Manon
Coliseum
Ballet goers don’t seem to mind the endless flow of new productions of 19th-century classic works. Every year works such as Swan Lake, Sleeping Beauty, Giselle and the ubiquitous Nutcracker are presented to audiences worldwide with new designs, new sets, new dramaturgic readings and, in some instances, with new choreography. Yet such a lenient attitude changes drastically when it comes to the so-called modern classics, namely works created within a relatively recent past; the smallest alteration in costumes or designs triggers endless debate. It all depends on how we appropriate the history we live and witness, and how we like to set rigid, unquestionable and unbreakable rules for whatever belongs to current culture — no matter how elusive and ambiguous the notion of a current culture is.
Take, for example, the production of Kenneth MacMillan’s Manon, recently presented by English National Ballet. Originally produced by the Royal Danish Ballet, this staging looks different from the traditional one that has been so carefully preserved by the Royal Ballet. It has elicited praise and criticism among those who believe, or like to believe, that there is only one Manon.
As I have said, it is mostly a matter of ‘looking different’, for the designs are different but not the choreography — as in the case of the Kirov Ballet production and of MacMillan’s staging for the Paris Opéra. Gone is the lusciously rich and dramatically claustrophobic 18th-century atmosphere originally concocted by Nicholas Georgiadis, which stands out for its modern take on both Hogarth and Gainsborough. In this production, the spare sets, ideal for any touring company, and the light, mostly white and off-white costumes bestow a different mood on the whole narrative, adding a sort of Bergmanian touch to the whole and a different, less lugubrious view of the Enlightenment era. In my view, the overabundance of half-length tutus that appear in every act is one outstanding oddity, for this work, the quintessential expression of modern narrative ballet, does not ideally accommodate such stereotypical balletic uniform. Still, the eye adjusts itself rapidly to such novelties, even though the frilly, almost musical–comedy female costumes in the brothel scene remain hard to digest and detract considerably from the danced action.
Everywhere else, light costumes and minimal sets highlight the dancing, allowing a truly deep appreciation of MacMillan’s unique genius. Having seen this ballet hundreds of times (including its première) I thought I knew the movement vocabulary almost by heart — give or take the usual minor changes that are introduced in every restaging. Yet I found myself savouring some of the most ingenious sequences as if it were for the first time. Obviously, such enjoyment would not have been possible had the general dancing not been sparkling. Despite some minor technical flaws here and there, the performance stood out for the engaging drive and dramatically vibrant attack with which all the artists, from the corps de ballet to the principal ones, approached MacMillan’s text. Even those non-narrative episodes that the celebrated dance-maker added to bestow local colour on the whole action — and that often drag on so unbearably in other performances of the same work — appeared under a new dramaturgic light, turning into strategic narrative detours which enhance the dramatic crescendo by stalling its development.
As the eponymous heroine, Daria Klimentova gave a memorable performance the night I went. Her refined technique and her acting abilities are perfectly suited to the psychologically multifaceted demanding role. Luckily, she was partnered by Freidemann Vogel, from Stuttgart, who is simply one of the best portrayals of des Grieux I have seen in my life. His sustained legatos and his powerful acting contributed majestically to the drama of the final duet, making viewers gasp with excitement and participation. Dmitri Gruzdyev, as Manon’s pleasantly villainous brother, brought down the house on several occasions, thanks to his dare-devil abilities and his unique acting bravura. Elena Glurdjidze, as his mistress, was the perfect prototype of grande coquette this story calls for, even though she could have done more in the ‘drunken’ duet in Act Two to match and complement Gruzdyev’s powerful comic feats. Do not let blinkered purists convince you of the contrary: this is a super-duper Manon. So try to catch it when it tours in April and May.
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