“- it is a big thrill when suddenly a whole new classical
ballet sunbursts upon you, with a whole new dazzling score full
of eighteen-carat tunes (some of which, naturally, are familiar),
and a series of dances, classical and character, which bear
the stamp of sterling Petipa - And the score is so marvellous,
and it isn’t Tchaikovsky. Glazounov has the same variety
of invention, but into certain tunes he injects an extra vein
of Straussian voluptuousness, a sick, decadent, Tennysonian
over-sweetness, glittering in its autumn golds, which is irresistible
just for a change.”
[Richard Buckle reviewing an Australian Ballet production, quoted
in Buckle at the ballet: selected criticism by Richard Buckle,
London, 1980, p.287.]
That sounds all well and good. In fact Mr Buckle was at pains
to point out that he had enjoyed his evening at the London’s
New Victoria Theatre in 1963 specifically because he was watching
an abridged version of the original 1898 ballet. His
review praised Rudolf Nureyev’s “drastic editing”
of the storyline, especially the excision of both the “White
Lady” episodes and the rather pointless presence of King
Andrew of Hungary at Countess Sybille’s castle. He cited
as supporting evidence the opinion of the Ballets Russes
designer Alexandre Benois that the 1898 version had been both
too complicated and too long.
The first point to make, therefore, is that this new Milan production
has quite deliberately gone back to the original Raymonda
of 1898. Immense effort has gone into recreating its choreography,
costumes and sets as accurately as possible. That was no easy
task, for although the original choreographic notation had survived
in the invaluable Sergeyev Collection, the intervening 113 years
had witnessed both artistic upheaval during the Russian Revolution
and then official reticence in sharing cultural artefacts with
the West during much of the Soviet era. The Milan team would
have deserved the warmest scholarly appreciation for their recreative
efforts whatever the outcome had been. As it happens, this 2011
production is a genuine artistic triumph.
It’s a fact that, at first encounter, Raymonda
does appear to be a rather slow-moving story. Glazunov, moreover,
loves wallowing in those melodies of “Straussian voluptuousness”
or others that sound rather enervated and twee, avoiding the
virile, populist, foot-tapping episodes that make Tchaikovsky’s
scores so immediately memorable. In all probability, the first
time you watch Raymonda you will find yourself, for long
stretches, waiting for something - anything! - to happen.
Perseverance does pay off and repeated viewings - the joy of
DVD and Blu-ray - demonstrate conclusively that the story and
the score have a pace of their own that, once allowed for and
adjusted to, really works.
The very opening of the first scene of Act 1 sets the tone.
No-one dashes about and everyone moves in the stateliest manner:
the courtiers even play darts, it seems, in slow motion. Any
rushing around the stage would have been rendered very difficult
by the superbly elaborate costumes that everyone wears. The
real-life Jean de Brienne and King Andrew II of Hungary both
died in the 1230s but costumes from later and rather more glamorous
periods are used here instead. They are drawn mainly from late
14th and early 15th century sources, I’d
say, although the countess’s wimple looks rather early
14th century. The soldier who subsequently delivers
a message from Raymonda’s fiancé Jean de Brienne
is surely wearing the sort of helmet favoured by Spanish conquistadores
in the early 16th century! My nit-picking criticisms
are properly directed at St Petersburg’s Maryinsky Theatre
designers of 1898 - not the Milanese producers of today who
have deliberately and successfully replicated their idiosyncratic,
light-on-historical-accuracy approach.
Carrying on for the moment with this production’s appearance
- which is one of its most striking features - Act 1, scene
2 goes on to boast a beautifully-lit night-time set of the castle
terrace. The real triumph of stage design, particularly when
seen on a large HD television set, comes in Act 2 where the
breathtakingly vivid colour palette utilised for the inventive
heraldic designs simply dazzles the eye to pleasurable distraction.
The dancing that takes place within these wonderful settings
is undeniably of a very high quality. From her first entrance,
Olesia Novikova successfully conveys the girlish, rather vacant
naivety that is, to be honest, Raymonda’s primary characteristic.
Her acting ability is a little more challenged in the prolonged
dream sequence of Act 1, scene 2, where she might have put greater
emphasis on Raymonda’s repressed sexual desire for Abderahman.
The way in which the young girl is torn, in her fantasies, between
her “pure” relationship with Jean and the darker
intentions of the Moor would, after all, have been a topical
subject in 1898, when Sigmund Freud was just about to publish
The Interpretation of Dreams. Whatever the limitations
of Novikova’s characterisation, however, her dancing is
first rate, as demonstrated from the opening scene’s Une
fantaisie - variation de Raymonda onwards. She can certainly
stand comparison with - even if not quite surpassing - such
DVD rivals as Kolpakova (1980, VAI 4447), Semenyaka (undated
performance, Kultur D1170) and, the most widely known, Bessmertnova
(1989, Arthaus Musik 100 719).
The character of Jean de Brienne has - apart from killing his
love-rival and looking generally noble - little to do on stage,
but I was taken with the patent sincerity that Stuttgart Ballet
First Soloist Friedemann Vogel brings to the role. He looks
very much the part of a chivalrous medieval knight in his crusading
outfit though rather less so later in his somewhat camp ethnic
Hungarian costume. He also possesses all the necessary technique
to make light of Petipa’s choreography. He offers excellent
support to Novikova in, for instance, the Grand adagio
of Act 1, scene 2.
