Like the original operetta of Franz Léhar on which it is based, Ronald Hynd's ballet of The Merry Widow requires great skill and care in being mounted on stage -- yet the final product, like a good cream puff or soufflé, must appear light, airy, effortless, and a delight to the senses.
The National Ballet has returned this scintillating entertainment to the repertoire as a parting gift to Principal Dancer Xiao Nan Yu, retiring after 22 years with the company. The company has done this in the past for several especially beloved dancers, allowing them to choose the ballet that will give them their preferred final bow of their careers.
Although I didn't see Nan dancing this week, I once more thoroughly enjoyed every aspect of this light-hearted, amusing, and spectacular show.
The fun begins with Léhar's lively, tuneful music. Every minute of the original operetta is a treat for me. While I miss the singing, I can't deny that John Lanchbery's skillful arrangement and adaptation of the score for the ballet works like a charm.
I am in awe at how carefully and lovingly he has extended the development of this melody, nipped and tucked that section, lifted eight bars from one number and inserted them with a total rhythmic change into another, and re-orchestrated to give a fuller, broader palette of luxurious sound throughout.
Then there's Ronald Hynd's choreography. Rooted firmly in classical dance, this ballet still has to go its own way in various important scenes. The most obvious one is the Balkan kolo of Act 2, an extended sequence involving both slow and fast dancing, where the choreography offers much more than just a nod to the traditional dance of that region of the world. The energetic can-can of Act 3 doesn't come much closer to the classical tradition. But then, consider something as simple as the swirling waltzes in the first act. Here, the dancing has to conform to the ballroom waltz -- the music and the setting alike demand nothing less.
In the more balletic sequences, Hynd demands some very fast footwork from his dancers, and the many pas de deux numbers are packed full of some of the most unusual lifts I've ever seen.
Desmond Heeley's luxurious sets and costumes take us right back into the belle époque of Paris at the turn of the last century, the time period when the operetta was originally staged. The ballroom setting of Act 1 features a sweeping staircase, and a huge pillar well out into the stage, supporting the trompe l'oeil vaulted ceiling. The arched surround or frame around the proscenium is a riot of swirling, curving lines and traceries.
The garden scene for Act 2 is pure moonlit loveliness, but with a decidedly oriental flavour -- the all-important pavilion looks more Chinese than Balkan. No harm in this, as that kind of idealized oriental décor remained popular in Europe for many generations, even earning a specific name for itself: "chinoiserie.".
Act 3 takes the audience into the scarlet-and-gold opulence of Chez Maxim, with a semi-circular hall of mirrors surrounding the back of the stage and providing a gorgeous reflecting effect in the final moments of the ballet. Incidentally, that hall of mirrors was a real weak link in the old days when the ballet was staged at the Hummingbird (now Sony) Centre. There seemed to be no way to stop the mirrors from quivering and vibrating, and the resulting reflections of light bounced all over the auditorium. In the current venue at the Four Seasons Centre, the mirrors are now rock-steady.
The rainbow of colours in the costumes mimics the brilliant colours of the settings. There are military uniforms in a startling array of shades for the men, and (in the final act) tailcoats and polished-to-a-gleam black shoes. The women don frothy gowns with multiple layers of petticoats, but with an unusual design feature to enable the dancing -- the long trains sweep the floor in the back, but the fronts have higher-cut hems with two overlapping panels meeting in the centre in an inverted "V" shape. This allows all the necessary room for leg extensions.
In Act 2, the men and women alike wear puffed-sleeve white blouses covered with red-and-gold jackets or vests, with matching red caps for the women and white turbans for the men. Footwear for both genders consists of tall red boots with definite hard heels.
There is, then, no shortage of colour for the eyes to feast upon.
I have to start this review of the actual performance in a rather unusual place -- with the sterling work of the corps de ballet. This ballet has sizable sections in all 3 acts devoted to the work of the corps. In Act 1, the dancers have to waltz at high speed around the stage -- and that includes multiple couples circling through the not-very-wide space behind that onstage pillar. If the swirling waltzes of Act 1 are otherwise rather conventional, the kolo of Act 2 and the can-can sequence in Maxim's in Act 3 are anything but.
