Like pink champagne… [Royal Ballet: Raven Girl/Symphony in C]

There’s probably some mileage in the old adage about getting back on a horse when you fall off it, but as I’ve never had any particular desire to get on a horse in the first instance I won’t be testing out the wisdomosity of it. On the other hand, with my ovaries still reeling a little from last Wednesday’s performance of Mayerling (and further compounded by the news that Sarah Kundi is coming up to the end of her last season with Ballet Black *woeface*), I headed back to my spiritual home on Saturday evening to catch the last performance of the Raven Girl/Symphony in C  bill. I tend to avoid Saturday evening performances as a general rule – through sheer laziness rather than anything else, it’s vastly easier to go from work to a performance than motivate myself back into town after a day spent communing with my duvet, knitting and current televisual entertainment. There’s also that whole thing of being the not drunk person getting the train home afterwards – selfish, I know, but if I’m not drunk then nobody else should be either 😉 But on to the ballet…

Wayne McGregor’s new offering Raven Girl, has been subject to a mixed bunch of reviews and reactions so I went with few expectations, figuring that was the easiest way not to be disappointed. Sadly it’s not a tactic that’s worked terribly well with some of his recent offerings (I have such blistering love for both Chroma and Infra that nothing else has been able to match) but actually seemed to hit the spot for Raven Girl. Based on the Audrey Niffeneger story, the ballet has a lot to commend it. Unfortunately it also has a lot that needs to be done to it and it did feel somewhat interminable in places (also: woeful underuse of Edward Watson L). But to focus on the positive: there’s a lot to commend it. The use of the visual effects is stunning and really does help to move the action along. The faceless townspeople are an intriguing concept: either they’re bland and worn down, a comment on their society (à la the LED people in infra) but it also had a feel of Rite of Spring to it, for reasons I can’t quite put my finger on. The final pas de deux for the Raven Girl and her Raven Prince (incidentally, where on earth did he appear from) was quite lovely. Sarah Lamb’s Raven Girl was stunning and Eric Underwood was a glorious partner for her in the final pas de deux. Thiago Soares’ Doctor was appropriately sinister and creepy (to a slightly worrying extent… such a good actor *sigh*). And there’s just something about Olivia Cowley and McGregor choreography that is a really, really winning combination.

On the other hand, if Raven Girl caused a mixed bag of feelings and an indecisive thumb… Symphony in C was all the thumbs up all round. I really, truly and honestly, feel that this is my favourite ballet in all the world ever, ever, ever. It just… it truly is my happy place. Symphony in C with a G&T is probably my idea of heaven. I read it described as ‘the ballet that keeps giving’ somewhere once and it really is. Just when you think Balanchine can’t pull anything else out of the bag, he does. It’s a half hour of sheer delight and the perfect tonic. Mostly I was being exceptionally appreciative of Marianela Nuñez and Thiago Soares’ divinely sublime second movement but also Roberta Marquez’s minimum 50,000 megawatt smile. Speaking of Marquez, whoever decided to pair her with Alexander Campbell was an utter genius because that is a partnership that – not entirely unlike a Rice Krispie – definitely goes snap, crackle and pop in all the right places (for the record I really like Rice Krisipes, even more so covered in chocolate with jelly beans and marshmallow…). And then there was Zenaida Yanowsky – she of the gloriously luxurious port de bras and épaulment – and Riyochi Hirano in the first movement with style and panache. And not to mention Laura Morera and Ricardo Cevera blistering their way through the fourth movement completely in tune with each other. All the props also go to the soloists and corps who supported them so gloriously and beautifully. I truly defy anyone to have left that performance without a huge whacking great grin on their face.

And that rounded up my Royal Ballet viewing for the 2012/13 season. It seems funny to think that it’ll be October before I’m back watching them again (I mean fortunately in the interim there’s ENB’s Nureyev triple and the Boston Ballet and Bolshoi are in town so I won’t be ballet starved, hurrah!) for the 2013/14 season. I’ve already got my Autumn dates planned out, scribbled on a post it note and taped to my computer monitor so I have one thing left to say: BRING IT ON. Even Don Quixote*…

 

*Long term hatred caused by having had to study it for one of my Senior Honours Spanish modules to the extent of coming out in hives etc… fortunately my need to see Osipova/Vasilev when the Mikhailovsky were over earlier this year meant I managed to get over it enough to deal with the ballet. It hasn’t happened with Manon yet though and I have a feeling it never will – hideous, hideous tome.

Mayerling: a review brough to you by my battered and fragile ovaries

It was a bolt from the blue, a swift and painful kick to the ovaries but the stark words were there and there was nothing to be done about it. Alina Cojocaru and Johan Kobborg to leave the Royal Ballet. This was Monday, their final performance on that stage in my spiritual home last night. Two days, two tiny days to brace myself, to gird my ovaries and face up to the fact this would be the last time I’d watch them break my heart, rip my ovaries out and stamp all over them. It was never going to be enough notice for the couple whose Giselle reduced me to such a sobbing wreck that when I left the auditorium I walked straight into a wall because I still couldn’t quite see straight. I tried to be brave.