The third element of the love triangle, Raymonda’s other
suitor Abderahman, is very well portrayed and danced by Mick
Zeni. One certainly suspects that he’d have offered Raymonda
a rather more exciting life than she ultimately opts for with
goody-goody Jean.
The corps de ballet is pretty large - Vesna Mlakar’s
useful booklet note mentions 150 performers in all - and has
quite a bit to do. Its members are variously Moors and Spaniards
in Abderahman’s retinue, returning crusaders (and what
appears to be some sort of Greek chorus!) in Jean’s party
and various types of native Hungarians in King Andrew’s
entourage. A large body of children throw themselves enthusiastically
into the performance: the girls shine in the Valse fantastique
that follows the Grand adagio, while the boys provide
more than a few jolly moments with coconut shells (?) strapped
to their thighs for percussive effects in Act 2’s Grand
divertissement. All the adults and children add considerably
to the colourful production and, towards the end of the third
Act, the lively Coda and Galop final are both
enjoyable romps that are especially well executed.
The Teatro alla Scala orchestra, under the experienced direction
of Michail Jurowski, plays with consummate skill and feeling
for the music. That said, if you’ve grown up with one
of Svetlanov’s recordings of the score you’ll miss
the outrageously intrusive - but highly effective - interruptions
by typically raucous Soviet brass at moments of high drama.
Perhaps as compensation, in this production an on-stage complement
of brass players in full costume appears at appropriate moments
to play straight out into the auditorium.
Overall, the production was easy to follow although there was
one moment that I thought was rather botched and another that
left me a little bemused. The former was at the climax of Act
2 where Jean de Brienne unexpectedly appears to deliver Raymonda
from Abderahman’s excitingly choreographed bacchanale/kidnap
attempt. Unfortunately, Milan’s complement of crusaders
appear on stage a few seconds before we hear Glazunov’s
dramatic musical cue for their arrival, so the required “surprise”
rescue-in-the-nick-of-time isn’t any such thing.
The moment that caused me some concern came in the same scene
and presumably derives from the 1898 version. I’ve always
thought that Jean kills Abderahman in single combat, with or
without a little supernatural help from the White Lady. My rather
worn copy of Cyril Beaumont’s authoritative Complete
book of ballets (London, 1937) explains (p.551) that “The
contest [between Jean and Abderahman] is furious, but the White
Lady appears and causes Abderam [sic.] to be seized with weakness
and slain - ”. Here, however, it’s all done by said
female herself, shining a light into the Moor’s eyes that
doesn’t just blind him but apparently finishes him off
entirely without the need for Jean’s sword thrust at all.
Odd!
More serious reservations come, however, with the question of
the direction for TV and video. I would suggest that, as a general
principle for opera or ballet transmissions or recordings, we
at home ought to be able to see at least everything that
the theatre audience sees from its perspective. There are also
plenty of close-ups to emphasise characters’ emotions,
important pieces of stage business and, in ballet, the artists’
technical skills. Yet in this production there are a few instances
where the screen fades to black for a few seconds for no apparent
reason. (1) At 41:46 Jean and a few of his soldiers have come
on stage to greet Raymonda - the screen goes black and then
switches to the orchestra. At 42:10 we switch back to the same
stage as before but now we see that Jean and his troops have
been joined, while we were away, by all sorts of unexplained
characters including a woman doing a passable impersonation
of the Statue of Liberty. The sequence is oddly disconcerting
and it’s alienating to the viewer not to have seen such
a significant body of people actually come onto the stage and
interact with the other characters already there. (2) Similarly,
between 61:57 and 62:22 and also between 67:13 and 67:30 the
director switches from the stage to images of the orchestra.
It’s not because the curtain has come down at those points.
In both cases we then simply return to the same scene we had
been watching before so why were we deprived of seeing, like
the audience, what was happening on stage in the meantime?
Another oddity that some will find needlessly distracting, especially
on repeated viewing, occurs in Act 3’s Variation de
Raymonda. We are watching Miss Novikova dancing away expertly
in her solo when a third of the on-screen image fades out to
be replaced by a shot of the hands that are playing the keyboard
of the piano accompanying her. Meanwhile, the dancing continues
on the remaining two-thirds of the screen! That’s repeated
a few times and successfully destroys any suspension of disbelief
by unnecessarily reminding us that this is, after all, just
a theatrical performance.
To many reading this such quibbles will be of no great concern.
Even if they are likely to worry you, I must still recommend
that you see this fabulous once-in-a-lifetime - just think of
the expense! - production. Raymonda is unquestionably
a major ballet but one that has been unjustifiably overshadowed
and is still staged comparatively rarely. The medium of the
DVD offers, therefore, a great opportunity to get to know it
better by repeated viewing. Moreover, as this new release triumphantly
demonstrates, the extra clarity and definition offered by the
Blu-ray technology might very well have been invented just for
the lavishly fabricated, sumptuously staged and triumphantly
successful production that it here records and preserves for
posterity.
Rob Maynard
Raymonda - Olesia Novikova
[154:00] 