Balanchine and Robbins, Royal Ballet, review: close to earthly perfection
If I was forced to pick one outstanding element from this altogether wonderful evening, it would have to be Vadim Muntagirov in George Balanchine’s Apollo. Many great male dancers have excelled in the title role of this masterpiece since Serge Lifar created it in 1928, but I would hazard a guess that none of them has ever danced it with more poised elegance or precision than Muntagirov.
His finely honed and proportioned physique allows him to give the impression of effortless fluidity, with every nuance in the choreography given its due weight aligned with the music. The downside to his apparent facility is that he can seem bland in personality – you don’t wonder what is going on inside his head or feel any sort of emotional struggle. But here he gave a marvellously touching and sensitive interpretation of the young god, innocent and helpless until the muses Calliope, Polyhymnia and Terpsichore act as both his servants and his mistresses, inspiring him to become a mature artist. Muntagirov must owe a great debt to the former New York City Ballet star Patricia Neary and Edward Watson, who have been coaching this revival.
He is admirably supported by Yasmine Naghdi (Terpsichore) and the newly promoted Mayara Magri (Polyhymnia) and Anna Rose O’Sullivan (Calliope) – all of them radiating the ideal serene clarity of style. With Koen Kessels conducting a stirring account of Stravinsky’s magical neo-classical score, this was something close to earthly perfection, holding the audience in a silent trance throughout.
What followed woke us up with a bang. Another side of Balanchine’s multifaceted genius was his showmanship, and in Tchaikovsky Pas de Deux he indulges it to the hilt. It’s an unabashed bravura number, which treats the dancers like racehorses whipped towards the finishing post with the promise of wild applause if they make it.
Here the runners were Natalia Osipova and Reece Clarke. They’ve been paired several times now, and although the 6ft-plus Clarke towers over her, he partners her most attentively, making the spectacular lifts and climactic fish dives look a doddle. His solo was cautiously executed, however, and his manège (circuit of the stage) nothing special – carefree virtuosity is not his strength, and after so much time offstage in lockdown, he must have been nervous at the challenge this presented.
Osipova provided the panache and duly won the whoops. Her fans have been muttering that she’s seemed out of sorts recently, taking on too much and looking the worse for wear. She pulled this one off without much trouble, flashing out some staggeringly fast turns in high Bolshoi style, but I think there’s just cause for worry that her restlessness is causing her to lose focus.
The second half of the evening was taken up by Jerome Robbins’ Dances at a Gathering. Danced to a selection of Chopin’s work, this is a ballet that I have known and loved for over half a century: like several old-timers, I have vivid memories of its first Covent Garden performances graced by the likes of Antoinette Sibley, Lynn Seymour, Rudolf Nureyev and Anthony Dowell.
Yet for all its choreographic riches, it doesn’t always work – with a duration of over an hour unsustained by any narrative or scenery, it can drag on inconsequentially if the cast of ten isn’t strong enough to interest one in the questions that Robbins subtly poses but doesn’t answer: who are these people, where are they, and what are their relationships to each other? It’s the most evasive of ballets, its joyfulness tinged with undercurrents of melancholy that becomes tragic in its final moments of stillness and resignation.
Here the Royal Ballet fields a beautifully balanced team, even if I find Alexander Campbell too extravert a dancer to capture the ambiguities of the solo opening Mazurka or the sadness in the symbolic touching of the ground in the final Nocturne. But how can one complain when William Bracewell and Francesca Hayward grace the B minor Waltz with such charm, and Marianela Nu?ez displays such melting musicality? Everyone has their moment in the sun, and all of them should have prizes. If only the pianist Robert Clark had a lighter touch: some of Chopin’s most delicate writing was merely bashed through.
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