It was never going to happen with Mayerling.

Kenneth MacMillan’s Mayerling draws on the true story of Crown Prince Rudolf of Austria-Hungary, well mostly on his relationships with the various women in his life – in particular Mary Vetsera – and his suicide. There’s a brief foray into Hungarian separatist politics as well but really it’s a ballet about Rudolf.

Mayerling opens the day before Rudolf’s wedding to Princess Stephanie with a formal ball type affair – a little like Ashton’s La Valse but far less polite and swirly. Rudolf horrifies the Royal Family by firstly openly flirting with some other Princess and then being found in flagrante with his former mistress, Marie Larisch. The problem is, Rudolf’s impending marriage is just pawn in a political chess game. There’s little wonder his – I suppose respect is the word I want here but I’m not sure – for women is nil to slim and already there’s a sense of his impending downfall. On his initial introduction to Mary, there’s no inkling at all in that relationship of what’s to come. She’s obviously enchanted to meet him – hey, he’s a prince, who wouldn’t be – but no hint that in the end she’ll enter further into his world and games than anyone else.

His unhappiness and despair palpable and almost unbearable, Rudolf goes to his mother – Empress Elisabeth – to protest, air his woes or something. Elisabeth, in fine nineteenth century upper class tradition, is very much all ‘hell nooooooooo boy, you’ll do as you’re told’. It’s not her fault, it’s just the era and the social status and all that but you can’t help but wonder if only she’d been a little more understanding would it all have gone so horribly wrong? As it is, her dismissal of him sends him spiralling further into a spot of madness, going off to Stephanie and pulling a gun on her before taking her to bed. It’s hardly the sort of things a young girl’s dream of romance are made of.

Act 2 opens with Rudolf taking Stephanie to a good old seedy dive of a bar, where she’s blatantly not up for anything and Rudolf winds up sending her packing (he knows how to give a girl a good time) and goes off with his mistress, Mitzi Caspar instead who he tries to embroil in a suicide pact. STERLING WORK, RUDOLF. The Hungarian separatists appear again and there’s a bit of a kerfuffle and the police come along and cart everyone off – bar Rudolf and Mitzi who are hiding behind a sofa in true farce style. Then the Prime Minister appears and Mitzi goes off with him leaving Rudolf behind the sofa so he can sneak out the back whereupon he bumps into Marie and Mary. Now you see where this is going…

Cut to Mary fawning of Rudolf’s portrait and Marie getting all schemey with the tarot cards and promising to give Rudolf a letter from Mary at the royal part shindig she’s off to. Mary is still just a young girl here, a bit infatuated – in today’s terms she’d be fawning over One Direction instead and jumping at the chance if someone said they could get her in with one of them (one of them’s called Harry, right*?). Marie goes off to the party, there’s some fireworks, Rudolf catches his mother having a dance that is deffo not a stately waltz with some bloke called Bay and during a burst of opera singing his emotional turmoil and further descent is both painful and pitiful to watch. Really, the boy just needs a cuddle. After a bit of a tease, Marie gives him Mary’s letter and finally the two get to be alone together in an emotionally charged pas de deux that shows no respect to anyone’s ovaries, real or imaginery.

Back in Act 3 at the shooting, Rudolf goes completely to pieces and from there on in, there is no hope. He has a bit of a thing with Marie, gets caught by Elisabeth who then indulges in an excellent bitch fight with Marie and promptly fires her leaving Rudolf beyond help. When they’ve both left, Mary creeps in. By this stage Mary’s allowed herself to be drawn so far into his world that she doesn’t – unlike Mitzi – balk at his notion of a suicide pact. The final two scenes between Rudolf and Mary really take their toll on the audience’s emotions, feelings and ovaries. I cried ALL THE TEARS and only stopped because my nose was streaming really unattractively and my cardigan was not an adequate hanky substitute. Rudolf kills Mary then kills himself. AND THE PAIN, THE PAIN.

On an ordinary performance, the night could have belonged to any of the cast: Kristen McNally’s haughty, almost indifferent in places, Empress Elisabeth, Emma Maguire’s troubled Stephanie who knows what should be but doesn’t know how to change or escape her fate, Hikaru Kobayashi’s scheming, vindictive Marie Larisch (a real eye opener, I confess), James Hay’s sparkling Bratfisch with his amazing jump. But really the entire evening belonged to Kobborg and Cojocaru. Her Mary Vetsera pushes you to read between the lines of her character – what possesses this seemingly ordinary and sweet young girl to the brink of madness enough to make her agree to a fool’s suicide pact? Cojocaru has this incredible ability to break your heart with every single step, every simple gesture and the way she uses her eyes. Kobborg’s Rudolf is nothing short of genius, a complete tour de force. If some of his dancing didn’t seem quite… right (he’s been out for months with injury, let’s give him a break), it was more than made up for in spades with his acting. Here was a Rudolf cut adrift in a world that makes no sense to him, is it a sign of his upbringing that he places no real value on the women in his life? It’s like that line in Chicago, “that’s because none of us had enough love in our childhood” (“and that’s showbiz, kid”). Kobborg’s pas de deux show that his Rudolf really has no regard for the relationships in his life, the women he ‘collects’ aren’t people to him, merely… things, objects to play with and then throw away when they don’t give into his crazy schemes. Except perhaps his mother, not quite Oedipal, but there’s a sense there of there needing to be something… more. But his most telling moment was during the brief burst of opera in Act 2, there’s no dancing to that but in his stillness, just standing, waiting, watching, and the walls around Kobborg’s Rudolf move in a little closer to crushing him.

