Smelling the Roses
"The Sleeping Beauty"
New York City Ballet
New York State Theater
New York, NY
January 4, 2007
by Mary Cargill
copyright 2007, Mary Cargill
More than 100 years after it was first choreographed, "The Sleeping Beauty" remains the ultimate test of a ballet company, not just because the steps are hard or the mime is crucial, but because it demands the ability of a company, from the smallest page to the principals, to create and inhabit a separate believable universe. Peter Martins’ version was produced before the world had a chance to see the revelatory new/old Maryinsky revival, and has remained tied to its 1991 version, with its strengths and weaknesses. But any version, without the moral complexity of the revival, now looks thin and a bit facile — having Lilac destroy Carabosse is a cartoon version of good and evil. The original (or at least the revival) stressed the very human dilemma of justice versus mercy, and an individual’s ability to forgive all of our Carabosse’s. But enough of Petipa remains, even in this speeded up, watered down version, for some rich performances.
Unfortunately, the Prologue is not helped by the backbreaking tempi of the fairy variations, and even if they were strongly cast (the Royal Ballet in its heyday understood that these were really principal roles), the dances would probably still look like a combination of a kick-boxing competition and a toothpaste commercial. Teresa Reichlen was the Lilac Fairy, and though she danced securely, she had a somewhat diffident and wispy presence, without an inner corps of strength radiating from her center — her power seemed to start from her elbows.
Maria Kowroski was Carabosse. She made a striking figure, but was nasty rather than evil. The truncated version (how I miss Carabosse’s sneering insistence on her just revenge, as the fairies all plead for mercy) does not really allow for much scope for development and nuance.
However, Martins did keep the text of Aurora’s dances, and the performance really came to life in Act 1, with the entrance of Jenifer Ringer, at her most entrancing. The role is so difficult because there is no hiding behind pure technique (as in so many of the more modern kick fests) or behind the scenery-chewing acting of some of the modern story ballets. The steps and the music merge into the character, and the dancer must reveal that character through every movement and every expression. Aurora suits Ringer’s gifts, emphasizing her lyrical warmth and beauty and her secure, smooth classical technique. The Rose Adagio was for once a real pas d’action, with Aurora reacting to her parents, to her suitors, and to the situation, and the dancing seemed to grow from that. It was full of subtle details, from her eloquent unexaggerated balances (with the emphasis on the downward, generous movement of the hand towards the princes) to the little pauses to smell the roses. It was a performance of extraordinary perfume.
This perfume turned to moonlight in the vision scene, one of the true joys of the Martins’ production. (The hunt scene is so truncated, it hardly registers.) Ringer was less abstract in the vision scene than some dancers, though she had a weightless, ethereal quality in her dancing. There was a wonderful Giselle-like moment when she seemed to come alive to her prince by a slight shift of weight and a brightened expression, while still keeping the feeling of sleep-walking. Her Prince, Philip Neal, was an elegant, gentle and devoted cavalier.
Act III keeps to the traditional format, alternating character and classical set pieces, culminating in the final pas de deux and the apotheosis. Martins still has the courtiers applaud the dances, an odd and disconcerting gesture, and the courtiers themselves (many so young they are not in the company) look somewhat uneasy standing or walking on stage. Again, some of the dances are far too fast. The jewel fairies suffered the most, especially the poor Diamond dancer who had to cope with Martins’ ungrateful and ungainly steps at inhuman speed. Ana Sophia Scheller, a smaller, compact dancer, looked much better in the traditional Petipa of her Ruby variation.
The Bluebird pas de deux was danced by Sterling Hyltin and Daniel Ulbricht in their debuts. Again it is too fast for all of the demi-caractère subtleties to register — the Bluebird has captured Princess Florine, and is controlling her. The little hand to the ear gestures of Florine show her listening to his commands and following his lead; the choreography should not be just a series of unconnected flutters. Ulbricht’s Bluebird was certainly on the right track and he caught a certain inhuman menace in the choreography, without having to just make funny faces. His jumps were springy (the floor looked like a trampoline), but the emphasis was on the power downwards, which gave his dancing an unusual and powerful character.
The final pas de deux was musically majestic, which some arresting and haunting touches; I can still see, indeed almost feel, Ringer’s luxurious and secure backbend that seemed to grow from the music, pausing just long enough to register but not so long as to become self-indulgent. If at times, this production can feel like Beauty Lite, at many other times, it is Beauty Clear.
Photos:
Jennifer Ringer in the Rose Adagio. Photo: Paul Kolnik.
January 8, 2007
copyright ©2007 Mary Cargill
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