Kenneth MacMillan died of a heart attack on 29 October
1992 while backstage at Covent Garden at a revival of his ballet,
Mayerling. This was ironic, given the dark, tragic nature
of its story. MacMillan was one of the great choreographers of
the 20th century. He was unafraid of confronting controversial
issues in his ballets and often probed the darker side of human
nature and sexuality. Mayerling was very typical in this
respect. This is not a sedate ballet in the classical sense –
instead it presents raw emotion and brazen sexuality.
The
tragedy of Mayerling involving the alleged double-suicides of
Crown Prince Rudolf of Austria-Hungary and his mistress, the
17 year-old, Mary Vetsera at the Royal Hunting Lodge of Mayerling
in 1889 is well-known. It has since become the subject of many
books, films and dramas – frequently very fanciful. Conflicting
reports and versions of the events have occluded its mystery
which will probably be never solved. Much of the evidence was
destroyed or concealed at the time, for fear of scandal. MacMillan’s
ballet shows Crown Prince Rudolf as an angst-ridden, suicidal,
drug-and-drink-addled womaniser, pursued by many demons. His
parents, Emperor Franz Josef and his cold, unloving mother,
Empress Elisabeth were both having affairs and led a hedonistic,
dissolute court. Rudolf himself was being constantly pressurised
to support the Hungarian separatist cause.
Irek
Mukhamedov holds centre-stage throughout, dancing with his wife,
numerous mistresses and fancies, and his proud and unsupportive
mother. His is a muscular and commanding but chilling portrayal
of the flawed, Prince - utterly decadent yet disturbed and vulnerable.
The supporting cast all shine. There are so many memorable moments.
Top of the list must surely be the Act I, Scene 3 wedding-night
encounter when Rudolf comes to his unloved bride to consummate
his enforced marriage. He terrifies his bride Princess Stephanie
by levelling a revolver at her. One of the most provocative,
disturbing dances I can ever remember seeing in any ballet follows
as Rudolf forces himself on the petrified girl who is danced
with beautifully expressed vulnerability by Jane Burn. The choreography
is wild and startling by any standards. But why did the cameras
have to dwell overlong on close-ups of facial expressions when
it would have been far more revealing to see their full, frequently
quite horrific body movements across the whole stage. That would
have been far more expressive of Rudolf’s psychotic nature.
Lesley
Collier is also most persuasive as Countess Marie Larisch, Rudolf’s
aging ex-mistress. Larisch is at once anxious to preserve her
slipping hold over him and to protect her position by providing
him with a younger mistress she can control, Mary Vetsera. As
Mary, Viviana Durante is excellent as Rudolf’s besotted, naïve
young love interest only too eager to share in Rudolf’s decadence
and his yearning for romantic oblivion. Nicola Tranah is regal
as the Empress, coldly indifferent to Rudolf’s sufferings and
forced into an illicit liaison because of her husband, the Emperor’s
infidelity. Confined to a brief appearance in Act II, Darcey
Bussell dances the role of the high class prostitute with her
customary style and elegance using some extraordinary high back-kicks,
if I am using the right ballet technical term. Mention should
also be made of the rubber-jointed Matthew Hart as Bratfisch,
Rudolf’s cab driver and popular entertainer.
John
Lanchbery’s choice of music by Franz Liszt is for the most part
imaginative and apposite. I will admit to not having an in-depth
knowledge of Liszt’s music and I could recognise only one piece
of music with certainty and that was the Mephisto Waltz
that underscores Mitzi Caspar’s dance in the Tavern (Act II, Scene
I). Other music, I think, was adapted from the piano concertos
and his solo piano music and Hungarian Rhapsodies. I suspect Lanchbery
deliberately chose less well-known music so that it would not
detract from, and lessen the impact of what was happening on-stage.
Neither the booklet notes, nor the on-screen credits referred
to the names of the Liszt pieces used and the internet did not
prove helpful either.
Provocative
and brilliant.
Ian
Lace