Together Cojocaru and Kobborg are electrifying, dancing with a passion that could power the entire country if we just hooked them up to the national grid. No seriously. I barely dared to breathe throughout their pas de deux, not wanting to break the spell of their magic, not wanting this to be the last time I saw this. They communicate on a different level, on a basic level of understanding that needs no words, no gestures, they just know. As the flowers rained down on them at the curtains, it was a kick to the stomach that this was it, the end of an era. My ovaries are still a little painful this morning over the thought that that was the end but I consider myself so very incredibly lucky and privileged to have been able to see them dance both together and separately and that, by pure fluke, I’d selected last night as my Mayerling night. I’m sure whatever they go on to will be exciting and interesting and I wish them all the best for the future.

BUT, DAMMIT (JANET), IT’S SO PAINFUL.

 

*I am not going to shame myself here by admitting that I know all the names of the 1D boys… oh wait.

Things… [Royal Ballet Triple Bill/The Ballet Boyz]

It’s rapidly descending into one of those days. I am busier than a busy bee work wise only our IT system has packed up on us and nobody has any clue if it’s going to be back today and there’s only so much manual labour a girl can do without access to things. On the plus side I’ve got the intrawebz and I’ve got Office software. And I’ve got a couple of reviews outstanding to write. GOOD TIMES.

As I’ve said before, trips to the ballet sometimes feel like buses: don’t go for ages then three performances in a week. After a triumphant evening with Ballet Black, I was back at my spiritual home for a Royal Ballet triple bill and then at Sadler’s Wells for my inaugural meeting with the Ballet Boyz. Then I went and spent the weekend in North Wales, nearly got blown off the Menai Bridge walking over to Anglesey, was utterly bemused by the weather on my way back to England and then pinged something in the back of my knee doing barre stretch.

The Royal Ballet’s bill offered up Balanchine’s Apollo and two new works by Ratmansky (OH YES) and Wheeldon. I’d seen Apollo before, but not performed by the RB – a couple of times with ENB – and not with the prologue (which, even nearly a week later, I find myself somewhat indifferent towards and wondering quite how necessary it was). I rather enjoy Apollo, it has to be said – well not so much the prologue, but the main part of the piece. It’s early Balanchine and shows so much promise that, as Frank Sinatra once (almost) sang, the best was yet to come. Federico Bonelli was a super Apollo and of the muses I particularly enjoyed Melissa Hamilton’s gorgeously lyrical Terpsichore. I was thinking the other day how there’s a certain ‘smell’ to Stravinsky ballet scores – no, seriously, if you listen to them with your eyes closed there really is. The opening of Petrushka smells of baking and smoke and busy streets. Rite of Spring smells earthy and warm, brown with green beginning to shoot in around the edges. Apollo smells new and fresh – really green, a little like lazy summer evenings that hold so much promise.

Ratmansky’s new piece, 24 Preludes, is a series of micro stories for four couples set to – quite imaginatively – 24 Chopin preludes which stretch from about half a minute to maybe four. It’s a delightful concept but perhaps a little too long and drawn out (there were probably a couple of preludes that could have been dropped). It’s a mix of moods and feelings going from one to another in a seemingly – but not entirely –disjointed fashion. Alina Cojocaru was particularly stunning and it was nice to see Edward Watson in something lyrically classical because he truly is a beautiful, beautiful dancer.

There was a lot of feeling going on for Wheeldon’s Aeternum. In places it felt very reminiscent of Dance à grande vitesse – but if that was about an earthly journey from A to B, this was a very different journey transcending from earth to, well if not heaven, somewhere other-where.  And there were undertones of MacMillan’s Requiem in there – certainly in some of the corps’ movements. Marianela Nuñez was stunning but I was particularly drawn to James Hay in the second movement as sort of a guide from here to there.

