Revered grande dame of Cuban ballet
Alicia Alonso, a revered ballerina and choreographer whose nearly 75-year career made her an icon of artistic loyalty to Cuba’s socialist system, died Thursday. She was 98.
Miguel Cabrera, an official at the National Ballet of Cuba, founded by Alonso, said she died at a hospital in Havana.
As founder and director of the National Ballet, Alonso personified Cuba’s arts program under Fidel Castro’s communist rule, and she kept vise-like control over the troupe past her 90th birthday despite having been nearly blind for decades.
In New York in the 1940s and ’50s, Alonso was one of the earliest members of the company that became the American Ballet Theatre, helping it develop into one of the more important ballet troupes in the U.S. She was recognized the world over for the stylized beauty of her choreography and was named prima ballerina assoluta, the rarely bestowed highest honor in dance.
Born Alicia Ernestina de la Caridad del Cobre Martinez Hoya on Dec. 21, 1920, in Havana, Alonso began her dance studies in 1931.
At 16 she moved to the United States, where she married a fellow Cuban dancer and choreographer, Fernando Alonso. During their 27-year marriage, which ended in divorce, the couple had one daughter, Laura.
During her early years in the U.S., Alonso continued her studies with noted ballet teachers including Enrico Zanfretta and Alexandra Fedorova, both from the School of American Ballet in New York.
Alonso launched her professional career in 1938 on Broadway, where she performed in the musical comedies “Great Lady” and “Stars in Your Eyes.” The following year, she was part of the American Ballet Caravan, precursor of the New York City Ballet.
Alonso joined the prestigious American Ballet Theatre of New York in 1940 and remained with the company for 16 years.
Her career took off as she danced the lead roles as prima ballerina in romantic and classical performances throughout Europe and the Americas. During that time, she worked with some of the 20th century’s greatest choreographers, including George Balanchine, Mikhail Fokine and Bronislava Nijinska.
But she worried about the development of new dancers back home and in 1948 founded her own company in Havana, the Ballet Alicia Alonso. She opened an academy of the same name shortly thereafter.
During the rule of strongman Fulgencio Batista, Alonso issued a public letter in 1956 rejecting any government assistance for her dance school. She ultimately decided not to dance again in Cuba while Batista remained in power, and traveled to the United States, where she worked for a time with the Greek Theatre of Los Angeles.
Alonso returned home after the Cuban Revolution and changed the name of her academy to the National Ballet of Cuba, which received enthusiastic and enduring financial backing from Castro’s government.
She remained a fervent, lifelong supporter of the revolution, reportedly even joining other city-dwelling Cubans for backbreaking sugar cane harvests ordered by Castro.
Meanwhile, her company toured Latin America, Europe and the United States, performing in 1978 at the Metropolitan Opera of New York and the Kennedy Center in Washington.
In 1960, Alonso organized the first International Ballet Festival of Havana, an event that still brings some of the world’s finest dance troupes to Cuba. The American Ballet Theatre was at the inaugural festival, though the U.S. and Cuba severed relations soon afterward and it would be four decades before a U.S. dance company performed on the island again, the Washington Ballet in 2000.
To Cubans, who can be as fanatical about dance as about baseball, Alonso was simply Alicia; no last name was necessary. The staterun Suchel cosmetics company even developed a signature scent in her name.
So great was Alonso’s prestige that she was considered untouchable in a country where even the highest-placed have run afoul of the government, and she wielded that power to defend her own.
At some point during Cuba’s persecution of gay people in the 1960s and early ’70s, Alonso learned authorities were investigating some of her dancers, according to the book “Cuba Confidential” by longtime Cuba watcher Ann Louise Bardach.
Alonso personally called Castro’s brother Raul and threatened to leave Cuba if they were harmed.
Alonso’s eyesight began to fail early in her career, and she danced many of her famous roles guided onstage by her partner’s placement and by the stage lights.
Although ultimately she could see only lights and shadows, she performed into her 70s before retiring in 1995 after a performance in Italy.
She gained a reputation for micromanaging and for imposing total domination of Cuba’s dance world, just as Castro loomed over all things political. Detractors said artistic stagnation set in and the company was slow to pick up new trends, rigidly adhering to classical styles and the ballets that made her famous: “Giselle,” “Carmen,” “Swan Lake.”
Many dancers fled in search of creative freedom and the chance to earn more money. Star dancer Rolando Sarabia went to the U.S. in 2005, and as recently as 2010 five members of the National Ballet stayed behind in Toronto after a performance.
Alonso bemoaned the desertions, emphasizing the free training they received.
“It is painful,” Alonso told reporters after five dancers defected during a U.S. tour in 2003. “They have received an education of more than nine years, being taught without cost.”
Alonso’s lifetime of work brought her Cuba’s highest honors. She also received prestigious awards from Spain, France and UNESCO.
Alonso is survived by her husband, art critic Pedro Simón Martínez; her daughter, Laura; a grandson; and two great-granddaughters.