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Music
Leo Delibe
Choreographer
Frederick
Ashton
Design
Robin Ironside
Design
Christopher
Ironside
Lighting
Mark Jonathan
Conductor
Paul Murphy
Conductor
Graham Bond
4 |
10 | 16 Nov
| 3 Dec
Darcey Bussell
Jonathan Cope
Thiago Soares
5 |
11 | 24
| 29 Nov
Zenaida Yanowsky
David Makhateli
Gary Avis
9 Nov
| 20 Nov
| 1 Dec
Marianela
Nunez
Rupert Pennefather
Viacheslav Samodurov
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The Royal Ballet
Covent Garden
4
November - 3 December 2004 |
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Reconstructing
'Sylvia' to mark Frederick
Ashton's centenary (1904-88)
cannot have been an easy task
for Christopher Newton. The
three-act ballet, Ashton's
second full-length work after
'Cinderella', was only partially
recorded in the Royal Ballet's
film archive and until the
discovery of 'primitive' (Newton's
word) celluloid footage showing
a 1965 rehearsal, reliance
on dancers' memories and archival
clips formed the basis of
interpretation. But the sketchiness
of records is surely not what
proved problematic. The issue
was, and is, whether 'Sylvia'
worked as a full-length ballet
to begin with. Its original
conception as a showcase for
Margot Fonteyn, then at the
height of her success, resulted
in a top-heavy structure,
which, whilst concentrating
on patches of excellence neglected
the ballet as a whole. In
response to criticism, Ashton
reduced 'Sylvia' to one act
in 1967. This revival by the
Royal Ballet thus attempts
not merely a restoration of
the three-act form but a critical
exercise of refinement within
the form, an attainment Ashton
himself failed to realise.
That the majority of narrative
is relayed in Act I is perhaps
the reason for the initial
structural dilemma, since
the problematic second act
least satisfied Ashton. Act
I, based on Tasso's story,
tells of Sylvia, a chaste
nymph who mocks the statue
of Eros. Whilst she does so
she is watched by the shepherd
Aminta and hunter Orion. Aminta
is discovered and declares
his love. Sylvia blames Eros,
the god of love, and raises
her bow and arrow to strike
the statue. Aminta shields
the statue but is mortally
wounded. Eros thereupon strikes
Sylvia with his arrow, causing
her to fall in love with Aminta.
Before she knows that Eros
has revived Aminta, however,
Sylvia is carried off by Orion.
If it is the place of the
third act to effect resolution
in the lovers' union, all
that is left for Act II is
filling out Sylvia's escape
from Orion's island cave,
and 'filling' describes much
of Newton's embellishment
here. Perhaps it was his aim
to answer the charge made
by Ashton's critics that the
subject of Tasso's tale is
anachronistic, since one can
certainly find the relevance
to a modern audience of a
character defined only by
stereotypical Eastern dress,
like a pantomime baddie, taking
an opportunity to humiliate
the martial and haughty Sylvia,
in her white neo-classical
garb. It is not the quality
of the dancing that fails
to satisfy; Viacheslav Samodurov's
Orion twists and jumps with
consistently grounded force,
his arms always coming through
centre before giving a pressured
push to the ground in a motion
that perfectly articulates
fundamental belief and razing
power. Similarly, Marianela
Nunez captures the initial
arrogance of her character,
expressing it in the snap-back
of torso over hips during
a jump, as though there is
something a little too pertly
executed in Sylvia's prowess.
This gives way to a quality
of movement in Acts II and
III that, though equally concise
and pointed, is less curt,
more fluid. The troubling
aspect of Act II is simply
that it is too short to justify
the second interval; its action
is static, centred on Orion
and his cohorts (all snakey
motion and tambourines) in
their Aladdin's Cave.
The emphasis placed on Ashton's
choreography by the centenary
creates an additional responsibility
to interpret and define the
flavour of Ashton's style,
that it might be communicable
to an audience more familiar
with choreography by the Cunningham-Graham-Bausch
generation. Perhaps there
were lingering concerns that
'Sylvia' might appear dated
to a modern audience, that
it is indeed anachronistic,
for Newton s firm placement
of Ashton's style in the tradition
of nineteenth century ballet
d'action as it emerged with
Georges Noverre and Enlightenment
France, ensures that a modern
audience will readily understand
the pantomimic elements of
this tradition. As Noverre's
contemporary, the critic de
Mericourt, put it 'Transform
comedies, pastorals, farces
even into pantomimes a action;
announce a series of scenes
from Astraea, Ariosto, Tasso,
and you will not have an empty
house.'
'Sylvia' does have the reliance
on set-gestures and 'dumb-show'
that characterised nineteenth
century theatre but the choreography
of Act II, in aiming to draw
out precisely what a modern
audience might find familiar
in Ashton's style, has gone
too far towards pantomime.
Ashton's wit, expressed in
the movement he created, was
sharp and cleanly cutting,
as in 'A Tragedy of Fashion',
but Act II fails to find the
right balance between the
pantomimic elements of ballet
d'action and the precise,
neat, academic movement and
wit that Ashton so perfectly
understood in the French tradition.
As if aware of the lack, Newton
resolves the stasis of Act
II by adding a spectacular
transformation scene in which
winged Mercury appears with
a boat as the scenery melts
away. It is a wonderfully
theatrical moment but only
serves as a coda to the previously
dragging scene.
The overall impression is
that 'Sylvia' would work well
in two acts. Acts I and III
never fail to combine pantomimic
humour with refined footwork
and precision in the upper
body. This is performed well,
for example, by Eros in disguise
(Act I), hunched over but
managing to express a camp
humour through the action
of his feet, and by the corps
in Act III where the emphasis
is on neat footwork with accompanying
precision in the arms. There
is a perfect fit in this between
Delibes' score and Ashton's
choreography; both are whimsical
and pursed, with a technicolour
patina.
It is Rupert Pennefather as
Aminta, however, who truly
embodies the precision of
the Ashton style, partly because
there is a recurring phrase
in Aminta's solo that refers
to the shape made by an arm
that has just released an
arrow from a bow. Throughout
'Sylvia' the bow and arrow
serves Ashton well as a metaphor
for the principle of classical
ballet in which contradictory
forces counter each other
like two hands drawing apart
from a centre-point, maintaing
a taut line that is expressed
in the moment of release.
Pennefather's impressive performance,
at once gravid and light with
a sense of power in store,
marks him out as a rising
star of the Royal Ballet.
The production is a success
in terms of sheer visual virtosity,
from the dancers to the scenery
(an Ironside pastiche that
gives a nod to Poussin's blind
Orion). The Neo-Classical
costume and set design give
the production coherence but
the overall integrity is compromised
by the decision to use the
three-act structure, with
the concomitant sag in the
middle revived only by smoke
and special effects.
The second act and interval
make room for the grand gestures
that are easily digestible
and ensure a full house but
breaking Sylvia up into three
acts ‚ or 'bite-sized ballet'
as I overheard one audience
member describe it ‚ satisfies
only those who ask that culture
be easily consumed.
L. M. Keynes |
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