The kolo requires the dancers to extend their legs, ruler-straight, with their feet sticking out at a 90-degree angle from the leg -- the utter antithesis of the "line" so beloved of the classical dance manuals. Not only do the feet have to lock into that unusual position, but the dancers frequently have to strike the floor -- or even take steps -- on the heels, rather than on the ball or toe of the foot. The rhythmic tattoo of those boot heels striking the floor is part of the texture of this dance number, and the heel-first posture adds extra interest for the audience.
The choreography of Act 3 goes a different route, with much emphasis on straight-legged high kicks -- and not just from the team of six can-can dancers! The visual image of the couples kicking their feet above their heads -- knees straight, skirts and coat tails flying -- is one of my enduring memories of this show. But the can-can itself is a showpiece for the sextet of women dancing it, legs kicking and twirling at the knee, and frothy skirts treated as playthings in their busy hands. The climactic sequence has six men hoist the six women onto their shoulders in a shoulder-to-shoulder, outward-facing circle, and then the circle slowly rotates, with six pairs of legs busily kicking up and down. It always draws a sharp burst of applause.
Next, the character artists. This ballet is particularly rich in character roles, those dramatic figures who may have to do some dancing, but are mostly there to move the story along and to provide colour. Since the last National Ballet staging of this piece was eight years ago, almost all of the character parts -- and the solo dancers for that matter -- were taken by dancers making their role debuts. Sadly, the programme in most cases does not distinguish who does what at which shows in these roles, and it's not easy to recognize faces under the heavy loads of makeup, the proliferation of mustaches, and the numerous hats.
At any rate, the elderly Baron Zeta raised laughs with his awkward attempts to dance on a bad knee -- I can empathize. Njegus, his secretary, brought broad comedy into the garden scene. The Maitre d' Chez Maxim was suitably pompous and affected. And if the Enraged Client didn't quite match the inimitable nose-in-the-air snottiness for which Victoria Bertram was renowned in this part, she definitely stamped the role with her own brand of nouveau-riche arrogance.
The two undersecretaries, Kromov and Pritisch (danced by Ben Rudisin and Brendan Saye) handled the tricky footwork of their dance in Act 1 with great flair, while giving the roles the necessary two-peas-in-a-pod appearance.
In the Act 2 kolo, Larkin Miller gave a fire-eating performance as the Leading Pontevedrian Dancer, flinging himself into the air and about the stage with great panache.
And finally, we come to the heart of the ballet: the two romantic couples. It's the presence of these two couples in the story that gave choreographer Ronald Hynd so many opportunities to create pas de deux, and he took it eagerly. The resulting roles are rich indeed, and finely differentiated -- no risk of sameness here.
The duets for the passionate young couple of Camille and Valencienne are the more ardent, the more adventurous, and contain far more of Hynd's signature unusual lifts. The older and (perhaps?) wiser couple of Hanna and Danilo have a more classical vibe, but also -- as befits their tricky relationship -- more of a courtship feeling, a sense of being a mating ritual where the young lovers express greater longing for fulfillment.
As Camille de Rosillon, Jack Bertinshaw layered in a definite rakish air which I can't recall seeing in this character before. His dancing clearly brought in that kind of flair, and his execution of the numerous and complex lifts seemed almost nonchalant -- some dancers would strive in vain for that kind of apparent ease.
As Valencienne, Miyoko Koyasu brought playfulness and flirtation in plenty -- both necessary in this role. Her character moments, especially at the climax of the garden scene, were great fun. Most of all, she, too, made those numerous lifts look both easy and lovely. I've always felt in previous performances that Valencienne looked a bit too much like a sack of potatoes being heaved and thrown about in the air, but Koyasu finally convinced me that Hynd's lifts can be both graceful and natural in appearance.
