According to an old ballet commonplace, no one can beat the Russians when it comes to Swan Lake. Biased and historically inaccurate as this may be, the generalisation has a grain of truth. Russian ballerinas have always looked at ease with the popular classic. It matters little that it was created for an Italian star and partly choreographed by a French ballet master; Swan Lake is as Russian as vodka and comes magically to life when left in the hands — and legs — of Russian interpreters.
Which is what happened last week with the international superstar Natalia Osipova’s debut with the Royal Ballet. Osipova’s rise to fame started only recently, and many in this country still remember her dazzling rendition of Don Quixote. A few years and a few companies later, for she has long since left the Bolshoi with whom she first danced, she has come back to London to tackle the most difficult and demanding of works, in which dazzling technique alone is not enough. Undaunted by the demands of the dual role, she gave a terrific reading of what is believed to be one of her first approaches to Odette, the doomed, chaste swan princess, and Odile, her perfidious and seductive double.
While all the pyrotechnics — which brought down the house— in the so-called ‘black swan’ pas de deux confirmed that she is one of the greatest virtuosos of the moment, it was her white swan that surprised and enchanted with unexpected dramatic depths and a legato technique to dream of. Osipova’s Odette is a splendidly heartbroken young maiden — almost a child princess — who exudes a mesmerising mix of romantic resignation, trapped-child fear and a more than convincing plea for freedom from the evil spell. Rarely, in recent years, have I been so enraptured by the perfectly calibrated combination of great silent acting and careful attention to technical details.
Great acting is also what prevented her black swan from slipping into pure circus, from which Osipova knows how to steer away, even when engaging in the most amazing feats. Her seduction scene is literally irresistible — her Odile is a majestic temptress who can have all the men she wants. The object of her seduction was Carlos Acosta as Prince Siegfried. He, too, gave a noble reading of the thankless supporting role, which allowed him to sparkle, as customary, only in the black swan duet. The rest were good, too, with the whole company in terrific shape. It’s just a pity that the production, never a great one, looks more dated than ever.
Dance Umbrella is already over. This year, the celebrated international platform for new dance has been more a matter of quality than quantity. Located in the superb surroundings of Central St Martins, the festival has run as a dense container of multiple events. Alas, my schedule and theirs did not match that well, and all I was able to attend was Beth Gill’s Electric Midwife. Still, what I saw was enough to prove that the festival is still pursuing its vision in the best possible way. Gill’s short, vibrant work could be said to be both a superb development and a great celebration of the American dance performance tradition. Two groups of female dancers confront themselves in a competitive game of mirroring actions. The geometrical symmetries of the composition evoke salient chapters of dance history, but are, at the same time, as cutting-edge as they could be. No wonder this piece has won multiple awards. Long live Dance Umbrella!
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