Scrambled Eggs
"The Sleeping Beauty"
American Ballet Theatre
Metropolitan Opera House
New York, NY
June 14, 2010
Few classical ballets have the impeccable documentation and performing tradition as this most glorious of Petipa's works. The Royal Ballet based its version on notes smuggled out of Revolutionary Russia, and these notes are now available for anyone in the Harvard Library. Petipa's impeccable architecture and magnificent musicality are there for the asking, as the monumental 1999 Kirov reconstruction showed. But for some inexplicable reason, ABT chose to base its current version on the revised text that Konstantin Sergeev created in 1952, which chops up many of the patterns. This is most obvious in the Prologue, which is now musically and choreographically muddied. Watching this production is like being promised a Faberge Easter egg and being given with a box of stale peeps, an even more disappointing gift, since the real thing is there for the asking.
ABT's production has become more traditional, eliminating many of the extra plot elements that made the original so unforgettable for all the wrong reasons, and it can be described as a mitigated disaster. The King and Queen now get to attend the wedding, instead of being turfed out to die by the Lilac Fairy, and there is a real vision scene without any of the Fairy Knights prancing around. Some of the more outrageous costumes have been rethought, but the cartoon-Medieval ambiance remains, making many of the dancers look like they are in a Prince Valiant comic strip or a particularly down-scale Disney cartoon.
The prologue still has many problems. The fairies are hauled on like so many bags of colorful potatoes, and have to surrender their wands to the Lilac Fairy like a wand-protection program. The (wandless) Lilac Fairy still prances around with the baby, holding her up like some primitive sacrificial lamb. Veronkia Part as Lilac seemed somewhat distant, and only in her mime scene with Carabosse did her radiance break through. The fairies danced their variations efficiently, though poor Yuriko Kajiya, as the old Songbird Fairy (now called the Fairy of Joy) had to interrupt many of the proceedings with some extra fluttering and seemed more like the Fairy of Irritation. Nancy Raffa was a spiteful Carabosse, though the extraneous fireworks, thunder, and dry ice accompanying her appearance was an unnecessary exclamation point and detracted from her power, as did the Crayola-like creatures who accompanied her.
ABT does have the more extended mime scene as the Queen begs the King to spare the knitting ladies (though for some reason, Catalabutte and the herald, whose only crime was reporting the spindle, are included in the slaughter). Maria Bystrova, as the Queen, despite the gaudy gold bed-jacket she was saddled with, made the little vignette genuinely moving. The Rose Adagio has the traditional choreography, though Aurora's friends keep prancing around in the background, mimicking her movements. Gillian Murphy coped very well with the balances, but there was a certain subdued feeling to the proceedings, as if this were a job to get through, and there wasn't the feeling of radiant innocence that some Aurora's can project.
Projection was a problem for the Prince, as well, but this is the fault of the choreography. The Vision Scene opens with a group of men, including the supposedly melancholy Prince (Jose Manual Carreño), jumping as if they had just turned right on "Rodeo" Drive. This makes the official Prince's entrance, as he walks in, looks at his frolicking companions, and realizes that is heart is elsewhere, completely anticlimactic. The Countess, Kristi Boone, the one who doesn't have his heart, is reduced to a flouncy non-entity, who seems to be telling all her friends that she just won the prize for the costume with the most rhinestones.
Despite the logic of the music, the poor Prince doesn't see a vision of Aurora, he just gets a glimpse of her squat little castle, which for some reason turns him off playing blind man's buff. The vision scene is now more lyrical, and the opening is lovely, with Lilac gently keeping the two separate. The soaring "I do love her" declaration, after which they come together, is downplayed a bit, so that it isn't an emotional highlight, and Aurora's solo doesn't have the wonderfully musical and expressive reverse développés, but at least is in the right place.
The final act has also been rethought, and there are more variations than the truncated version seen last. The jewel fairy music is now danced, though by the Prologue fairies. Perhaps this was to save money on new tutus, but it does seem a shame to deprive other dancers a chance to perform. The Lilac Fairy has a new variation with a lot of jumps, which is completely at odds with the sparkling music, and which oddly seems to dilute her--she is now just another dancer rather than the beneficent power who made it all happen.
The cat's variation is now gone, which, for seasoned ballet goers, is not the worst cut in the world, but it does destroy the wonderful variety of styles that Petipa provided. (Though since their brief appearance had Puss in Boots feeling up the White Cat's leg, I shudder to think what the complete variation would have brought.) The traditional fairy tale characters do get a brief look in, and Cinderella's Prince keeps giving the Big Bad Wolf a flower to give to Little Red Riding Hood, a saccharine kumbaya moment completely at odds with the hard-nosed folktales. (The original Little Red Riding Hood was eaten by the wolf as a lesson to those ignoring orders, but perhaps the producers don't want people to be reminded that there are wolves prepared to eat those who stray from Petipa's straight and narrow.)
Fortunately, the final moments of the ballet got back on the straight and narrow. Sarah Lane and Daniil Simkin (in a debut) were the Blue Birds. Lane's eloquent arms and precise phrasing were a joy, though she did smile a bit too much--Florine is really the Blue Bird's captive, and the delicate little hand to the ear movements show that she is listening to his commands; she isn't just dancing a generic classical variation. Simkin did seem to understand this, and had a mysterious, slightly menacing quality to his performance, which raised it far above the expected technical fireworks. Not that the fireworks weren't there; air seems to be his natural milieu.
Carreño and Murphy gave a dignified, gracious, and moving performance of the final pas de deux--she is basically an Act III dancer, and illuminated the stage. Carreño isn't up to all the technical tricks of old, but he is a wonderful partner, unobtrusive and supportive, and this was a true dialogue. There are some jewels left in the old egg yet.
copyright © 2010 by Mary Cargill