And then it was time for something completely different with the Ballet Boyz who were showing two pieces in their show at Sadler’s Wells: Liam Scarlett’s Serpent and Russell Maliphant’s Fallen. The Scarlett piece was visually stunning, softly lyrical and incredibly smooth, gently undulating and snake like in its movements and arcs.  Russell Maliphant’s Fallen makes incredible use of light and movement within the light playing on how light falls on skin creating a visually stunning piece. All eight of the ‘Boyz’ are supremely talented and I look forward to seeing more of what they have to offer. And, in response to the question Ballet Boyz or chips, it’s the Ballet Boyz…

Anyhoo, allegedly our network is coming back now-ish. So I should stop blogging/reading my Kindle with my feet on my desk/wandering around chatting/napping on the sofa and brace myself. But I might just ice my knee first…

A lorra, lorra Ashton* [Royal Ballet Mixed Bill]

*Imagine that said with in my best Cilla Black impression

Trips to the Opera House are somewhat along the lines of buses: none for ages then all of them at once. It seems no time at all since I was leaving floating on a cloud of ALL THE EMOTION after Onegin and then there I was last night back again for the first night of the Ashton mixed bill. Things have happened in the interim – mostly being chained to my kitchen and work and stuff but it really does feel like I barely turned round before being faced with an evening of five Ashton pieces. Let’s face it though, that’s not the kind of evening to be sniffed at – especially given that three of them were new on me.

The opener, La Valse, wasn’t a new one on me but still wonderfully, swirlingly charming nonetheless. It was one I’d struggled to recall from the recesses of my mind and I still wasn’t sure it was the one I was thinking of… anyway, the only thing to say on that really is: Bennet Gartside, surely the safest pair of hands in the Royal Ballet? His partnering truly is exemplary. La Valse was followed by two gala pieces: Meditation from Thais and Voices of Spring. Meditation was interesting, Leanne Benjamin utterly exquisite (to the point her lines make me want to cry, I swear she has truly got some monopoly on the Fountain of Eternal Youth). The veil seemed to be a bit of a hazard though, I think I’ll have to add it to the Princess’ apples in Firebird and every maypole in every ballet ever in the ‘list of props that bother me in ballets’.

Voices of Spring deserves its own paragraph because… OH MY YUHUI CHOE AND ALEXANDER CAMPBELL. Their megawatt grins alone could have powered the entire Royal Opera House. It was just utterly, utterly happy and joyful and one of those pieces that gives you a warm and cosy feeling in your tummy. And there were petals! They came on scattering flower petals! I kid you not, it was a beautiful piece. Charming, a little quirky and just stunning.

Monotones I and II, I have a sneaking suspicion, is one that will need a repeat viewing because I found myself labouring under very mixed feelings about it. It’s an… odd piece, set to music by Satie (which is glorious) but the choreography left me swinging wildly between “OH HOW JOYOUS” and “OH NO WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Confusion, verily it is me. Emma Maguire, Akane Takada and Dawid Trzensimiech were gloriously in tune for Monotones I, if a little hampered by their costumes which, unfortunately, made me think of frogs and I couldn’t quite get past that… Marianela Nuñez, Edward Watson and Federico Bonelli were quietly explosive in Monotones II. I particularly enjoyed the juxtaposition of Watson’s slightly ethereal, elastic-ness beside Bonelli’s more earthy stance. There are words that I want to say about Monotones but mostly I find that I don’t quite know what they are other than ‘I quite want to see this again’.

Marguerite and Armand… or the return of the prodigals? Or Marg&Arm as I like to refer to it. Anyway, this run of M&As features Tamara Rojo (who absconded to be Big Cheese at ENB) in her official farewell performances and Sergei Polunin (who simply absconded) in his. I saw them perform this back in 2011 and, when I tried to bring it back to mind, I could really only recall the appalling wigs for Marguerite’s suitors and the fact there was a slightly daft plot. Again a sterling example of: never trust the boy in ballet tights, always marry the solid, sensible looking guy with the ludicrous hair. To be honest, apart from the ridiculous wigs, I wasn’t entirely sure what I was expecting about the performance. In fact I’d managed to convince myself I was seeing Yanowsky/Bonelli rather than Rojo/Polunin and I’m not so sure that helped. I found myself caught somewhere between ALL THE FEELINGS and just simply… whelmed, neither under nor over. La Rojo was sublime, Polunin I just found a bit hit and miss. There were moments of brilliance and moments of ‘meh’. Maybe it was nerves or uncertainty or something at the beginning on his part, I don’t know. It did get better as it went on and the deathbed pas de deux at the end did hit exactly the right spot. I guess it can’t be easy coming back after you’ve been gone a while. Despite my ‘no expectations’ I fear I may have expected more.

Do you hear the people sing? [Royal Ballet triple bill/Les Mis ins Kino]

Before we get into the crucial business of ‘oooh look, I’ve been to see ballet’, my ego just needs a moment. Go check out who got profiled over on Adult Ballerina Project! Yeah boiiiiiiiiii, that’s me, right there. There’s lovely, as we say at work.

Anyway, back to more crucial things in this life – I was back at my spiritual home on Friday night for the first time this year to catch the last night of the Firebird/In The Night/Raymonda Act III triple bill. It was worth the wait, I can tell you that much.

The Firebird is jolly good fun (although I’m never wild about those enchanted princesses chucking their apples about). Roberta Marquez’s Firebird is incredible – all wild eyed, powerful and with something of the untameable about her. There’s some sterling corps work going on which makes it a visual feast for the eyes and that Stravinsky score is simply out of this world. Occasionally it lacked the big, dramatic punch that the piece needs but everything pales into insignificance with that ending, that music, that backdrop. Mmm.

