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The Sleeping Beauty
Dutch National Ballet, Amsterdam
October 25, 2000

By Marc Haegeman

 

The Sleeping Beauty takes a special place in the Dutch National Ballet's repertory. The current version is the third full-length Beauty since 1968. When the company finally acquired Peter Wright's version, which he had previously staged for the Royal Ballet and for Munich (soon to be followed by the Sadler's Wells Royal Ballet, now the Birmingham Royal Ballet), no efforts were spared. At the time of its premiere during the Holland Festival in 1981, The Sleeping Beauty was by far the most expensive production in the history of the Dutch National Ballet. Especially remounted by Wright in 1989 to fit the vast dimensions of the Muziektheater in Amsterdam, the company seems to have found its definitive version.

Seeing this Sleeping Beauty last October in Amsterdam, during a 17-performance revival by the Dutch National Ballet, I wasn't exactly swept away by it. As it is produced now, the production seems long and somewhat heavy to digest. This is partly caused by the designs. The towering baroque sets and the lush costumes by Philip Prowse place the story in 17th century France, at the court of Louis XIV. Yet, for all their splendour, they contribute to the rather stifling, oppressive atmosphere of the opening scenes. Heavy draperies and dark colours dominate the prologue. In this case the entrance of Aurora in the 1st Act truly works like the break of dawn, her joyfulness and luminosity in stark contrast with the gloomy tone of the preceding scenes. The sets for the wedding act are in this respect more appealing, as if showing the reborn court in all its glory and radiance.

Although many of the great dances (prologue variations, Rose Adagio, variation of Aurora, Blue Bird pas de deux, final pas de deux) survive and the cast sheet only credits Petipa for the choreography, it's very clear that Peter Wright bravely followed in the footsteps of Nijinska, Ashton and the likes, hoping to revitalize this "ballet of ballets". It was, however, these choreographic interpolations and additions which much contributed to my feeling of disappointment. For instance, the famous waltz which opens the 1st Act (the knitting scene is omitted) became in his hands a rather scanty affair, danced by only six couples with garlands, which is less than Ninette de Valois could muster in the days of deprivation during the war. Moreover, the villagers look very sophisticated in this kingdom and Wright lets the men perform such technical tricks that they almost steal the show from the prince in the final Act.

The pas de deux for Aurora and the prince, added by Wright to close the 2nd Act and set to the music of the Entr'acte, is in style, but is of no consequence whatsoever and only manages to diminish the dramatic climax of the whole ballet, the awakening..

Wright also included a short variation for the prince in the 2nd Act and made a pas de quatre four two girls and two boys to the music of the Jewels in the last Act, apparently a deviation from Diaghilev's pas de trois for Florestan and his sisters. Again, the male variations are too technical and any prince is in real trouble when he receives less applause for his variation then one of these simple courtiers.

Peter Wright's handling of the prologue is not exactly a model of clarity either. The various entrances by courtiers, fairies and their cavaliers and attendants are confusing, also because the six dancing fairies are all wearing the same coloured tutus and lack individuality and character. Wright's choice for a non-dancing Lilac Fairy, whose variation in the prologue is, as in Nureyev's adaptation, danced by one of the other fairies, adds to the mix-up, while her late arrival denies her the key role in this ballet. The reduced mime doesn't help her much either and the symbolism of the lilacs is completely overlooked. Luckily, Wright still thinks the Lilac Fairy has a place in the apotheosis of the last Act.

Carabosse is the evil counterpart of the Lilac Fairy, presented here in simple terms of black and white. Both wear exactly the same long dresses and headwear, Carabosse black, Lilac white. Completely redundant and tasteless are the earsplitting thunderclaps announcing the entrances of Carabosse, as if Wright doesn't trust the music. Yet in spite of all the noise and smoke accompanying her appearances and exits, I found the Carabosse of Anna Seidl lacking in menace and authority. Her repeated efforts to prevent the Prince from entering the sleeping castle at the end of Act I, only to be discouraged by the Lilac Fairy, were unwillingly comical.

The dancers of the Dutch National Ballet generally performed with commitment, even if the spirit of the ballet seemed to elude them and they tackled it far too much as any other work in the repertory. In spite of all the pomp and pageantry, manners and behaviour at court were sometimes bizarre. The royal couple (Raimondo Fornoni and Katrin Pettersen) was not entirely credible. No Sun King would ever think of stooping to pick up some accidentally dropped flowers in front of the whole court and with his Master of Ceremonies standing five steps away. This is just a question of proper coaching.

Some of the tricky variations in the prologue ideally could do with more precision and clarity. In fact, in the performance I saw, the appearance of Larissa Lezhnina as Aurora much emphasized the shortcomings of the preceding dancers. A better homage to the character is hardly imaginable. This Aurora is already a queen while she is still a princess. With dancing that is unforced in its expressiveness, yet always aristocratic in manner, harmonious of form, and pure of line, Lezhnina told us more about the old imperial grandeur than all the bombastic surroundings of the production.

Ten years ago, Larissa Lezhnina danced the same role with her original company, the Kirov Ballet, and was then very much a natural choice for Aurora. Now, in her early thirties, the ballerina, appearing youthful and radiant as ever, still possesses the role as none else. Lezhnina's entrance was already breathtaking by its clarity of purpose, its eloquence, and its musicality. By subtly accentuating the turns and jumps she breathed life into this passage which often becomes a mere technical number.

The Rose Adagio, too, was ideal by its pace and its sense of structure, gradually building up to a thrilling climax. Lezhnina's refusal to show off revealed the choreography in all its glory. Clean stylist as she is, we were thankfully spared of the "umbrella-effect" during the penchées, with skirts ridiculously flopping over the dancers' heads by their six-o'clock extensions, as in the performances of so many of her younger, less inspired colleagues at the Kirov.

Her portrayal of the princess in the Vision scene was memorable thanks to the appropriate sense of distance and unerring nobility she created. There was none of the feeling of silent suffering or temptation that is sometimes evoked in this scene, instead there was nothing but the bare vision, utterly feminine, beautiful, and harmonious, sufficient in itself to lure any man to the castle.

Viacheslav Samodurov, who danced the prince, is a new face in the company. Just as Lezhnina, his roots are in St. Petersburg, with the Kirov Ballet. Samodurov joined the Dutch company in January 2000 as first soloist, without completely severing his ties with the Maryinsky Theatre. Although a demi-caractère dancer, his prince was elegance incarnate, moving with grace and above all dancing with power and panache. He proves an excellent match for Lezhnina and an asset to this company. Their final wedding pas de deux was a grand moment.

The soloists' contributions in the Blue Bird pas de deux were fine without being memorable, while Puss in Boots and the White Cat, and Little Red Riding Hood and the Wolf verged on crudeness.

The Dutch Ballet Orchestra under Jeppe Moulijn did a wonderful job throughout and reminded us that the score can be musically satisfying without sacrificing the dancers on stage.

This performance proves once again that good intentions and ample means alone are not sufficient to bring off a ballet like The Sleeping Beauty in something more than just an acceptable way. A costly, large-scale production, a splendid theatre as the ideal setting, are not enough. One also needs a company completely at home and familiarized with its style, its spirit, its content and its purpose, and that is precisely where the Dutch National Ballet fell short. As Larissa Lezhnina and Viacheslav Samodurov showed, it takes more than an adequate rendition of the steps to give Beauty what it really deserves.