Ballet
No, No, Ninette !
By CLIVE BARNES
THE year 1959 was for 'Estab- lishment ballet and, of course, Establishment ballet critics. The Royal Ballet have been plug- ging it out at Covent Garden— this was the year someone even started a notice 'Our most Royal of Royal Ballets.' Those ashen-faced, raven-haired ladies Tamara Tou- manova and Ludmilla Tcherina both provided evenings I could not honestly recommend to a musically-minded dog, and even Petit's Cyrano de Bergerac was One for the birds. Audiences have been placidly uncomplaining, apparently, as far k as the naked eye can see, quietly satisfied with what they were being offered. Ballet hit the national headlines twice in the course of the year, once when a ballerina figured in a minor South American revolution, and again when another ballerina contracted influenza' and had to be replaced at the last moment by a very young junior soloist. Innumerable little; girls have been awarded toe-dancing certificates by one or other of the multiplicity of worthy examining boards which exist for that purpose. There we are : a year of gentle endeavour and modest achievement in which the almost amalgamated Royal Ballets gave a joint season with 116 dancers, the Royal Ballet School invigoratingly produced a complete, full-length version of Coppelia, and, to the barely veiled horror of the Establishment, an American called Jerome Robbins had an enormously suc- cessful fortnight's season in Edinburgh and Lon- don. Why, then, do I sometimes look askance at the muse Terpsichore and inquire plaintively: 'What are you trying to do to my mind?'
The whole danger to the Royal Ballet is in its virtual monopoly, the lack of opposition to government, the disappearance of any person or organisation able to cry out effectively: 'No, No, Ninette!' Festival Ballet, lurching on as gallantly as ever, with the assistance Of Anton Dolin as artistic director and the undoubted help of Julian Braunsweg's business acumen, can no more offer fair competition to the Royal Ballet than Woolworth's can to Harrods—no offence and New Year greetings to all concerned. The Ballet Rambert, traditional opposition to the Royal Ballet, has never had it so good, at least not for home years, and indeed wants for little but money and audiences. With the emergence of Norman Morrice as resident choreographer—and Morrice's ballet Hazaiia was one of the two best home-grown works of the year—the Rambert could perhaps become as formidable a force as in the Thirties. Yet at the moment, economically barred from London for fifty weeks of the year, it can hardly be regarded as the effective sparring partner the Royal Ballet requires. The shoe-string Western Theatre Ballet, Britain's only avant- garde dance troup, not seen in London during the past year and now exiled to Brussels, ha's even less opportunity to cock a snook at authority.
Now how about the Royal Ballet itself? The God-wottery critics would persuade us that every- thing in that Garden is lovely and in a sense, at its own level, it is. The Royal Ballet is a national company, and as such it is as efficient as most things in a wicked world. It has its Dame Margot (at special prices), its Beriosova and its Nerina, and a whole score of younger dancers, some of them offering startling promise for the future. The repertory this year, and every year, has found its cornerstone and plinth in the full-length nine- teenth-century classics, each and every one of them presented with slight yet telling inadequacy, but, usually, beautifully danced. Shut your eyes to these and pass on to the ballets of Frederick Ashton and you find the genuine jewels of the ,Covent Garden regalia. An evening of Ashton choreography with these dancers represents, my view, ballet at a standard you would not filld surpassed anywhere. But Ashton is the foundiaf father of British ballet. While his powers remain as strong as ever, he clearly is not intending to goi anywhere he has not now been before.
Here is the snag that each year is groulfl snaggier. Ballet basically means choreographeri Establishment ballet needs opposition ballet l'01 healthy development, and opposition ballet mealis opposition 'choreographers. Yet the two meu. apart from Rambert's Morrice, most fitted to till this bill are the Royal Ballet's own favourite sons, Cranko and MacMillan. These young men should be .kicking over the traces and wiping the stiller' ciliOus smile off the Royal Ballet's inellahl respectable face, but instead of that they are themselves the apple of the old dowager's eye. I suspect De Valois realises the situation and - all possible honour to her for this—she does her best to let the opposition have its headstrong head within her own organisation. As a result the Royal Ballet is unquestionably far more adventurous than any comparable national company, and ti produces works (last year it was MacMillan's Agon, this year it is Cranko's Antigone) far in advance of what would normally be expected from such an institution. Yet you would not expect the Old Vic to fulfil the functions of the Royal Court, and while the Royal Ballet's spirit may be willing, the ensuing.compromise is uneasy.
The answer to this deadlock is perfectly clear and not quite impossible. Cranko, MacMillan. either or both and possibly with Morrice, should be put in a position to break away. from the Royal Ballet, not necessarily completely and certainly not finally. He or they should be able to take Nt them a dozen or so top dancers—the Royal Ballet would hardly know they had gone—and be able to work in a free world. Were this to be achic% ed during 1960, ballet in 1963 would be a good deal more interesting than ballet in 1959. But how might this vitally important splinter-group be made a workable proposition? If we were as wealthy as the Americans or as enterprising as the French - there would be no difficulty. Some backer either rich or mad would come forward, take out his or someone else's wallet, toss the cash, over the counter and the job could be done. But we are the poor, sane English. and although there may be other solutions, only one occurs to me.
The opera company at the Sadler's Wells Theatre has to have dancers to appear in some of its productions. The Sadler's Wells Theatre itself now stands forlornly empty every Monday evening and Saturday afternoon. This theatre was built to provide opera and ballet. Does this sug- gest anything to anyone, to the Sadler's Wells director, Norman Tucker, for instance? Yet how could a ballet company at Sadler's Wells be financed? At the moment even the most casual glance at Covent Garden's accounts shows that opera gets an infinitely greater proportion of pub- lic money than ballet. Even after allowing ' for opera being the more expensive, the amount spent on each is, I think, quite disproportionate to their respective needs and importance. If the Arts Coun- cil were to insist on quite modest economies being made in Covent Garden's opera schedule, this money could be made over to Sadler's Wells, ear- marked for a new ballet company. It could even be called the Sadler's Wells Ballet.
Previous page
