When Staatsballett Berlin brought Nureyev to the Deutsche Oper Berlin, it was much more than the arrival of a celebrated ballet outside Russia for the first time. It was a reclamation of an artist whose life and identity remain inseparable from the history of twentieth-century dance. Kirill Serebrennikov’s production, with choreography by Yuri Possokhov, avoids the conventions of a straightforward biography. Instead, it presents fragments of memory—an auction of possessions, moments of triumph and solitude, love and exile—assembling a portrait of Rudolf Nureyev that is both intimate and monumental.
Among the cast, Martin ten Kortenaar delivered a remarkable performance in the title role. Rather than imitating Nureyev’s famous mannerisms or overwhelming the audience with virtuosity alone, he found something rarer: lightness. His Nureyev seemed almost to float across the stage, combining crystalline classical technique with an unaffected elegance that never appeared forced. There was a natural nobility in his movement, an ease that made even the most demanding choreography appear inevitable.
This approach proved especially convincing because Nureyev himself was celebrated not only for astonishing athleticism but also for his extraordinary musicality, refinement, and presence. Ten Kortenaar’s interpretation captured these qualities without descending into caricature. His portrait was lyrical rather than demonstrative, allowing the audience to discover the man behind the legend.
The production itself deserves equal praise. Serebrennikov has created a work that transcends traditional ballet by blending dance, theatre, opera, film, and visual art into a compelling meditation on memory and artistic freedom. The nonlinear narrative mirrors the complexity of Nureyev’s life, while the sumptuous design and cinematic staging reinforce the sense that we are witnessing recollections rather than chronology.
One of the emotional centres of the evening remains the relationship between Nureyev and Erik Bruhn. The tenderness and restraint with which this story is told avoids sentimentality while acknowledging its profound importance in Nureyev’s life. The choreography here speaks as eloquently as any dialogue could.
Martin ten Kortenaar has steadily established himself as one of Staatsballett Berlin’s distinguished principal artists. Born in Canada, he trained at Canada’s National Ballet School before joining the company, where he has developed a broad repertoire spanning the classical canon and contemporary works. His dancing is characterised by exceptional technical clarity, refined line, secure partnering, and an understated dramatic intelligence that allows characters to emerge through movement rather than theatrical excess.
These qualities made him an inspired choice for Nureyev. He possesses the technical assurance required by the role, but even more importantly, he brings humanity to a figure too often overshadowed by mythology. His performance reminds us that behind the icon stood a man of vulnerability, curiosity, relentless ambition, and artistic generosity.
Perhaps the greatest compliment one can offer is necessarily speculative. No one can know how Rudolf Nureyev himself would have reacted to this production. Yet it is difficult to imagine that he would not have admired its fearless theatrical imagination and refusal to simplify his life into legend. And one suspects he might have recognised something of himself in Martin ten Kortenaar’s elegant, luminous interpretation—a performance that honours not merely the dancer’s brilliance, but also his restless artistic spirit.
This Berlin production stands as both a tribute and a rediscovery. Through Martin ten Kortenaar’s graceful and deeply intelligent performance, Rudolf Nureyev lives again—not as a museum piece, but as a vibrant, complex artist whose influence continues to shape the world of ballet.
Images by Carlos Quezada.
