I saw the Russian dancer Galina Ulanova perform in person when I was very little, not long before her retirement at the age of fifty. She remains unique among all the dancers I’ve ever seen in person or in video.

Ulanova was not especially beautiful. Nor were her body proportions unusual—no swanlike neck, no long slender limbs, no highly arched feet, and although she was thin her ribcage was a trifle thick. And in the style of her times, she had no freakily high, gymnastic extensions. Nothing in her technique stood out: neither her flexibility nor her jump nor anything else. Everything about her body and her physical skills were somehow average—average, that is, for an excellent ballet dancer.

But technique wasn’t what made Ulanova great, for very very great she was. Very. She was a great actress, but her acting was of an unusual delicacy, although she also had that Russian drama and even, at times, schmaltz. But she never crossed the line into caricature, somehow, always remaining exceptionally natural and fluid. When Ulanova danced, you saw a very real person, and you believed her as that person.

For that reason she was not a great Odette, the Swan Queen, although she danced the role. Not for her was the transformation into the inhuman or the semi-human. The human was her domain, and not even princesses or queens. Her greatest roles were Juliet, and the innocent peasant girl Giselle who is betrayed by her lover Albrecht, a nobleman disguised as a peasant for the day. Giselle discovers his perfidy when Hilarion, a peasant lad who is in (unreciprocated) love with her, reveals it in several ways, most vividly by blowing Albrecht’s horn and calling forth a group of other nobles who proceed to bow to Albrecht and among whom he then takes his place.

Giselle, who despite being a peasant is fragile and delicate (this is a Romantic ballet, after all) with a weak heart, proceeds to go mad with grief. She relives the dance she and Albrecht had done earlier that day, originally a dance of joy but now transformed into one of sorrow and pain. It includes the playful daisy game of “he loves me, he loves me not” that has come to take on a terrible irony.

First, let’s look briefly at the dance they do earlier in the day. This clip is from a movie made when Ulanova was 46, practically geriatric in ballet terms. She is dancing the role of a very young girl, happily in love for the first time. Unfortunately, embedding is disabled for the movie clips, but just clink on this link. A good spot to start watching is at 4:21, and you need only watch for a minute to get the flavor of the dance (including the daisy part), although you’re certainly welcome to watch as much as you care to.

Now compare to Giselle’s “mad” scene from the same movie. Click on the link and start watching at minute 1:32, when Hilarion blows the horn that begins the denouement. Ulanova, in Giselle’s traditional Wedgewood-blue bodice, stands with her back to the camera at that point; that is her mother who is embracing and trying to comfort her. As for Albrecht, he’s still got the black vest and the little black shorts on. Back in those days (this was 1956), tights on men were considered too risque for the Russian ballet stage, and so they had to wear those itty-bitty bloomers. The woman in the elegant white dress whose hand he kisses is his real betrothed, who knows nothing of what he’s done to Giselle (who is his fake betrothed; he has proposed to her, too, earlier in the day). And the necklace that Giselle flings off after becoming aware of his betrayal had been given to her earlier in the day by that same women when Giselle had told her that she, too, was engaged to be married (of course, neither woman knew at the time they were engaged to the same lucky guy).

Enjoy. I think you’ll see what I mean about Ulanova.

Here’s the scene beginning a bit later:

One of Ulanova’s greatest achievements was the fact that she was unafraid of looking ungraceful when the dramatic demands of the part called for it. Sometimes she even deliberately came perilously close to awkward. She was not so concerned with always presenting a pretty picture even in grief.

For example, compare to another Russian Giselle, Bessmertnova. She’s a great dancer as well, but not as great to me in this role because she always remains mannered. You are always aware that she’s “dancing”:

Here’s an even more recent Russian dancer (I suggest you start at minute 1:08):

Those performances by fellow Russians are all considered great, but see how much they resemble each other (and many other dancers as well). Ulanova? Absolutely unique.

Speaking of unique—here is Ulanova at 86, coaching, and playing “show, don’t tell”:

Here is one of Ulanova’s most famous moments, Juliet’s run to Friar Laurence’s cell. Running isn’t easy for ballet dancers; they tend to look very mannered. Ulanova is the best runner in the ballet world, IMHO. It’s a long video, and if you want to cut to the chase (as it were) go to minute 4:23 for the run: