Arts
Beauty in the East
Julie Kavanagh
The Sleeping Beauty
(Royal Ballet tour of Korea and China)
The Royal Ballet took The Sleeping Beauty to China because it was specifically asked for. Although this rococo, imperialistic ballet is quite at odds with Chinese ideals, it still seemed an ap- propriate choice — because of its historical associations with the Company and because, apart from on television, it had never been seen there before. Another reason presented itself on the opening night in Peking: the Chinese might just want to perform Sleeping Beauty themselves. The front rows of the stalls were full of ac- quisitive professionals. A man whispered into a tape-recorder; another made skilful drawings of the set; a girl, presumably a choreologist, notated furiously during the solos. Backstage, the prop table was photographed every time it was changed; while warnings against photography out front were ignored and a sculptured pose would be synchronised with a battery of clicking shutters. (On subsequent nights the warning was changed from 'Offenders will be severly punished' to 'Cameras will be confiscated', presumably a more serious threat.) It should have come as no surprise to find the Chinese turning entertainment into in- dustry. Rebounding from the Cultural Revolution has made them obsessively determined to recover artistic standards and compete with the West. As recently as 1979, under Madame Mao's influence, the dance syllabus in China was desultory, certain steps (pas de basques for instance) having been abolished on a whim. Now more than ever before, the Chinese are open to in- struction from outside, the musicians being as passionately assimilative as the dancers are. The orchestra in Canton had never played for a ballet performance before; some instruments had been buried in paddy fields; yet under Ashley Lawrence's master- ly direction, the Chinese musicians played with tremendous gusto and precision.
It was soon obvious during performances that expectations of the Royal Ballet were high: there would be a rumble of disap- proval if ever a pirouette finished badly or a lighting cue was missed (inescapable because of the antediluvian electrical systems, but infrequent thanks to the good- natured ingenuity of the English techni- cians). Though famously uneffusive, au- diences seemed as Russian-schooled as Chinese dancers are. Applause would come in short bursts like tropical rain at any sign of bravura or at a final pose — disconcer- tingly stopping when the dancers took their call. To the Company's amusement, the Lilac Fairy Attendants' Folies-Bergeres line of piques was always clapped.. The Cats were cooed over — they danced to silence in Korea — a sentimentality quite in- congruous with the fact a cat in China is seen only in a livestock market or on a plate. Also unexpected was the way the au- dience decided Vera in A Month in the Country was a comic character. Otherwise, response to this ballet was quiet, but we heard afterwards this was because of their rapt concentration on the story and awe at Ashton's brilliant interaction of music and drama. Dance in China is still limited by an emphasis on stock showpieces with a metronomic adherance to the musical beat. Audiences were unprepared for the Royal Ballet's reticent style, pliant phrasing and dramatic conviction. They were abuzz at the multiplying corps in Bayadere understandably, as it is the kind of cumulative effect the Chinese love (like an acrobat balancing one object after another on his nose) and the dancers looked ravishingly symmetrical.
Awareness of an audience eager for tricks influenced some of the dancers who were visibly aiming for longer balances and higher extensions. In Sleeping Beauty, the technical onus falls of course on Aurora, by tradition a bravura role. In the Prologue, the triangular formations of the court and
the Fairies' tributes to the cradle are struc- tural devises that prepare the audience for her centrality. It is this sense of heightened expectation, to which the music also con- tributes with its dramatic crescendo and slow drum roll, that makes the Rose Adage so intimidating for the ballerina. Unfairly, because it's virtually the first thing she does on stage, a dancer's performance is very often evaluated by the success of her Rose Adage. Rosalyn Whitten's repeatedly long, rocking balances established her sovereign- ty among the five Auroras this tour; while Lesley Collier's triumphant Rose Adage on the opening night in Korea made that per- formance the definitive one. Young Fiona Chadwick gave credibility to Aurora's 16-year-old winsomeness, though her ner- vousness was conspicuous in Act I (surpris- ingly, as she is one of the most technical dancers the company now have).
Bryony Brind made her debut as Aurora in Seoul. Lack of rehearsal time on tour meant she had little preparation — only one call with her Rose Adage princes. Her first act may not have had quite the attack and resplendence of a Collier or Whitten, but our attention was anyway diverted by her exceptional lyricism. Brind's angular, praying-mantis-thin limbs are softened and made infinitely expressive by the enjamb- ment of her phrasing. Her response to the music seems personal and communicative rather than professional. Brind's first Rose Adage was understandably shaky and she was not helped by a new, inexperienced cast of suitors. By Act ill she had gained com- posure and with Derek Deane gave a stun- ningly accomplished grand pas de deux, receiving a uniquely demonstrative ovation from the Koreans. If Brind's second perfor- mance of Aurora in Peking made less im- pact it was probably because her breadth of movement appeared cramped by the small shallow stage; she looked simply too tall for the role.
Although Aurora is the cynosure, Sleep- ing Beauty also provides a splendid showcase for the Company as a whole, the tableaux seeming to symbolise its new col- lective strength. Almost all the young Fairy soloists are potential Auroras, while the boys who alternated as Blue Bird and Florestan (Beagley, Dowson, Sheriff, Broomhead) also attest to the recent youthful take-over of the Royal Ballet. The overall standard of male dancing has never been higher, and not even the full quota were on tour (five of the most talented boys stayed behind because of injuries or other commitments). Their absence, as well as the opportunity a tour provides of trying out dancers in new roles, meant we saw a number of debuts — most notably a plucky, because barely rehearsed, perfor- mance of Bayadere by Collier and Beagley.
The last Sleeping Beauty (in Canton) saw a spate of debuts undreamed of by the management. Company tradition licences a certain amount of high-jinks on the last performance of a season, and although there was still a week of touring left (Romeo and Juliet and Swan Lake in Hong Kong) the 18th Beauty and last night in China was occasion enough. We saw Anthony Dowell and David Wall as pages; transvestial im- personations by Karen Paisey, a peasant boy; Phillip Broomhead and Michael Crookes, court ladies; and Douglas Howes, a ravishing Beauty with the Beast. Not only
was it all good fun (though cleverly in- conspicuous) it was also constructive, draw- ing attention to minor flaws in the current production. For instance: it makes a lot more ,sense having middle-aged women (three of the Royal Ballet staff joined in) play the knitting hags than dewy girls; pages Dowell and Wall made up as octogenarians were much-needed extras in the now under- populated Waking Scene; while the joky Beauty and the Beast indirectly questioned the validity of having the two dancers there at all: their variation has been cut so why appear in the Coda? A quartet of male cygnets was half-seriously plotted for the final performance in Hong Kong, but with spirits sapped by a gutsy local flu, there were no last night pranks. Energy was directed instead into the dancing: the Pas de Trois (Phillip Broomhead, Ravenna Tucker and Karen Paisey) and the Peasant Dance especially were the finest and liveliest of the tour.
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