The Mariinsky brought Jerome Robbins’ In the night over a couple of summers ago and –despite my off-off relationship with Dances at a Gathering – I was completely spellbound by the piece, wondering if the Royal Ballet could match that. In short? HELLS TO THE YEAH. Mein Gott, seriously, it was everything (and more) that I wanted from it. I loved all of it, all three couples (all the plaudits to Emma-Jane Maguire and Alexander Campbell, Zenaida Yanowsky and Nehemiah Kish, Roberta Marquez and Carols Acosta) totally in their roles. It was breathtakingly sublime, to the point I kind of kept forgetting about the breathing malarkey. Let’s face it, I can really only sum it up in fangirlese: OMG!!!ELEVENTYONE!!!SQUEE!!! Err, more please?

The bill was rounded off with Act III from Raymonda which sounds like a jolly good fun ballet all round and I kind of want to see the whole thing now. I love a good ballet held together with the most tenuous and absurd of plots. And you know what was even better about this performance? Bonus Gary Avis (replacing a multitude of injuries) leading the Hungarian with Kristen McNally, actual beauty, genius and nigh on perfection. Also awesome was Yuhui Choe one tip top sparkling form. Ohhhhh and Zenaida Yanowsky’s arms were just brilliant – so luxurious in her port de bras. Hng. Altogether a rather jolly piece.

On the back of returning to my spiritual home, I continued with my mission to visit the cinema more in 2013 having realised I’d only been three times in 2012 (fo’ realz) – so far this year I’ve seen Quartet (sososo perfect) and Les Misérables. I worried about Les Mis ins Kino, totally apprehensive that Hollywood would ruin the musical I’d been in love with since my teens (how could anyone ever compare to Ruthie Henshall as Fantine? No seriously…). Let’s face it, I’ve wanted to be Eponine from the first viewing (despite my total absence of singing talent, shh) and it’s still the role I continue to totally identify with (*le sigh*). Anyway, my worries were (largely) unfounded and the film was not the total disaster I’d anticipated – whew! Eddie Redmayne is a distractingly beautiful Marius (priorities!) , Hugh Jackman’s Valjean gets better as the film goes on and I enjoyed Samantha Bark’s Eponine. However, I feel the film was completely stolen by Helena Bonham Carter and Sacha Baren Cohen as the Thénardiers – the right balance of grimey, cringey, dirty madness that made your skin crawl. Now I need to go back and see it on stage…

Once more unto the lake**… [Royal Ballet: Swan Lake]

“What’s your favourite ballet?” “Swan Lake.” I feel like I’m copping out with that answer every single time. And then every time I go to see Swan Lake I wonder why I give it as my answer: Act 1 often bemuses me, my attention has a tendency to wander in Act 2 and it’s only when we hit Acts 3 and 4 that I’m fully sucked in. I’ve seen various Lakes over the years – English National Ballet, the Royal Ballet, the Mikhailovsky, American Ballet Theater, Ballet Nacional de Cuba, London Russian Ballet School – and they’ve all had varying effects on me. Before we start, I need to make it very clear that I like my Swan Lakes with a sad ending – happily ever endings just don’t do it for me, it completely detracts from the feeling of the piece. The Royal Ballet’s production of the Lake might feel as though it has more holes than a golf course but there is one thing it gets right: and that’s its ending. Done right there is nothing that can match that feeling when Odette realises there’s only one way out to break von Rothbart’s spell.

The Royal Ballet’s productions been on forever now (well it feels like it) but I’ve only just got round to seeing it. The thing is when your budget stretches to one viewing of everything you have to pick your casts wisely. I was tempted by Marianela Nuñez and Thiago Soares (who wouldn’t be?) but remembered I’d seen them last time around. In fairness, I was tempted by all the casts but I settled on an Odette/Odile and Siegfried pairing  that I knew would do harmful things to my ovaries: Johan Kobburg and Alina Cojocaru. It meant waiting until nearly the end of the run (Kobborg’s been in New Zealand working on Giselle) but it was oh-so-very-much worth the wait.

I remain completely perplexed by a large part of Act 1 and totally unnerved by the maypole – I am always unnerved by maypoles in ballet though, there is just too much opportunity to accidentally get garrotted by a ribbon. On the other hand, this was the first time my attention remained captivated for the entire of Act 2 (the white swan pdd so, so sublime). Despite its flaws, Act 3 does funny things to my insides and Act 4 is just brilliance.

I say the production has more holes than a golf course, they’re not major holes, just minor annoyances really. Von Rothbart in Acts 2 and 4 looks like an oversized, oddly stuffed teddy bear (it’s best if we don’t speak of what he thinks is acceptable to rock on up to a party in for Act 3 ;)), the set for Act 3 is… odd and it’s all rather dark, possibly too dark – certainly too dark against Siegfried’s tights, and the princesses all in the same dress is a bit weird. Then there’s the maypole and, most importantly, a very conspicuous absence of actual lake. In the grand scheme of things it’s nothing really and, let’s be honest, it’s not as if von Rothbart is parading about wielding a rubber chicken* in the prologue (I’m looking at you, ABT).

