji, zarurile destinului meu au fost aruncate. La începutul verii anului 1978 am fost retrasă cu acordul meu tacit din Lotul olimpic de gimnastică. Și totuși, în adâncul sufletului, credeam că orice șansă de a deveni celebră (doar doream să devin o noua Nadia Comăneci!) mi-a fost spulberată. Dacă nu voi deveni celebră în gimnastica sportivă, în ce direcție mă vă purta oare destinul?
Probabil că atunci s-a născut ideea mea de a deveni bibliotecară. În percepția mea de copil la 10 ani, căruia îi placea să citească, consideram bibliotecarii ca pe niște privilegiați ai sorții. Se află atât de aproape de înțelepciune…O pot atinge cu mâna. Oricând. A medita în liniștea unei biblioteci, a trăi în vecinătatea cărților, departe de tumultul lumii, a citi la liberă alegere texte plină de inspirație și a avea libertatea de a ignora textele “neprietenoase” au fost atunci, și au rămas până în ziua de azi, dorințe profunde.
Contactul meu cu echipa olimpică a fost primul meu pas spre extrema performanță. Trăind prin experiența imediată minunile de care corpul uman este în stare, într-un mediu benefic de stimulație și înțelegere profundă a fenomenului, antrenându-mă cu o echipă competentă de antrenori și medici, alături de alte gimnaste cu aceleași vise și aspirații ca și mine, am înțeles că totul este posibil.
Atunci și acolo am învățat că prin munca asiduă orice piedică poate fi depășită.
Faptul că toți cei trei antenori (Béla, Marta și Gesza) erau în fiecare zi în sală timp de 6 ore, fără cea mai mică urmă de oboseală sau plictiseală, faptul că în timpul său liber medicul echipei alegea să opereze pacienți în spital pentru a nu-i lasă să moară, au devenit etaloane de înaltă moralitate educațională. Acele memorii îndepărtate s-au făcut vizible instantaneu și cu mare exactitate în momentul când am început să devin eu însămi pedagog și mentor și au devenit făclii incandescente, deschizătoare de drumuri, în momentul teoretizării propriei mele experiențe. Chiar dacă profesia de balerin este diferită de cea de gimnast, modele umane de pedagogi avuți în copilărie și pe tot parcursul educațional, m-au influențat profund. Acum, decenii mai târziu, le sunt mai mult decât recunoscătoare tuturor antrenorilor din sport, care conștient sau nu, prin propriul model mi-au format caracterul și gustul mișcării performante.
În cazul meu, prin sport l-am înțeles pe Protagoras și dictonul său conform căruia “Omul este măsura lucrurilor”.
Oricum, gimnastica mi-a dat o rezistență fizica cu urmări benefice pentru condiția de balerină și mi-a sugerat convingerea că performanța începe odată cu concurența ta cu tine însăți, că de fapt, piedicile pe care viață ți le scoate în cale nu sunt decât măsurători oficiale ale unei permanente competiții cu tine însăți.
Și timpul mi-a dat dreptate. Nouă ani mai târziu, în 1987, la debutul meu în rolul principal “Kitri” din baletul “Don Quijote” tempo-ul fouétte-urilor din actul al treilea a fost atât de rar, încât în loc de 32 a trebuit să fac 64 de fouétte-uri. Având experiența celor 1000 de genoflexiuni făcute fără pauză, a te învârti cu viteza și cu o coordonare precisă pe un picior doar de 64 de ori, a fost doar o încercare neprietenoasă. Avusesem o inspirație de bun augur în urmă cu 9 ani să nu mă victimizez.
Performanța începe în momentul în care îți asumi destinul și decizi … fără a ști cu exactitate ce se va întâmpla după.
Acest crez mi s-a confirmat în cadrul aceluiași spectacol, când dirijorul a luat niște decizii stângace. Era o stare de maximă concentrare, o tensiune ridicată, ca de premieră, când în actul al treilea după ce variația mea a dirijat-o mai mult decât dezlânat, partea cea mai spectaculoasă din spectacol, coda cu fouétte-urile a ratat-o grandios cum am amintit mai sus...și cea de-a doua codă a mea, care ar fi trebuit să fie culminația apoteotică a unui pas de deux de mare temperament, în loc de allegro o începuse ca un adagio… Aveam 19 ani, era debutul meu într-un rol de bravură la care lucrasem cu dăruire de-a lungul mai multor luni, sala Operei Naționale Române din Cluj-Napoca plină ochi și eu ...pornisem deja furibund într-un manej de pique-uri...
Sunt momente în existența noastră, unde totul se joacă pe o carte. Diferența între a fi și a nu fi este la distanță de o membrană cum spunea Bainbridge Cohen, inițiatoarea disciplinei somatice numită Body-Mind-Centering… Spațiul devine câmp deschis, imponderabil, timpul se eliberează de ritm, devenind atemporal…. Este momentul în care o secundă poate fi o eternitate (Lewis Caroll)...Este momentul când rațiunea și-a epuizat resursele. Momentul prezent devine doar emoție… un câmp atemporal și aspațial…
În acel moment, îmi place să cred, că mișcarea mea a devenit cuvânt. Cuvânt eliberat de materie, cuvânt care prefera să-și poarte/ înțelesul pe dinafară (Ion Noja). Și l-am strigat din adâncul sufletului în plin manej:TEMPO! A fost cu totul neașteptat. Dirijorul l-a auzit, orchestra l-a auzit, o sală întreagă l-a auzit.,, și a început să aplaude frenetic; și eu, finalizând entuziast spectacolul... eliberată de prejudicii în căutarea adevărului, începeam să înțeleg menirea mea artistică... Nu doar gândul, ci și mișcarea putea deveni cuvânt. Era un început? Era un sfârșit? Era de bine? Era de rău?