Nothing beats the buzz that precedes the debut of a rising star in a big, known role. Double it and you’ll get an idea of what last Tuesday felt like, as not one but two Royal Ballet principals, Lauren Cuthbertson and Sergei Polunin, took the main roles in Kenneth MacMillan’s 1974 Manon for the first time. As an artist, Cuthberston frequently makes bold choices when approaching big parts. Her Manon is no exception, as there is no trace of corrupted innocence at the beginning of her disastrously rapid and morally debatable ascent through Parisian society. The much romanticised image of the hapless lamb is thus replaced with that of a youthful minx who has decided to sleep her way up the social ladder.
Traditionalists might feel let down, but one should not overlook the fact that she shares the same blood as Lescaut, her slime-ball, amorally adorable ruffian of a brother, masterfully played — for the first time in years — by José Martin. Such a reading, however, is not without flaws. The act one bedroom duet between Manon and her lover Des Grieux — arguably the best choreographic expression of young love — suffers from the tart-with-the-heart approach. Likewise, the death scene lacks cathartic pathos, as it is difficult to feel for someone who, for the previous two acts, has been such a scheming bitch. Yet the unorthodox approach works marvellously in the central brothel scene, where Cuthbertson’s Manon comes across as a disillusioned courtesan, mechanically performing sexual tricks over and over again for the benefit, one assumes, of her lecherous, foot-fetishist protector, Monsieur GM — whom Gary Avis characterised with a truly enjoyable mix of nobility and perverse lasciviousness.
Polunin, too, stood out for his original reading of the role of Des Grieux. His Romantic ardour, coupled with his unique technical prowess, obliterated the effeminate mannerisms and psychological passivity that the part has long been associated with. Though not exactly a thug, his Des Grieux is a hot-bloodied rebel, who can express and project his torment without ever slipping into soppiness. His interpretation, however, never departs that radically from the possibilities offered by the role, thus maintaining the dramatic linearity that Cuthbertson’s Manon lost at times. Technically, the young Polunin is stunning, and possesses an almost divine mastery of the self — since 1974 I have seen only two other male stars perform the first act solo with such breathtaking legato. As a whole, the production is still fun to watch, though not all the dancing was on a par with that of the artists mentioned above.
Fun is not a word I would associate with White, presented at Sadler’s Wells by the internationally acclaimed Cloud Gate company. Alas, there is more to transcultural dance than just a regurgitation of dated modern American dance formulae. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against Graham, Cunningham and their like, as I think my recent appreciation of the more history-based performances at Dance Umbrella demonstrated. What I take exception to is the way those principles are used as an artistically and theatrically sterile tribute to tradition — something that has little or no raison d’être in today’s dance world. Which is what I felt the three pieces that made up White were all about. It is probably time Cloud Gate looked at some of the more recent developments in dance in the West if it really wants to pursue the intercultural discourse.
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