I’ll tell you what’s great about this production though: everything else. I was particularly enjoying watching Melissa Hamilton in the A1 pas de trois when BAM, on comes Fumi Kaneko with impeccable technique, amazing jumps and stellar turns and my mind was temporarily blown (also it was fab to see Brian Maloney again looking très smooth). Hikaru Kobayashi and Itziar Mendizabal were brillo as the two lead swans, completely contrasting each other: Hikaru being the one you’d go to for a cuddle after being betrayed by Siegfried and Itziar the fierce one you’d want on your side in any fight. The A3 divertissements were all ace but particularly adored Kristen McNally and Liam Scarlett’s commanding lead of the czardas. And the swans throughout are just amazing, weaving effortlessly through their formations

Alina and Johan though, what can I say? Well if I tried to express it in actual words it would come across as something like: iniohno;iahbgi;rsyhgrsh;agiohioaghiojkljkjkjk. Yeah. It was worth the wait, so worth the wait. I can’t even… yeah. Wow, that was coherent.

In a more lucid moment, special mention of the night definitely has to go to Genesia Rosato for her truly amazing great big dramatic faint at the end of Act 3. It was a real thing of beauty and I wonder if she does masterclasses…

 

*it was probably an inflatable swan if truth be told. Or similar.

**Which you totes know Shakespeare would’ve written had ballet existed at the time he was writing Henry V.

We need to talk about Laura [Royal Ballet Triple Bill]

It feels like forever since my last trip to my Spiritual Home. It blatantly hasn’t been but with the days growing ever shorter (seriously, what is this night time by 4pm?), June feels a whole other lifetime. The Royal Ballet’s 2012/2013 season started ages ago but my first Period 1 viewing didn’t come until last night. Whilst seemingly the entire ballet going populous of the metrop has seen Swan Lake  already, I didn’t even get that one in as my first viewing (that comes next week). No, I kicked off my 2012/2013 season viewing with a triple bill of ‘so hot right now’ choreographers: Liam Scarlett, Wayne McGregor and Christopher Wheeldon. Awesome beans.

Liam Scarlett initially choreographed Viscera (his second full length after the divine Asphodel Meadows) on Miami City Ballet. It’s a piece quite far removed from Asphodel Meadows, it’s a lot sharper, punchier and has so much more attack. Really, all things considered, it was a vehicle for Laura Morera who was completely and utterly somewhere beyond incredible as she tore up the stage. Can we please take a moment to appreciate how completely and utterly brilliant she is? A communal moment of contemplation? Thank you. There was a brilliantly understated pas de deux for Marianela Nuñez and Ryiochi Hirano, sitting so comfortably within the music it almost hurt to watch. Scarlett is really, really finding his choreographic voice and it is so exciting to watch – his use of space and the corps and motifs are amazing. I really can’t wait to see where he goes next.

I think I consider Wayne McGregor’s Infra to be his magnus opus although it’s a close run thing with his earlier Chroma. I have so many ~feels about Infra, so many. I think I run through the entire gamut of them every time I watch Infra. It’s one of those pieces that leads you by the hand and then punches you right between the eyes (in a good way). The juxtaposition of the choreography and the Julian Opie installations are perfect and Hans Richter’s score underlines all this – the crackly, static sound that breaks up as if trying to hear the music through all the sound of every day life and once we stop we can hear it. As Trevor Chaplin wisely once said “There are two kinds of people in this world: those who hear the music and those who don’t”. The cast were incredible as well. I found myself starting to cry at Olivia Cowley’s dancing – honestly she looked born to inhabit the role – and kind of didn’t stop after that. The moment where Sarah Lamb (although I really miss Lauren Cuthbertson in the role) sinks to the floor in a silent scream amongst a crowd that just passes by is still one of the most visually haunting moments in ballet ever, a real kick to the stomach, flood of ~feels kind of moment. And winding up with the Marianela Nuñez/Edward Watson pas de deux is just delicious perfection. It’s a piece that I get something different from with each viewing and one I will always leave the auditorium under the influence of complex ~feels from.

The final piece was Christopher Wheeldon’s Fool’s Paradise, a dreamy, floaty, sensuous piece set to a Joby Talbot score that is simply divine. It’s one of those pieces where everything blends together well. In places there was a sort of ‘snapshot’ feel to the choreography, as though the music were being stretched out to go from one static to the next but that’s what Wheeldon does really: he plays within the music. It’s a piece I’d love to see again to try and be able to get some kind of hold on how I feel about it, to be able to put it into words. I wonder if the budget will stretch…

You have to kiss a lot of Salamanders? [Prince of the Pagodas: Royal Ballet]

Kenneth MacMillan’s Prince of the Pagodas is a twentieth century take on the nineteenth century classic. Indeed there are strong parallels between Pagodas and the likes of Sleeping Beauty. However, what I discovered last night is that it’s best not to view Pagodas with raging tooth ache that painkillers won’t touch. I spent the first act in a state of high confusion not sure if it was the ballet itself (baboons? Huh? What?!) or pain induced delirium. A couple of painkillers and half a tube of Bonjela (I exaggerate, a little) in the first interval meant the second act was largely bearable but things went downhill again in the third.

