Hans Werner HENZE (b. 1926)
Ondine – Ballet in Three Acts (1955-1957) [102:40]
Ondine – Miyako Yoshida
Palemon – Edward Watson
Berta – Genesia Rosato
Tirrenio, Lord of the Mediterranean Sea – Ricardo Cervera
A Hermit – Gary Avis
Orchestra of the Royal Opera House/Barry Wordsworth
Artists of The Royal Ballet
Choreography: Frederick Ashton
Designs: Lila de Nobili
Film director: Ross MacGibbon
Picture format: 16:9/NTSC
Sound: LPCM stereo, 5.1 DTS Digital Surround
Region: 0
Subtitles: English, French, German, Spanish (documentary only)
Extras: Gallery; The Making of Ondine – an interview with Hans Werner
Henze [11:20]
rec. 3, 6 June 2009, Royal Opera House Covent Garden, London, UK
OPUS ARTE OA 1030 D [114:00]
Undine the water sprite, first named by the 16th-century Swiss
alchemist Paracelsus, was the subject of Friedrich de la Motte Fouqué’s story
Undine, written nearly three centuries later. The idea of a character
who must marry a mortal to gain a soul is rich in musical possibilities; Claude
Debussy attempted to capture her elusive character in Book II of his Préludes
(1912-1913), as did compatriots Maurice Ravel in Gaspard de la nuit
(1908) and Cécile Chaminade in l’ondine (1900). The Romantics
were similarly enchanted, with operas by E.T.A. Hoffmann (1816) and Albert
Lortzing (1845), not to mention Tchaikovsky’s Undina (1869). And then
there’s one of my recent discoveries, the delightful Undine Sonata
by Carl Reinecke (review).
Frederick Ashton’s Ondine was premiered at the Royal Opera House Covent
Garden in 1958, with Margot Fonteyn as the eponymous water sprite. In this
2009 revival, the role of Ondine is danced by Miyako Yoshida, who made such
a powerful impression in Peter Wright’s The Nutcracker some years ago.
Indeed, the DVD of that production – first issued by Pioneer but now available
as a Region 1 import from Kultur in the USA – is simply glorious, helped in
no small measure by the conducting of Barry Wordsworth. As he’s in the pit
for Ondine too, superior musical results are virtually guaranteed.
But does this Ondine live up to expectations? First impressions are
all favourable; the orchestra is in fine form, the high-definition picture
is razor sharp, and the sound – in PCM stereo at least – is natural and beautifully
detailed. Lila de Nobili’s original designs are of the bare-bones variety
and somewhat murky; that said, the dark backgrounds have a wonderful way of
highlighting the elegant costumes. As for the principals, Genesia Rosato makes
a fine, aristocratic-looking Berta, who also knows how to party with her guests.
Meanwhile Edward Watson, who strikes a rather gaunt, Byronic pose as Palemon,
brings a real sense of troubled introspection to his Act I solo (ch. 5). And
now for a minor grumble; the editing here isn’t terribly intuitive, with some
abrupt transitions, but that’s soon forgotten as Ondine emerges from behind
a blue-bathed gauzy veil, accompanied by some lovely harp melodies.
Yoshida’s poise and presence are undiminished, her movements wonderfully fluid,
although some may feel she over-emotes at times. Still, she is superb in her
Shadow Dance (ch. 7), her en pointe as light and assured as ever. As
for Henze’s disarmingly simple score, it’s beautifully played and balanced,
adding its own skein of magic to the production. Speaking of which, the first
pas de deux (ch. 9) is elegantly done, Yoshida’s grace and line just
astonishing. Happily the spell isn’t prematurely ended by intrusive clapping,
although there is some applause at the start of the Forest Transformation
scene (ch. 12).
Visually, Ashton’s choreography has many striking touches; for instance, as
Palemon tries to embrace Ondine she turns away, her arms moving like pale
anemones in the gloom. Yoshida’s limpid loveliness has its counterpoint in
the entry of Tirrenio, Lord of the Mediterranean Sea, danced with real panache
by Richard Cervera. At this point one becomes aware that the darkened stage
also acts like a filmic fade, characters melting into – and emerging out of
– the blackness. It’s a deft piece of stage business, and it works remarkably
well. And speaking of cinematic references, there’s more than a hint of Busby
Berkeley in the ‘wedding-cake’ display of tritons and nymphs towards the end
of ch. 14.
Henze’s score never succumbs to pastiche; even in the music of the final pas
de deux of Act I (ch. 15) he finds tenderness and joy in music of great
clarity and refinement. The three-dimensional recording certainly helps here,
picking out the discreet harp swirls and exposed wind writing. Indeed, there’s
as much to enchant the ear as there is to delight the eye, even though the
Act I finale – with Tirrenio, the tritons and nymphs – is a touch too long.
