Arts
Arousing Beauty
Julie Kavanagh
The Sleeping Beauty (Birmingham Hippodrome) Gala Tribute to Sir Frederick Ashton (Royal Opera House)
It was auspicious that — thanks to gener- ous sponsorship from the West Midlands — the Sadler's Wells Royal Ballet pre- miered their Sleeping Beauty in Birming- ham; because contrasted against the con- crete, subterranean wasteland outside the theatre, the opulence on stage was literally breathtaking. When the curtain went up on Philip Prowse's ravishing set, one had a glimmer of what it must have been like to be present at the first, intoxicating Maryinsky production of 1890. Too many routine performances of Sleeping ,Beauty have been seen for too long and, as a result, much of the magic and magnitude of Petipa's ballet has been diminished. Musi- cally and choreographically it is an ex- traordinarily influential work: Stravinsky acknowledged La Belle au Bois Dormant, as it was first called, to be a 'masterpiece' and Alexander Benois has said that with- out it there could have been no Ballets Russes. Peter Wright's new production reinstates and honours The Sleeping Beau- ty as the supreme classical ballet it is.
Gold is the principal colour of Prowse's designs; ominously shaded with black in the Prologue and by Act III emblazoned with light and off-set with the palest pink and blue, suggesting the changed modes of the next century and the new radiance of the golden age. So sumptuous is the overall effect that one forgets this is a set designed for a touring company and that Prowse's basic construction of pillars and panels is extremely simple, though versatile enough
'Officer, this ',lairs got his hand up my trousers.'
to suggest different locations. In the centre is an obelisk whick takes on dramatic significance as the ballet progresses. In the first place, it's a visual echo of the grand, triangular tableaux that Petipa establishes to prepare the audience for Aurora's cen- trality; it also serves to loom over the action like an admonitory finger of fate; and when the spindle is introduced, it becomes specifically needle-like, the in- strument of doom. Wright spells this out by having Aurora laid to rest at the foot of the obelisk; and when the Prince arrives and kisses her awake, it is lit effectively by John B. Read to rear phallically above them: what was a symbol of destruction has become one of love.
Wright's production brings out the alle- gorical side of Perrault's tale (so apparent in the score) by restoring most of the original music preceding the Awakening scene which presents conflicting themes of good and evil, personified by the Lilac Fairy and Carabosse. He also makes the black and white parallel clearer by making the Lilac Fairy a mime role (as she original- ly was) like Carabosse. A photograph of Petipa's daughter, Maria, the first Lilac Fairy, shows her looking buxom and earthy in a Bo-Peep dress hung with lilacs, wield- ing a crook like a good shepherdess. Margaret Barbieri's Lilac Fairy, by cora" parison, was a little too limp and sanctimo- nious, I felt. Peter Wright retains the Lilac Fairy Variation which he gives to an anonymous Sixth Fairy to dance and it is she who is honoured with climactically blessing the child. Although Petipa in- tended the Lilac Fairy's presentation of her gift to Aurora to be interrupted by the arrival of Carabosse (and so it could be argued that her blessing should happen then, not earlier) I still think it's a mistake to exalt the Sixth Fairy like this; not °DIY does it unbalance the triangular tableaux of which — until Aurora is of age — the Lilac Fairy is the apex, it jars because the music, a beatific harp solo, sounds as if it belongs to Lilac.
Tchaikovsky's score is extraordinarily graphic in its definition of character, and this is why I don't think Galina Samsova'S Carabosse really works. She plays her as a glamorous, Bianca Jaggerish femme fatale who is enraged at having been excluded from the party. But the music tells of grotesquerie and literally cackles with malevolence: Bianca Jagger wouldn't cack- le, she would growl provocatively (I know because she was sitting behind me). Wright follows Perrault rather than Petipa in having a kindly old lady — instead of
Carabosse in disguise — innocently give Aurora the fatal spindle. I can see why: having established Carabosse as an elegant dark lady, it would have been incongruous then to have presented her as a hag.
Interpretation apart, the scenes involv- ing Carabosse are superb. Wright allows the mime to have equal weight with the dance instead of cutting episodes and hurrying through others as if mime were now tediously anachronistic (witness the Covent Garden production). Mime is vital- ly important to the work: Nicolai Legat who watched Petipa choreographing wrote that 'the most fascinating moments of all' were when Petipa composed his mimic scenes. Splendid performances by subsidi- ary characters like the King and Queen (Desmond Kelly and Anita Landa) meant that episodes like the sorrowful reaction of the court following Aurora's collapse car- ried great conviction and pathos.
With the exception of Roland Price's noble, virtuosic Prince, I thought the danced performances were very below par. Marion Tait struggled visibly with the technical demands of Aurora (though those powdered, popinjay suitors rather licensed an expression of alarm and missed balances in the Rose Adage); while the soloists lacked the finesse of detail that is so essential in creating a cohesive whole. Sandra Madgwick's Enchanted Princess all pouts and showbiz dazzle — was parti- cularly crude. The wobbling corps in the danced Panorama scene only confirmed this innovation to be a mistake. Instead of a cloth unravelling magical visions, we got a mantle of dry ice choking the audience in the orchestra stalls and an act looking even more like Swan Lake that it already does. But this is my only real grouse in what is otherwise an outstandingly intelligent and exciting production. It's up to the dancers now.
Sleeping Beauty proved to be the main theme of the gala honouring Sir Frederick Ashton's 80th birthday. The show-stopping item on the programme (chosen by Ashton himself) was Acte de presence, a spoof on the Rose Adage and Awakening scene starring Sir Fred and Dame Margot Fon- teYn, Britain's first Aurora. It was wonder- ful stuff — schmaltzy and self-mocking and the audience demanded an encore. We also saw Ashton's own (serious) Awaken- ing pas de deux, no longer included in either of the Royal Ballets' Beauties; and Birthday Offering, the main item, which is Ashton's homage to Petipa, his acknow- ledged master. The ballet consists of Petipa-style divertissements and his influ- ence governs Ashton's own mastery of structure and detail — such as small steps and footwork. The liquid port de bras and the wit — a whimsical tilt of the head or flourish of the arms — are Ashton's alone. Classical formality underlying his romantic sensibility allows Ashton to get away with occasional affectation and excess (signify- ing rapture in his Thais pas de deux, for example, by a silent movie, back of the hand on forehead gesture). In this respect,
Ashton himself is a difficult influence on young choreographers who lack his classic- al discipline and unerring eye and interpret his sweetness as sugar.
Also in the gala was Monotones II; Sylvia pas de deux; the Tango from Façade and final scene from Daphnis and Chloe a memorable programme, but certainly the most emotive memory of all will be Ashton's own appearance on stage. 'I hope all this [the cheers, curtain-calls, flowers, balloons, streamers, champagne] isn't be- cause I'm 80, but is a manifestation of love,' he said, wiping tears from his eyes. Of course it was. And homage, wonder and gratitude — the ovation said it all.
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