Respecting MacMillan
Giannandrea Poesio
ayerling is, arguably, one of the most spectacular three-act ballets Kenneth MacMillan created, as well as one of the most captivating examples of 20th-century narrative choreography. MacMillan's dance interpretation tells the story (the truth of which remains uncertain) of tragic lovers Crown Prince Rudolph and Baroness Mary Vetsera. It calls not just for that perfectly calibrated combination of refined acting and excellent technical rendition on which MacMillan's narrative ballets rely, but also for an impeccable theatrical presentation. Without this, the work would easily slip from the sublime to the ridiculous.
Luckily, on the opening night, the performance was impeccable from every point of view. Even those solutions that, because of their translation from history into ballet, might look slightly odd, did not impinge on the fluidity of the action; I am thinking particularly of those omnipresent conspirators who keep popping out of every corner and curtain of the palace to taunt the already troubled young prince. The welldeserved, thunderous ovation that followed the gloomy and somehow intentionally anti-climatic final scene — the same as the opening one — was the obvious reaction to the haunting dramatic crescendo that builds up subtly and gradually throughout the ballet. In spite of the directorship-related problems and artistic quarrels that have surrounded the opening of this year's Royal Ballet season, the company was in splendid form, and everyone, from the superstarry leading team of principals to the last extra, looked perfectly attuned to the dramatic and stylistic requirements of such a major choreographic creation. According to comments picked up during the two intervals, those who remembered or pretended to remember the original production did not have much chance to indulge in detrimental comparisons. The interpretation is obviously different from that of the first cast — and also from the one recorded more recently on video — but it is different in a uniquely captivating way.
As Crown Prince Rudolph, Johann Kobborg was the undisputed hero of the evening. It was interesting to see him put aside the quintessential danseur noble image he is generally associated with (and admired for) and become a young, tormented neurotic man, lost in a world of dark and perverse fantasies in order to escape from the equally nightmarish court life.
As the ultimate object of his desires, namely the woman who seconds him in all his tortuous and even sick erotic games, Alina Cojocaru was equally stunning. Her entrance on stage has nothing of the customary prima donna's first appearance. She arrives at the Prince's wedding ball (an almost Hollywood-like triumph of glittering costumes and sets) with other guests and, for a long while, she is simply an excited young girl, probably a debutante, enjoying the sight of splendid people in equally splendid dresses. Her character develops much later and when it does it is like a deflagration, for her involvement in the action makes one forget all the rest. It may sound like a cliché, but Cojocaru is Mary Vetsera or, at least, the Mary Vetsera one expects from scholarly sources and not the sugary romantic heroine of some movie. Childish and sensual, cunning and passionate, victim and, in a sense, executioner. Cojocaru knows very well how to get the most out of a choreography that is pure genius. There is little doubt that she has derived this breathtakingly mature interpretation from an attentive, almost analytical reading of the given dance patterns.
She was not the sole outstanding female interpreter of this ballet, though. Among the others I could not help admiring were Marianela Nunez as Mitzi Caspar and Mara Galeazzi as Countess Larish. The former portrayed beautifully the plotting prostitute, adding to her usually splendid technique some nicely infectious bawdy touches, while the latter stood out for a unique characterisation of the scheming Countess. Her interpretation was a true lesson in acting, for the emotions — hatred, vindictiveness and embittered feelings — came across splendidly, matching a faultless technical rendition of the part. Special praise should also go to Genesia Rosato for her intense and moving rendition of Empress Elisabeth.
All in all, this was an evening to remember, and I would strongly recommend getting a ticket before it's too late.
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