Dance
Surprised by Sylvie
Giannandrea Poesio
Ideally, critics should never prejudge a performance. In real life, however, expecta- tions, predictions and assumptions are inevitable when reviewing. Last week, I must confess, I approached the opening night of the Royal Ballet's new season at Labatt's Apollo with mixed feelings. Much as I love Kenneth MacMillan's Romeo and Juliet, I could not help having some reservations about the choice of the principal female dancer, namely Sylvie Guillem.
Like other balletomanes, I have always found that her overwhelming technical abilities and her detached, unconventional and often unorthodox response to the choreographic text suit perfectly contempo- rary/post-modern works such as those by Forsythe, Bejart and Ek. Still, the same 'qualities' clash vividly with the stylistic and dramatic requirements of the more main- stream 19th- and 20th-century 'classical' repertoire, and the narrative one in partic- ular. The last thing I wanted to see, there- fore, was either a Juliet lacking dramatic depth or a choreography I adore being altered to accommodate a superfluous and meaningless display of hyper-extended legs Which have become Guillem's trademark.
Fortunately, assumptions and predictions are often wrong. Guillem's performance was simply stunning. Her rendition of Juli- et was, in other words, that constantly invoked but seldom seen 'surprise factor' Which, by confounding expectations, con- tributes greatly to the success of an evening. Throughout the three acts of MacMillan's masterwork, the French star managed to derive from the existing move- ment vocabulary a multicoloured palette of dramatic nuances, thus taking full advan- tage of that subtle trail of interpretative Options that lies within an already expres- sive choreographic construction, where each step has a precise meaning.
Guillem's Juliet is a contemporary Juliet that combines the psychological traits of an Upper-class spoilt brat — revealed by her stubborn, whimsical behaviour in the ball- room scene — with those of a strong woman, matured through sorrow, who fights in vain against her own destiny. Her tragedy is the tragedy of a person who, hav- ing being pampered and protected from the crude reality of every day, is suddenly confronted by it. What I particularly appre- ciated about Guillem's rendition was the way her Juliet reached her psychological maturity without any abrupt dramatic change between one act and another — as is often the case.
The desperate, almost hysterical reaction to Romeo's departure at the beginning of Act III can thus be seen as a further devel- opment of those childish manners men- tioned above. Similarly, the calibrated shyness that punctuates the second and the fourth scene of Act I reoccurs and informs the girl's first, horrified reaction to Friar Lawrence's potion in the last act. Needless to say, this way of retaining and amal- gamating the various psychological features seen in different scenes confers full credi- bility on to the role. As I have said, this is a strong, almost rebellious Juliet. It could not have been otherwise, for Guillem's tall, slender figure and powerful stage presence do not suit the more common, passive- looking perception of the role.
To counterbalance such a dramatic ren- dition is not an easy task. Still, Jonathan Cope was a well-matched Romeo. Apart from his clean technique and his fitting physique du role — his features recall well- known Renaissance paintings — he dis- played also some good acting talent, particularly in the love duets. Still, I wished he could have worked more on other scenes where he still needs, in my opinion, to explore the narrative and expressive pos- sibilities offered by the choreography.
A dancer who seems to have explored the various dramatic shadings of the chore- ographic text is William Trevitt, who came up with a very unconventional Mercutio. Forget that queenie, lackadaisical, often unbearable buffoon seen in most versions of Prokofiev's ballet. Trevitt's Mercutio is a virile dare-devil who uses his buffoonery mainly to provoke fights. Interesting as it might sound and be, this particular charac- terisation does not entirely work. One still misses the 'poetic' side of the role, master- fully highlighted by MacMillan with a per- fect combination of steps and arm movements. This is particularly evident in the scene of Mercutio's death, where the new reading detracts significantly from the poignancy of the moment. Trevitt is a noble dancer — watch out for his Albrecht next week in Giselle — and should not be given this kind of 'character' role.
The company, after a very successful American tour, looked splendid and per- fectly at ease on the new stage. I only wish someone would change the curtains, though, because their clanging sound does not become the tragic ending of works such as Romeo and Juliet or Giselle, nor the tsarist grandeur of the forthcoming Sleep- ing Beauty.
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