The plot of Pagodas is pretty much your average fairytale only instead of having to kiss a frog to find her Prince, Rose has to kiss a salamander to turn him back and defeat her evil half sister. She’s guided through this by the benevolent Fool who manages to be everywhere all at once and, let’s face it, the one who’s really pulling all the strings. On the way Rose has to discard the four Kings who want to marry her (or her evil half sister, I’m not sure, I got confused) for the kingdom.

Marianela Nuñex & Nehemiah Kish in Prince of the Pagodas

All things considered, it’s not an entire waste of an evening and Pagodas does have a lot to commend it (and, y’know, it did launch Darcey Bussell into the stratosphere) – the Rose/Prince pas de deux, the third act pas d’action –  even if I did spend parts of the evening with a ‘huh’ expression plastered across my face. And, let’s face it, there’s every chance that wasn’t related to what was going on, more my tease of a wisdom tooth and the referred pain across my jaw. So maybe I’m not in any real place to be passing judgement.

Marianela Nuñez as Princess Rose was, as ever, complete perfection ably supported by the ever reliable Nehemiah Kish who made an oddly attractive salamander…  Their pas de deux were a complete joy. Say what you like about MacMillan, the man knew how to choreograph a good pas de deux. Tamara Rojo’s Princess Epine was equally fabulous. There’s a risk with the role that it could descend too easily into a Carabosse but at no moment did I ever think that was going to happen with La Rojo at the helm.  Her Epine is controlled evil, that icy, brewing under the surface, cold in the eyes kind of evil that sends a chill down your spine. But really, for me, it was Alexander Campbell’s Fool who stood out, making light work of tricky steps and jumps and all the while remaining a steady, omnipresent guiding hand to restore the kingdom to what it should be.

Princess Rose, Prince of the Pagodas

Incidentally, my tooth still hurts so my judgment is probably a little cloudy. I don’t know that I’d put Pagodas up there with my ‘must sees’ but I’d certainly recommend that you do see it and I’d certainly be interested to see it again.

All images via the Google machine, click to link back to original source. All opinions my own.

Ballo de la sylphide – Royal Ballet Double Bill

If ballets came in bottles of pink champagne, they would undoubtedly come in the form of Balanchine’s Ballo de la Regina. It’s the perfect curtain raiser: light, bouncy, bubbly, fizzy and jaw droppingly awesome. Marianela Nuñez sizzles in her role, carrying the entire piece with a dazzling smile, equally dazzling footwork and enviable ease, begging the question ‘is there anything she can’t do’. Nehemiah Kish was ably supportive partner: solid and reliable. Maybe he’s never going to set the world alight, but you know he’d never drop you on your head and there’s a lot to be said for that*. Ballo, like a glass of pink champagne, is over before you know it but you leave with the same satisfied after glow and silly grin on your face. On that note, I’d love a champagne cocktail right now… hmmmmmm!!!

The Royal Ballet: Ballo de la regina

Ballo prefaced La Sylphide, a ballet I’d been yearning to see since starting to go and watch regularly. It’s a neatly compact story ballet, condensed down into two acts which probably I’d liked to John Le Carré’s shorter novels but with sylphs rather than Cold War spies. There is a train of thought there but the sunshine outside is distracting my coherency! The plot is faintly absurd in the way that a lot of ballet plots often are – man falls in love with sylph, abandons his about-to-happen wedding in pursuit of said sylph and winds up losing everything. Put like that, it does sound absurd but it actually isn’t. There’s a lot in La Sylphide to be said about the human condition without even really having to try too hard to read into it (but I shall attempt not to stray into discursive essay, the weather is too nice).

Steven McRae’s James is, perhaps not a man of the world, but you know he’d never have been happy if he’d settled down and married Sabina Westcombe’s almost jolly hockey sticks Girls Own-esque Effie. He’s restless, not quite trapped, but certainly always in pursuit of something around the edges that he’s not quite sure of. McRae is, as ever, incredible, almost flying through the choreography with his feet never quite seeming to touch the floor. His James is not meant for the reality of the world he was born into. It’s kind of just as well Roberta Marquez’s sylph turns up, although obviously not in the end but that’s by the by for the moment. Her sylph is a curious creature – inquisitive, playful, teasing, almost enigmatic as she entices McRae away from his normal life. I always forget that theirs is a partnership I love until I see them dance together – which isn’t often enough, frankly. If they can generate that kind of chemistry in a role where they never touch, it’s easy to imagine what they’re like in other roles.