The sunnier port scene at the start of Act II is animated by the good-natured
antics of matelots, stevedores and their wily wenches; as for the set – essentially
just rigging and cargo – it’s basic but evocative. The stage is illuminated
even more by the arrival of Palemon and Ondine, the latter’s features alive
with awe and excitement. It’s only when Yoshida’s not on stage that one realises
how magnetic a dancer she really is, drawing the eye and focusing the narrative.
And then there’s that remarkable scene on board (ch. 22), with passengers
and sailors bending and bracing to the motion of the ship. Visually this works
very well, Henze’s rocking accompaniment – complete with soft guitar – a discreet
yet inspired piece of writing.
The poignant pas de trois – a reminder that this is a ménage a trois
as well – is another triumph of understatement, subtly choreographed and
acted, Yoshida’s mobile features a good barometer of the ballet’s changeable
emotions. The video direction here is equally assured, the drama’s natural
ebb and flow unimpeded by fussy angles or editing. As for the stormy Act II
Finale it’s yet another visual and musical highpoint, the on-board terror
and turmoil evoked in music of surprising energy and thrust. And, as always
in the cumulative excitement of a live theatrical event, there’s a real buzz
in the House in anticipation of Act III.
Set in Palemon’s gloomy castle – he and Berta have survived the shipwreck
and are to be married – this Act builds on the musical and dramatic momentum
of the last, especially in Edward Watson’s wild and impassioned response to
the vision of Ondine (ch. 29). He really seizes the stage at this point, turbulent
feelings channelled into some of the most virile dancing thus far. Yoshida
is also excellent, a vision in every sense of the word, her aquatic movements
both varied and finely calibrated. And for those who don’t know Henze’s score,
like the ballet itself it seems to grow in strength and confidence, the shimmer
of gongs and spray of harps neither hackneyed nor overdone. As for the action,
no ballet is complete without its divertissement; here we have a heady
mix of pas de trois, pas de six, a Boys’ Dance, and a set of
Variations.
The ballet may have its longueurs – especially in the first Act – but
composer and choreographer make amends with a brace of breathtaking dances
in the final one; the ebullient Entrée (ch. 32) is accompanied by earthy
brass and drums, the colourful pas de six (ch. 33) and ensuing numbers
augmented by a lively piano part. It’s an ideal opportunity for the corps
de ballet – and the band – to have some serious fun. And they do. There’s
even a hint of jazzy high-jinks in some of these dances, proof that water
music need not mean watered-down as well. As before, the simple, stylish costumes
are a treat, the varied headgear adding shape and pattern to these ensemble
pieces. The Variations are hugely entertaining as well, especially the whirligig
of a solo in Variation 2 (ch.38). That certainly deserved its spontaneous
round of applause.
The party mood evaporates with the return of the cool-green figure of Tirrenio
(ch. 41), to whom Henze bequeaths some of his most austere and otherworldly
music. It’s a mesmerising scene, the imaginative choreography especially thrilling.
Cervera is a powerful presence here, upstaged only by the return of the sorrowful
Yoshida. Gone is her girlish innocence and glee, her excited fibrillations
supplanted a sad stoicism; Yoshida makes the transformation seem all the more
poignant, her grace undimmed but her features set in a Noh-like mask of misery.
It’s a compelling piece of theatre, and even as Palemon kisses her he knows
he must die. As balletic apotheoses go, this may seem impossibly mawkish,
but even the hardest heart would melt as the grieving Ondine bears Palemon’s
body back to the deep. The audience, somewhat subdued so far, signals its
approval with prolonged applause cheers and several curtain calls.
Apart from the ubiquitous Gallery, there’s an 11-minute interview with Hans
Werner Henze, ensconced in his impressive villa near Rome. He’s unassuming
and softly spoken, describing Ondine as a truly eclectic work, a fusion
of his German-ness, Ashton’s Englishness and Italian artist Lila de Nobili’s
passion for British culture. As artistic collaborations go, Ondine
seems to have been trouble-free; there’s no doubting Henze’s admiration for
Ashton, and he singles out the ‘unpretentious, friendly’ Fonteyn for special
praise. Hard to believe, though, that they were concerned the music might
be too demanding for audiences of the time. So, a pleasant – if not especially
informative – snippet, but it’s worth watching nonetheless.
This is a wonderful DVD and a most desirable addition to any ballet collection.
Opus Arte’s production values are top-notch – the pictures and sound are among
the best I’ve encountered – and the liner-notes, by Ashton authority David
Vaughan, are a model of their kind.
Dan Morgan
A wonderful DVD and a most desirable addition to any ballet collection.