Harrison James presented a strong performance as Count Danilo -- comically awkward in his opening drunk scene, powerfully dominating in his solo in the garden scene, and evincing a great mixture of desire and hesitancy in his duets with Hanna. His memory duet with the young Hanna brought his most expressive dancing of the evening.
Heather Ogden was the one dancer among the four leads who had danced her role before. Her Widow sparkled throughout with a playful sense of fun and mischief. That twinkle in the eye not only brought added fun to her dancing in the Balkan garden scene, but also added flair to the ballroom in the embassy. I didn't get so much sense of her love for Danilo -- many of their moments together made it look like she was just toying or flirting with him for her own amusement. That is, until the final scene, when she suddenly found herself alone in Chez Maxim, the lights down, as the Maitre D' went to fetch her cloak. Then came a total transformation at the moment when she felt Danilo's hands on her shoulders -- and from that moment to the final curtain the romantic ardour was strong and unmistakable. I could wish she had found more of it sooner.
Ronald Hynd's ultimate coup de theatre is the culminating solemn, sombre pas de cinq. It comes at the moment when Hanna and Valencienne rush in to stop Danilo from challenging Camille to a duel. The Baron sees his wife protecting another man, and realizes that he has been cuckolded. The ensuing dance, in very slow time, shows Hanna and Danilo moving together, while Valencienne turns to her husband again and again to console him, only for her to be drawn back to Camille's arms once more. The Baron circles slowly with Camille around her, and finally stands aside as they dance, with a look of unutterable sadness on his face. He steps out, proffers his arm, and Valencienne joins him to leave with him. Then, at the last minute, in a gesture of acceptance and even forgiveness, he turns again, beckons Camille to join him -- and as the three of them leave together, without fail, my eyes fill with tears.
Scenic spectacle, gorgeous music, flashy choreography, sparkling comedy, heartfelt characterization -- The Merry Widow has it all. I know I'm not the only long-time fan of the National Ballet who welcomed the skillful, energetic restaging of this vastly entertaining classic.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Act 3 takes the audience into the scarlet-and-gold opulence of Chez Maxim, with a semi-circular hall of mirrors surrounding the back of the stage and providing a gorgeous reflecting effect in the final moments of the ballet. Incidentally, that hall of mirrors was a real weak link in the old days when the ballet was staged at the Hummingbird (now Sony) Centre. There seemed to be no way to stop the mirrors from quivering and vibrating, and the resulting reflections of light bounced all over the auditorium. In the current venue at the Four Seasons Centre, the mirrors are now rock-steady.
The rainbow of colours in the costumes mimics the brilliant colours of the settings. There are military uniforms in a startling array of shades for the men, and (in the final act) tailcoats and polished-to-a-gleam black shoes. The women don frothy gowns with multiple layers of petticoats, but with an unusual design feature to enable the dancing -- the long trains sweep the floor in the back, but the fronts have higher-cut hems with two overlapping panels meeting in the centre in an inverted "V" shape. This allows all the necessary room for leg extensions.
In Act 2, the men and women alike wear puffed-sleeve white blouses covered with red-and-gold jackets or vests, with matching red caps for the women and white turbans for the men. Footwear for both genders consists of tall red boots with definite hard heels.
There is, then, no shortage of colour for the eyes to feast upon.
I have to start this review of the actual performance in a rather unusual place -- with the sterling work of the corps de ballet. This ballet has sizable sections in all 3 acts devoted to the work of the corps. In Act 1, the dancers have to waltz at high speed around the stage -- and that includes multiple couples circling through the not-very-wide space behind that onstage pillar. If the swirling waltzes of Act 1 are otherwise rather conventional, the kolo of Act 2 and the can-can sequence in Maxim's in Act 3 are anything but.