The Royal Ballet: La Sylphide

I struggled a little with Elizabeth McGorian’s Madge in the first act, not quite sure what to make of her but that all changed in the second when she really came into her own. There’s an almost human element to her Madge; yes, she’s spurned and scorned and bordering on full on evil but there’s something that you can’t quite put your finger on holding her back from the all out malice that you’re sure she could be capable of if she tried. At the end as she tells James he’s lost everything in his pursuit of unachievable perfection, there’s something flickering around the edges, possibly regret, possibly something else. Alexander Campbell’s Gurn is solid and earthy – not quite Mr Cellophane à la Amos in Chicago – you know he’ll be good for Effie, despite his failings, and he’s too grounded to go running off with woodland sylphs and causing chaos.

I could go on for hours about La Sylphide but I won’t. I just urge you to see it if you get the opportunity. It’s beautiful and it just… well, let’s put it this way, I have ALL OF THE ~FEELS about it. Literally all of them.

The Royal Ballet: La Sylphide

*In many ways, he is my Trevor Chaplin of the ballet world. There’s a beautiful quote in the Beiderbecke Connection from Jill Swinburne when she says that he knows the moment before she does when she’s going to cry. This is a bit how I feel about Kish as a partner and Trevor is right up there with my literary heroes.

All images via the Google Machine, click to link back to original source.

“Just when I thought our chance had passed…” Draft Works 2012 (Royal Ballet)

In the summer of 2009, by pure fluke, I managed to score a last minute ticket to the final night of ‘New Works in the Linbury’ at the Opera House. I was intrigued by the concept – an opportunity for dancers within the company to create their own pieces – and struck by two choreographers in particular: Liam Scarlett and Kristen McNally. Scarlett’s piece to Liszt’s Liebestraum showed that he was, to quote Lady Gag, on the edge of glory – Asphodel Meadows last season on the main stage showed just how much. McNally’s caffeine fuelled frenetic Yes We Did to Obama speeches was inspired.

McNally was back on form at last night’s ‘Draft Works’ with her new piece Lonesome Gun inspired by cowboy westerns. Her quirky and unique style is constantly pushing at the boundaries, tapping on edges that blur. She’s got the cowboy moves down to a t and you can’t help but laugh, although there’s an air of reverence in the background. The central pas de deux was stunning, Hayley Forskitt loses the cowboy hat as love interest Thomas Whitehead breezes fleetingly through her life. It’s an oddly touching yet amusing piece and I can’t wait to see where she goes next choreographically. I’m not sure I ever want her style to settle, I love the way she’s continually pushing and changing.

There were nine other pieces on display last night ranging showcasing a variety of styles. Seven of the pieces were choreographed by Royal Ballet dancers, three from outside the company. I’d be hard pressed to settle on a favourite, torn between Kristen McNally, Valentino Zucchetti and Thomas Whitehead’s pieces. Tamara Rojo also gets a notable mention for a piece that almost creeped the living daylights out of me (more on that later).

Thomas Whitehead’s i lean and bob was the real ‘laugh out loud’ piece of the evening, his first venture into choreography. It was a short, sharp, sweet vehicle for Sian Murphy and Riyochi Hirano busting their moves and it was brilliant. It started with the pair in the audience, Hirano drumming lightly on the edge of the stage and Murphy climbing over laps in the front row. They indulge in a bit of flirtatious impressing each other with their moves, segue smoothly into a bouncy pas de deux and finish off sitting on the edge of the stage having a cheeky kiss. Standard boy meets girl with a quirky dancey twist which leaves you hungering for more.

The final piece of the night was Valentino Zucchetti’s Brandenburg Divertissement set to Bach’s concerto for eight dancers and inspired by the Baroque element of it all. It was genuinely fabulous and wouldn’t look out of place in the slightest in a full on ballet that included a divert section. It was fun, it was flirtatious, it was a genuine joy to watch and it really was a case of ‘saving the best for last’. If I was pushed to single anyone out in it? Other than the fact that I’d squeak for about a century about not being able to choose, I’d say Beatriz Stix-Brunel’s complete recklessly joyful abandon in every step was incredible to watch. I’m going to leave it there before I get indecisive with squee.

Other notable mentions go to Tamara Rojo’s Into the woods which was the creepiest kind of Grimm fairy tale-esque piece that left me chilled to the bone and sort of wishing I’d watched through my fingers. I felt we needed more back story to it though, so many whys rushing through my mind as it played out to Camille Bracher and José Martin’s stunning dancing (most crucially it being: why did he have her tied up and why did she just not run away, why did she go back and tie them together?!) – more please, Tamara! Ludovic Ondeviela’s Feathers in your head choreographed on Lauren Cuthbertson and Bennet Gartside was also stunning – combining classical fluidity with the edgier, sharper McGregor inspired movements to tell a tale of love affected by Alzheimer’s, the Cuthbertson/Gartside partnership was impressively powerful. I also rather enjoyed Robert Binet’s At the River Styx for Yuhui Choe and Ricardo Cevera based on the tale of Orpheus journeying to the underworld, unable to look back or he’ll lose Eurydice. I particularly liked the fact that, impassioned though the pas de deux was, there was a lack of eye contact between the two highlighting the inability to look back.

All in all it was an enjoyable evening leaving me yearning for more.

Kristen McNally choreographing in the Apple Store, Covent Garden in April 2011