Dance
Romeo and Juliet (London Coliseum)
After Shakespeare
Julie Kavanagh
Like Trevor Nunn's stunningly minimal production of Idomeneo at Glyndebourne, Frederick Ashton's Romeo and Juliet, re- vived by London Festival Ballet, achieves much of its effect through its stylisation, symmetry and simple beauty. The Montague/Capulet feud is established emblematically, rather than in literal, swashbuckling fashion by token repre- sentatives from each house — two red, MI° green — who clash during the confronta- tion between Benvolio and Tybalt. Peter Rice's skeletal set of colonnaded arches not only focuses key moments in the play (such as when Juliet, centrally framed with Paris, first sets eyes on Romeo), it outlines occasional tableaux which serve as telling or ironic commentaries on the plot. Ashton first created his Romeo and Juliet in 1955 for the Royal Danish Ballet, before Prokofiev's score was known in the West; before the revelation of Zeffirelli s modern, realistic Old Vic production; and before the impact made on London by the 13olshoi's epic version. When Peter Schaufuss persuaded him to revive the work, the choreographer remained apprehensive as he felt it would now appear dated. He need not have worried. Although next to Bolshoi-inspired ver- S.1011S A , Ashton's ballet stands apart — two
inches of ivory alongside the expansive canvases of Cranko, MacMillan and
Nureyev thanks to Schaufuss's astute timing, the work comes across as re- freshingly distinct from the existing ver- s.tons and just as valid. In fact, the formal- ity of Ashton's approach is much truer to the play, where the dramatis personae are symmetrically aligned and often express themselves through rhetorical devices and stYlised attitudes. Even the lovers first address each other like sonneteers. And by minimising the threat of death (we are Spared heaped corpses and malign en- gineers of Fate) Ashton also follows Shakespeare by investing the work with all the characteristics of a comedy until Mer- clitio's death, when tragedy begins to take over.
Ashton has always been interested in love, not darkness; which is why he aban- doned a ballet version of Macbeth — There was no real love in it.' His Romeo and Juliet is fundamentally a love story that turns out tragically. He does link death With love (when, for instance, the wedding bed becomes Juliet's tomb) but as unob- trusively as a Shakespearian pun. The clarity and economy of the work allow certain critical moments to stand out in P°18nant relief. For example, in Act III, Ashton cuts short Juliet's tearful resistance to man-ying Paris — she consents unex- Pectedly quickly with tight-lipped resolve and so heightens a heart-rending instant When, suddenly a vulnerable child again, she reaches one arm out towards her Nurse: in a single gesture Ashton sums up he play's 30-odd lines which tell of the Pond between them. And again, when Parts is leaving the room, there is a split second, loaded with pathos, when Juliet turns as if to warn him out of involuntary Compassion. But most affecting of all for tile was the Nurse's little morning shudder to a trilling arpeggio in the score, when she eomes in bawdily scratching and adjusting her corset, to waken Juliet. It establishes the early hour, but more than that, it Presages the Nurse's tragic discovery a luintite later, The genius of Ashton is to Contrast natural touches like this with °1d-fashioned mime: in his ballet, realism aId artificiality exist side by side — just as theY do in the play. Again following Shakespeare, Ashton stylises some of his characters and not others. The Capulets and the Prince of Verona (played by Danish performers who a.,PPeared in the original production) are iorrnal mime roles, basically just compo- nents of the tableaux; Tybalt (Nicholas .‘1,11nso0) is caricatured — he is an Old
ice figure given a feline leitmotif; Paris, on the other hand, is fleshed out more than
he is in the play and for the first time becomes a convincing dance character (especially as portrayed by Patrick Armand). The Nurse (Freya Dominic, another Dane) is splendidly earthy; and so are Mercutio (Raffaele Paganini) and Ben- volio (Matz Skoog). Ashton has choreo- graphed a glorious new pas de trois for the two friends and Romeo, and later contrasts its irreverent comic gusto with a rigidly Bournonville-esque number for the three mandolin dancers.
Ashton's choreography for Romeo and Juliet (Peter Schaufuss and Katherine Hea- ly) combines a lyric intensity with courtly restraint. Rather than responding literally to Prokofiev's rhapsodic score — as for example, MacMillan's modern lovers do— Ashton lets the music communicate their thoughts but maintains an element of aristocratic reserve between them. The emotional weight is contained in their knotted hands, arched backs and port de bras; in tremulous, floor-skimming lifts, rather than dizzying aerobatics. Because the choreography is understated, it falls on the lovers to convey internally their pas- sion and impetuosity; but in the gala performance I saw, this didn't happen. Ashton has done wonders with Katherine Healy — virtually eliminated that Holly- wood cuteness and imbued her with a sense of epaulement and a lovely rippling quality of port de bras — but despite this and despite her authentically youthful inter- pretation, she failed to take Juliet into tragedy. Schaufuss danced admirably but, like Healy, lacked depth of feeling. I look forward to seeing other performances and other casts in a work that will grow with each viewing.
Last week there were two new works at Covent Garden in two days by Royal Ballet dancers Jennifer Jackson and Wayne Eagling, both making their opera house debuts as choreographers. Jackson's Half the House tackles a theme of ambiva- lence (motivated by Bartok's Divertimento for Strings and a Cavafy poem about spiritual growth arising from destruction) by contrasting a blithe corps of 12 dancers against an introspective trio led by Ashley Page. Jackson responds intelligently to the music's equivocal textures, but the ballet is disappointingly inconclusive and unabsorb- ing. Painter William Henderson's set looked like three sheets of expensive wrap- ping paper (emphasised by Ella Huhne's beribboned costumes) and served only to decorate rather than substantiate Jackson's work.
Eagling's Frankenstein, the Modern Prometheus is all fancy packaging with its flashy costumes by Emanuel and technical wizardry (stage lifts disgorging an entire orchestra; a doppelgiinger optical illusion; and the moulding of the monster in front of our eyes). The several workshop pieces Eagling did prior to this also showed a welcome theatrical flair, wit and inventive- ness, but the dance content itself was weak and inclined to be derivative. This is the case with Frankenstein: choreographically
it starts off promisingly, but soon disinte- grates into mawkishness and finally peters out altogether. So far it's a huge hit with successive audiences (proving the cheerers weren't all claques on the first night) but it's unlikely that the work will sustain itself once the novelty of its gimmickry has worn off. Having said that, I'll admit it's all immense fun and that I can't wait to see it (at least once) again.
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