The St Petersburg Ballet Theatre: Swan Lake
[SIZE="1"]Thursday 5th April 2007, Artscape Opera House, Cape Town[/SIZE]
I’m not ashamed to say this was my first visit to the ballet, and on the strength of this evenings performance it won’t be my last. I’m no Billy Elliot (as those who know me will testify) yet my appreciation for the grace and strength of these superb performers has grown significantly.
Spectacular sets, Tchaikovsky’s magnificent tunes, splendid costumes and, of course, spell-binding ballet. It was, frankly, a joy to watch.
The intricate, sumptuous sets transported the audience to a fabled land of imperial ballrooms, moonlit lakes and the castle of the evil sorcerer. Though interrupted by necessarily long breaks (to allow the scenes to be set and myself and my consorts chance to down a few glasses of Durbanville Hills in the foyer bar) the magical spell, woven from the minute the Court Jester captured our attention with a series of breathtaking contortions in the opening scene, remained throughout, permeating the theatre like an electrical charge.
Energetic and playful, Artur Martirosian drew gasps of admiration from the audience with his gravity defying jumps, and he didn't lose his weird pointy hat once. Dymchik Saikeev was devilish as the evil sorcerer Van Rothbart, infusing the role with cunning, though for my money tinged with more than a little ham. I almost boo'd and yelled 'he's behind you!' at one point.
My heart was stolen, plucked from my still-fidgiting chest, by the stunning Prima Ballerina Irina Kolesnikova. Regal and serene as Odette she captured the duality of the swan – fragility with underlying power and grace. Kolesnikova’s neck is sculpted, almost elongated, to perfectly portray the eponymous creature; I was spellbound, as were a good many around me. It’s hard to imagine that a person can convey such intimacy in so public a forum, yet here I sat almost blushing as she swept about the stage as if for my eyes alone. It's a good job Mrs S was looking at the men's codpieces else I fear I might have received a slap.
As the treacherous Sourcerer's daughter Odile Kolesnikova was fiery and beguiling, eyes sparkling, confidence flowing though her every move. Her execution of the 32 fouettés in the Black Swan Pas de Deux was immaculate. She infused each role with passion and individuality, but for me it is as the Swan Pincess that she held us in the palm of her hand.
Dmitriy Akulinin as Prince Siegfried was something of a let down. It must be tough dancing against such rare talent, yet Akulinin, an accomplished, acclaimed perfomer, appeared wooden next to Irina. I sensed the ladies in the audience enjoyed his lithe physique and impressive undercarriage – personally as a roadie I’ve seen it all before. Most men comfortable with the size of their appendage own a sock drawer, having no need for groin-based footwear storage. Dmitriv danced with technical proficiency, which is perhaps to damn him with feint praise. It might be kinder to say his was an understated turn, one that enhanced the perfection of his partner. For me there could have been a little more fire in his belly. Seigfried seemed to be lead around the stage by anyone and everyone, rather a poor state of affairs for a Prince. When the pantomime villain - sorry, Van Rothbart, lead him a merry dance around the lake he looked like a stoned teenager stumbling around after the bloke with the spliff. Weak, weak, weak.
Then again, perhaps that’s the point. This is what happens when you let Motorhead roadies in to watch ballet; they try to understand what’s going on when clearly they have no clue. I for one (and I know I’m not alone) thought the Swan bought the farm in the final act. Not so, at least not here. Has Swan Lake had the Hollywood ‘happy ending’ treatment? The only reason I liked The English Patient so much was because Kristin Scott Thomas’s character snuffed it (when most girls in the audience thought Ralph Fiennes would scurry back and save her bony arse). No such finale here. Any malicious disappointment was tempered by the excellence on show. An evening I'd rankly dreaded turned out to be sumptuously entertaining and, dare I say, exciting.
If you're looking for the man-of-the-match award Martirosian’s Jester stole the show for me.
I’ve not seen so much boundless energy since I took the bouncer’s job at the under five’s jungle gym at our local Harvester. I was royally miffed when the poor fellow was denied a curtain call of his own, left floundering with the lesser swans as the grown-ups took their leave stage centre. Needless to say Akulinin, as a ‘name’ and lead part, took his, but I have to say I clapped in a singularly half-hearted manner. A different story when the beguiling Irina joined him at ringside; I almost drew blood so fiercly did I beat my palms together as I rose with the audience in unbridled acclaim.
Tchaikovsky’s famous score, delivered flawlessly by the Cape Philharmonic Orchestra, came to life under the twirling baton of St Petersburg conductor Vadim Nikitin. I kept a close eye on the pit (when Ms Kolesnikova was off stage, that is) and they all seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves. The Maestro deserved his bow, his wild grey hair tousseled in an outlandish Einstein stylee; wonderful stuff.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Good to have some high art here for a change. I'd reserved a berth here a few weeks ago, ready to receive my review of a trip to Bracknell Art Centre to see a production of Turandot, but it was so haplessly amdramish that I couldn't quite bring myself to go through with a description.
But thanks for the review -- your experience sounded rather more satisfying.
And I never thought I'd stumble across the phrase: "groin-based footwear storage".
But I'm rather glad I have.
Thanks. Good stuff.
El Gordo
Great things are done when men and mountains meet.
