BWW Reviews: American Ballet Theatre's SLEEPING BEAUTY

Remember history class in high school? The teacher presented a lecture and told us how exciting a certain historical period had been, going on to incessantly bore us because we had no recourse other than to take indecipherable notes we couldn't understand later, finally coming to the conclusion that history was, and always would be, a painstaking bore, better consigned to the college professors we were bound to meet sooner or later on our educational journey to adulthood and, hopefully, a job. That's very much what I thought about the American Ballet Theatre's new production of Alexei Ratmansky's "Sleeping Beauty." I hate to sound churlish, but so much ink, not to mention so many dollars, have been lavished on this production, that, beyond some more extra performances and, probably, a showing on Great Performances, it will disappear within two years. At least it will be in the archives for future generations to watch.

Let's look back. Originally staged by Marius Petipa to one of Tchaikovsky's most beautiful scores, "Sleeping Beauty" became a beacon to all balletomanes as the pinnacle of the Russian Imperial style. No one in the west knew very much about until 1921, after the Bolsheviks had seized power and the imperial Russia was a mere remembrance for all those taxi drivers motoring around Paris.

Diaghilev's Ballets Russes had captured the imagination of European audiences with the works of Fokine, Massine and Nijinsky. Diaghilev, always a forward thinker in artistic endeavors, had an idea. Why not hark back to the past while at the same time invoking the present as the bastion of the modern world's forward looking culture? All things considered, this was a brilliant stroke. But, on the other hand, Tchaikovsky's music in 1921 was not very popular--blame it on the Bloomsbury set. (Do you think Virginia Woolf could whistle a Tchaikovsky tune, not to mention one by George Gershwin?) It was a costly investment, but when did Diaghilev ever consider money? Misia Sert was always around.

Diaghilev had an ally in Igor Stravinsky, who idolized the music of Tchaikovsky, as did the future Diaghilev protégée, George Balanchine. Knowing full well that the production needed opulent costumes and scenery, Diaghilev hired Leon Bakst to design over 100 costumes and sets for three acts, but with all this came creditors' notes, and Diaghilev found himself swamped in debt. He had no other option but to flee, and quickly.

Let's fast forward to 2015 when Alexei Ratmansky, American Ballet Theatre's Artist in Residence, decided to mount a new production after researching the 1903 Stepanov notes, a system developed by Vladimir Stepanov in the 1890s and later used by Nicholas Sergeyev, the Mariinsky's ballet master who also fled the Bolshevik takeover and staged the Royal Ballet's famous 1946 production using the Stepanov notation. By all accounts the notation is hard to decipher and leaves much to the one's mind and fantasy. As Dame Ninette de Valois said of Sergeyev, he played fast and loose with the notation. But how did she know that?

But after reading so much in the newspapers, blogs and listening to intermission gossip (which can also be very interesting and informative), I still am not sure at which point the 1903 version starts and Mr. Ratmansky's imagination kicked in. Yes, we have many photographs and newspaper clippings from the 1921 version. I researched it myself in the London Times database and found some very interesting articles and even an interview with Carlotta Brianza, the Aurora in the original 1890 production and the evil fairy Carabosse in the 1921 production. But all these are flat renderings of a three dimensional concept that was, no doubt interesting and informative in 1921, but seems difficult to fathom and reconcile to our 2015 outlook.

It's also odd that with all this historical research, nothing is mentioned in the ballet's program. Wouldn't you want an audience to know about the time and effort put into mounting such an elaborate production? Are you assuming that, like so many of us, we keep up with the latest gossip or are just so knowledgeable that writing about this in the program is superfluous, since we are all professed intellectuals-I'm not. It makes me think, not so much about the ballet, but about management's mindset. Wouldn't you want to share this information with your audiences?

So what is it about this production that has caught the attention of the world? For one thing, it's the dancers. Ratmansky does not have the women raise their legs above 90 degrees, which may be 1890/1921 stylistically correct but, as my friend who accompanied me said, their muscle memory is going haywire. They want their legs to reach the stars; here they are not going above the dining room chair. And the strain on their faces, not to mention their bodies, is very palpable. Technique has moved so far beyond 1921 standards that the mere art of recreation becomes, in itself, a perversion. Why not have a taping session of the ballet and leave it like that. Three hours of straining only makes me yearn for a more traditional production. Having done my own research just to show how informed I am-or try to be-- I've been reading that many critics have remarked how natural the ABT dancers look in this production. I must have gone on an off night.

A second point is just that: pointe work. So much is performed on demi-ponte that the excitement we have always associated with a bravura production has been eradicated. The inflections, the tactile feeling and drama we associate with "Sleeping Beauty" are absent. True, we get a softer version, but one that lacks drama and cohesion. It's like watching a pale ghost of a rounder production, one that excites, even-as with so many "Sleeping Beauty" productions-it fails to ignite.

The color palette is also eccentric. What may have seemed startling in 1921 here merely looks bizarre. I only want to comment on Aurora's raspberry colored tutu. I spent most of the first act watching the tutu, not sure of its color, design, or why it was even used in the first place. Historical accuracy is fine, but not at the cost of visual failure.

The cast was in most cases adequate and in another, glorious. Hee Seo, who danced Aurora on the night I attended, is not what I call a radiant dancer. To be fair, she might have been hampered by costumes that seemed to overweigh her, and the inability to use her 21st century technique. The Rose Adagio was not a beautifully scented dive into the awakening of a person's budding strength and sexual awareness, but a mere passing fancy.

Another problem is personality. Aurora is a star part and requires star wattage, the ability to engulf an audience, to reassure them that she has you in her power and will not let you go. It's her command that you bask in her glory. Without this, your Aurora is the overhead clouds on a rainy, depressing day. I hate to say it, but--- calling Margot Fonteyn. If you don't believe me, watch the old 1955 television kinescope, now available on DVD. If you want to see an Aurora who hits home runs, look no further. She racks them up.

The glory of this performance is Marcelo Gomes, a danseur noble if there ever was one, here assigned the small but important role of the evil Carabosse. Wearing makeup that makes him unrecognizable, he is by turns malicious, cunning, frightening and rapacious in his desire for revenge. I can give no higher credit than to say he was superb. I wonder if he has Madge or Simone planned for the future.

Having seen "Sleeping Beauty" at least 150 times in my life, I wonder if there is, or ever will be, an expert production. There is so much at stake: dancers, costumers, scenery, orchestral playing, etc. Perhaps the only perfect versions I have ever witnessed were the ones percolating in my head. There I don't have to worry about dancers; I get to choose them on my own. And if you have a favorite recording, put it on and listen to some judicious tempos. I can assure you that nothing will ever go wrong. It will be your special ballet sanctuary away from the world. And you can even choose your own choreographer. It's always worked for me.

Photograph: Doug Gilford

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