The kolo requires the dancers to extend their legs, ruler-straight, with their feet sticking out at a 90-degree angle from the leg -- the utter antithesis of the "line" so beloved of the classical dance manuals. Not only do the feet have to lock into that unusual position, but the dancers frequently have to strike the floor -- or even take steps -- on the heels, rather than on the ball or toe of the foot. The rhythmic tattoo of those boot heels striking the floor is part of the texture of this dance number, and the heel-first posture adds extra interest for the audience.
The choreography of Act 3 goes a different route, with much emphasis on straight-legged high kicks -- and not just from the team of six can-can dancers! The visual image of the couples kicking their feet above their heads -- knees straight, skirts and coat tails flying -- is one of my enduring memories of this show. But the can-can itself is a showpiece for the sextet of women dancing it, legs kicking and twirling at the knee, and frothy skirts treated as playthings in their busy hands. The climactic sequence has six men hoist the six women onto their shoulders in a shoulder-to-shoulder, outward-facing circle, and then the circle slowly rotates, with six pairs of legs busily kicking up and down. It always draws a sharp burst of applause.
Next, the character artists. This ballet is particularly rich in character roles, those dramatic figures who may have to do some dancing, but are mostly there to move the story along and to provide colour. Since the last National Ballet staging of this piece was eight years ago, almost all of the character parts -- and the solo dancers for that matter -- were taken by dancers making their role debuts. Sadly, the programme in most cases does not distinguish who does what at which shows in these roles, and it's not easy to recognize faces under the heavy loads of makeup, the proliferation of mustaches, and the numerous hats.
At any rate, the elderly Baron Zeta raised laughs with his awkward attempts to dance on a bad knee -- I can empathize. Njegus, his secretary, brought broad comedy into the garden scene. The Maitre d' Chez Maxim was suitably pompous and affected. And if the Enraged Client didn't quite match the inimitable nose-in-the-air snottiness for which Victoria Bertram was renowned in this part, she definitely stamped the role with her own brand of nouveau-riche arrogance.
The two undersecretaries, Kromov and Pritisch (danced by Ben Rudisin and Brendan Saye) handled the tricky footwork of their dance in Act 1 with great flair, while giving the roles the necessary two-peas-in-a-pod appearance.
In the Act 2 kolo, Larkin Miller gave a fire-eating performance as the Leading Pontevedrian Dancer, flinging himself into the air and about the stage with great panache.
And finally, we come to the heart of the ballet: the two romantic couples. It's the presence of these two couples in the story that gave choreographer Ronald Hynd so many opportunities to create pas de deux, and he took it eagerly. The resulting roles are rich indeed, and finely differentiated -- no risk of sameness here.
The duets for the passionate young couple of Camille and Valencienne are the more ardent, the more adventurous, and contain far more of Hynd's signature unusual lifts. The older and (perhaps?) wiser couple of Hanna and Danilo have a more classical vibe, but also -- as befits their tricky relationship -- more of a courtship feeling, a sense of being a mating ritual where the young lovers express greater longing for fulfillment.
As Camille de Rosillon, Jack Bertinshaw layered in a definite rakish air which I can't recall seeing in this character before. His dancing clearly brought in that kind of flair, and his execution of the numerous and complex lifts seemed almost nonchalant -- some dancers would strive in vain for that kind of apparent ease.
As Valencienne, Miyoko Koyasu brought playfulness and flirtation in plenty -- both necessary in this role. Her character moments, especially at the climax of the garden scene, were great fun. Most of all, she, too, made those numerous lifts look both easy and lovely. I've always felt in previous performances that Valencienne looked a bit too much like a sack of potatoes being heaved and thrown about in the air, but Koyasu finally convinced me that Hynd's lifts can be both graceful and natural in appearance.
Harrison James presented a strong performance as Count Danilo -- comically awkward in his opening drunk scene, powerfully dominating in his solo in the garden scene, and evincing a great mixture of desire and hesitancy in his duets with Hanna. His memory duet with the young Hanna brought his most expressive dancing of the evening.
