Cultivating our Garden
or, the Royal Ballet revamped
CLEMENT CRISP
Am I alone in welcoming the new regime at Covent Garden? I cannot believe so, though the carping, the wailing and gnashing of regional teeth that have greeted the reorgan- isation of the Royal Ballet might lead one to think that our national company had been placed in the hands of Baron Frankenstein for major surgery.
The change in the touring schedules of the Royal Ballet was an inevitable result of rocketing costs and a declining number of suitable theatres; the new dispensation will bring a much needed modernisation both of repertory and of appeal in the ballets to be seen outside London. The programmes announced for the first venture by the tour- ing group are admirable: some of the cream of British ballets (Symphonic Variations, Danses Concertantes, The Rake's Progress), two seminal works of this century (Apollo and Lilac Garden), plus new ballets from MacMillan and Tetley; these are pro- grammes that would fill the Opera House. A second tour after Christmas, and a trip by the main company in the spring, all suggest to me that the regions should be more than gratified by the 'new' Royal Ballet. The Mac- Millan/Field directorate has much to cope with—not least a company of 130 dancers to keep busy—but by the beginning of the season last week no less than three major choreographers were working at the same time (MacMillan, Robbins and Tetley), and when last could the Royal Ballet boast that sort of creativity?
•• • The season opened in fine style with Mac- Millan's Romeo and Juliet, a grand spectacu- lar that, unlike any other full-length ballet that I know, sharpens its focus as it proA gresses, moving in like a film camera to de- - vote its third act to a close-up study of its heroine. Antoinette Sibley was immensely touching as Juliet, Dowell more vital than ever before as Romeo, and they dance the ballet with an angelic ease; not surprisingly they are at their splendid best in the balcony scene, where they soar across the moonlit garden, the very personification of youth- ful passion.
But it was on the second night of the season, when Lynn Seymour returned to the company (another plus mark for the new directors), that the ballet made its best show- ing. There is a quaint heresy being pro- pounded that Seymour is not a `classical' ballerina, that her account of the role of Juliet is in some way incorrect. Well, each to his own, but because she is the greatest dramatic ballerina of our time, with an unparalleled expressive gift, this should not blind audiences to the exquisite grace and force of her dancing itself. Her super- lative line, the phenomenal extensions of her legs, the curve and sweep of her arms that are more impassioned than most other dancers' bodies, the marvellous use of her head—these are the very qualities that the role of Juliet is about, in the sense that ballets are, ultimately, about the bodies that first inspired their choreographers.
, Seymour's Juliet, like Plissetskaya's, is a study of a girl suddenly flowering into womanhood, the last act a terrible battle between the girl's intense physical desire and her inability to adjust to her social surround- ings. In Seymour's impersonation, the tra- gedy achieves a grandeur of expression in Act 3 that I have only seen previously with Marie Bell and Katina Paxinou at their noblest.
As Seymour realises the full stature of MacMillan's Juliet, so her partner, David Wall, shows a similar understanding of Romeo. Quite one of the best things about the present amalgamation of the Royal Ballet's halves is the chance to see touring company artists in new roles. Wall's debut, in a partnership that must be fostered, was better than I had dared hope. After a year's absence from the stage with leg trouble, he roared through the streets of Verona like a young blood coming back to his hone ground. Alight with passion, he gave the character exactly the sort of bravura treat. ment needed to bring it to life; here is a Romeo, brawling, philandering, suddenly brought up short by the meeting with Juliet, forced to look at himself and his world, and matured by love. The detail and sensitivity of Wall's playing are a delight; his dancing is certainly not yet back to peak form, but he understands the role, and after a dozen per- formances he should prove an ideal inter. preter.
The only cause for complaint thus far in the season has been the old problem of the orchestral playing. Covent Garden's orchestra leads a seeming Jekyll and Hyde existence; the superb ensemble that plays for Boulez and Solti can sound positively disinterested on some ballet nights. The first night of the season found them in lack-lustre mood, and it needed Ashley Lawrence at the Seymour. Wall performance to bring them back to the paths of righteousness and fine-toned playing.
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Meanwhile, up at The Place, off Euston Road, the London Contemporary Dance Theatre is embarked upon its third season. The presence of William Louther, a super- lative artist, in Ailey's Hermit Songs and Robert Cohan's Cell, make these works re- quired viewing; Cohan's new X is a puzzle to be studied with interest, but the other novelty of the season, Pauline de Groot's Rainmakers, struck me as a dance equiva- lent of the Chinese water torture.
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