Heather Ogden was the one dancer among the four leads who had danced her role before. Her Widow sparkled throughout with a playful sense of fun and mischief. That twinkle in the eye not only brought added fun to her dancing in the Balkan garden scene, but also added flair to the ballroom in the embassy. I didn't get so much sense of her love for Danilo -- many of their moments together made it look like she was just toying or flirting with him for her own amusement. That is, until the final scene, when she suddenly found herself alone in Chez Maxim, the lights down, as the Maitre D' went to fetch her cloak. Then came a total transformation at the moment when she felt Danilo's hands on her shoulders -- and from that moment to the final curtain the romantic ardour was strong and unmistakable. I could wish she had found more of it sooner.
Ronald Hynd's ultimate coup de theatre is the culminating solemn, sombre pas de cinq. It comes at the moment when Hanna and Valencienne rush in to stop Danilo from challenging Camille to a duel. The Baron sees his wife protecting another man, and realizes that he has been cuckolded. The ensuing dance, in very slow time, shows Hanna and Danilo moving together, while Valencienne turns to her husband again and again to console him, only for her to be drawn back to Camille's arms once more. The Baron circles slowly with Camille around her, and finally stands aside as they dance, with a look of unutterable sadness on his face. He steps out, proffers his arm, and Valencienne joins him to leave with him. Then, at the last minute, in a gesture of acceptance and even forgiveness, he turns again, beckons Camille to join him -- and as the three of them leave together, without fail, my eyes fill with tears.
Scenic spectacle, gorgeous music, flashy choreography, sparkling comedy, heartfelt characterization -- The Merry Widow has it all. I know I'm not the only long-time fan of the National Ballet who welcomed the skillful, energetic restaging of this vastly entertaining classic.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Xiao Nan Yu: A Tribute
Anyone who's not a devoted ballet fan or dance specialist might not fully appreciate the significance of the number "22" in the story of Xiao Nan Yu's career.
Dancers, and especially classical ballet dancers, measure their careers in "dog years." When a classical dancer continues to perform beyond age 30, the average age limit has already been passed. Inevitably, the body's flexibility is lessened with time, and the all-too-frequent injuries, great and small, take their own toll.
The mere fact that Nan has kept dancing for 22 years with this company is startling enough. Even more remarkable is that she has been able to choose her own retirement time when she was ready, and not when her body forced her into the decision. She's creating her final bout of ballet magic in The Merry Widow, even as I write these words, very much on her own terms.
I know that she has danced many magnificent performances over the years. The odd thing is that, due to the quirks of casting policy, not many of those performances have coincided with my subscription shows, the Saturday matinees.
I can recall a couple. One was her memorable outing as the Swan Queen and Black Swan in James Kudelka's Swan Lake. Another was a gripping Tatiana in John Cranko's Onegin.
But for me, there is one role and one role only that defines my memory of this remarkable dance artist: the role of Paulina in Christopher Wheeldon's The Winter's Tale. I've seen three different dancers perform this role with the National Ballet, and one more in the DVD of the premiere Royal Ballet production. They were all good -- but, to put it as simply as possible, Nan is Paulina.
Here's what I wrote about the last live performance of The Winter's Tale which I saw (in November of 2017):
"Xiao Nan Yu, as Paulina, flung caution to the winds, her face frozen into a scream of pain as she pounded her fists against Leontes' back over and over, finally overmastering him and driving him down into a heap on the floor. She then brought a dignified yet very real human sorrow into her mourning solo (and pas de deux with Leontes)….
"The team of Hannah Fischer, Piotr Stanczyk, Xiao Nan Yu, and those around them had no need to fear comparison with any other cast I've seen in the show, the original cast from London (on whom the roles were created) not excepted."
Xiao Nan Yu may come to mind when watching Onegin or Swan Lake. But I know, as surely as I live, that I will never, ever view The Winter's Tale again without remembering her evocative, powerful, emotionally wrenching dancing in the role of Paulina.
Well done, Nan -- a true and shining star in the National Ballet. We will miss you.
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