Frederick Ashton: a showcase of three works
Choreography by Frederick Ashton
Scènes de ballet (1948)
Music by Igor Stravinsky
A month in the country (1976)
Music by Fryderyk Chopin, arr. John Lanchbery
Rhapsody (1980)
Music by Sergei Rachmaninoff
Kate Shipway (piano, A month in the country)
Robert Clark (piano, Rhapsody)
Orchestra of the Royal Opera House / Emmanuel Plasson
Directed for the screen by Ross MacGibbon
rec. live, 23/29 April 2022, Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, London, UK
Opus Arte OABD7331D Blu-ray [112]
Let’s begin with something of a puzzle. What exactly is this new release called? Its accompanying booklet tells us that we are watching Frederick Ashton: a showcase of three works. Meanwhile, the title that flashes up on the TV screen as the filmed performances begin is just a single word – Triple. The disc packaging’s front and rear covers, on the other hand, are noncommittal. They simply proclaim the names of the three individual ballets and of the choreographer, with no suggestion at all that there’s anything at all in the way of a portmanteau title.
Opus Arte is not usually so restrained in marketing and promoting its releases featuring Frederick Ashton’s ballets. In fact, the choreographer’s name is usually stressed as their selling point. Thus, the explicit title of a collection that gathered together La valse, ‘Méditation’ from Thaïs, Voices of spring, Monotones I and II and Marguerite and Armand was emblazoned, in a much larger font, Ashton celebration: The Royal Ballet dances Frederick Ashton (Blu-ray OA BD7128 D). Similarly, a compilation of The dream, Symphonic variations and Marguerite and Armand (with a different cast) was marketed, in an even bigger sized type, simply as Frederick Ashton (Blu-ray OA BD7240 D). So was a mixed bag of Les patineurs, Divertissements and another differently-cast Scènes de ballet (DVD OA1064D). While the Blu-ray release OA BD7180 D may have reduced the choreographer’s typographical prominence somewhat, its cover billing explicitly linked his name to the featured ballets – viz. Frederick Ashton’s Rhapsody [and] The two pigeons. In similar fashion, when the Blu-ray OA BD7058 D appeared, its content was described not as Tales of Beatrix Potter but as Frederick Ashton’s Tales of Beatrix Potter. And let’s not forget The Frederick Ashton collection, volume one (DVD OA1280BD, including several of the shorter ballets listed above) and The Frederick Ashton collection, volume two (DVD OA1281BD, containing the full length productions Tales of Beatrix Potter, Sylvia and La fille mal gardée).
I doubt, however, whether we should read too much into Ashton’s decreased prominence on this new release’s cover. After all, he and Kenneth MacMillan securely retain their places as the Royal Ballet’s two greatest in-house choreographers. Their creations are universally recognised as the company’s crown jewels and their full-scale narrative ballets, in particular, still draw in large and enthusiastic audiences whenever they are mounted.
MacMillan enjoyed a pretty good run as a choreographer, with a career spanning nearly 40 years (1953-1992). Ashton’s works, however, were created over period almost half as long again and the 59 years between the premieres of A tragedy of fashion (1926) and La chatte métamorphosée en femme (1985) saw him exploring a wide range of styles of dance. The three works showcased on this new release, created between 1948 and 1980, demonstrate his lifelong artistic eclecticism. Thus, while only four years separate the premieres of A month in the country (1976)and Rhapsody (1980), they could hardly be, from the point of view of a non-professional audience, more different in concept and style.
Scènes de ballet (1948), danced to a Stravinsky score originally written for a Broadway review, was regarded particularly fondly by its creator and is assessed by critics as possibly Ashton’s most modernist work. Writing in Ballet today in 1956, A.V. Cotton described it as a piece of “abstract dance pictorialism” and related it to the style of two other ground-breaking choreographers. Scènes de ballet echoed, he thought, the “completely new kinds of groupings, fresh, acrobatic-style dances, solemn, but moving processionals… set in amazingly new kinds of costume and with daring new methods of stylised staging, décor and inventive lighting” that had been pioneered in the 1920s and 1930s by Leonid Massine. At the same time, he pointed out its similarities to George Balanchine’s ballets “in which no story happened, but our imaginations were stirred, our sense of pictorial beauty stimulated, by the manipulation of disciplined bodies in disciplined patterns of dancing” (A.V. Cotton Writings on dance 1938-68 [London, 1975], p. 79).
While I would never presume to suggest that it does so at the expense of substance, the story-less Scènes de ballet puts its emphasis, as Mr Cotton’s words suggest, very much on form. In practice, however, it is tricky to convey the choreographer’s intended effect. There are, I think, two particular difficulties.
The first derives from the fact that Ashton planned his choreography very carefully to emphasise precisely calculated symmetry, quite literally laying down lines conceived on principles of Euclidean geometry for his dancers to follow exactly. That aspect of the piece, is, however, almost impossible to discern from a lateral perspective if you are occupying a seat in the stalls or operating a film camera positioned in the auditorium. Indeed, it has sometimes been observed that, in that particular respect, Scènes de ballet would actually be better appreciated from an overhead viewpoint à la Busby Berkeley. [Even though, once in a while, directors of filmed ballet performances insert a few gimmicky shots-from-above, I find them jarringly out of place. Most video directors avoid them like the plague and I am pleased to note that, on this occasion, the experienced Ross MacGibbon eschews their use entirely.]
The second difficulty arises from the fact that the styles of dancing that predominate today in almost all Western dance companies, including the Royal Ballet, are often somewhat antithetical to Ashton’s intentions in Scènes de ballet. These days, absolutely exact spatial consistency and symmetrical precision are no longer as fetishized as they once were. Indeed, in a sign of our times they are often prized less than artistic individuality and freedom of expression. Consequently, modern dancers are no longer drilled to the (undoubtedly visually impressive) level of absolute, near-robotic unanimity that, say, the Bolshoi and Mariinsky companies, glorying in their 19th century Petipa heritage, can still, when required, exhibit on a regular basis – and that Ashton requires and emphasises in Scènes de ballet.
With those points made, Scènes de ballet remains a key work in Ashton’s choreographic development. As such, the Royal Ballet maintains it in its repertoire and, from time to time, memorialises it on film. On this occasion, the company could hardly have fielded a more stellar roster of dancers. Covent Garden’s leading ballerino Vadim Muntagirov takes the leading male role alongside the equally accomplished Sarah Lamb. They are supported by an intriguing mixture of familiar and less well-known names, four men and a dozen women, indicative of a company confident and willing enough to offer regular opportunities to up-and-coming talent – which is not always the case with the more rigidly ranked hierarchies that are common elsewhere in the ballet world. It is self-evident that a story-less piece of “abstract dance pictorialism” like Scènes de ballet cannot be judged on the basis of dramatic interpretation. Even so, what’s on display here is, when assessed purely from a technical point of view, an undeniably impressive achievement. The filmed performance on the previous Opus Arte release (OA 1064 D), featuring Ivan Putrov and Miyako Yoshida, is now more than 20 years old. Moreover, it is unavailable in the Blu-ray format which really does enhance the experience of watching ballet at home on the small screen. Consequently, this new Scènes de ballet is, I think, to be preferred.
Next on the Ashton triple bill, A month in the country is a narrative piece based on a play by Turgenev and an altogether entirely different kettle of caviar. Aston distils five Acts of Russian drama into a concise, direct 40-odd minutes’ melodrama of intense but often sublimated hothouse emotion, yet, in so doing, loses nothing of the original’s visceral impact. Indeed, the actress Peggy Ashcroft is said to have told Ashton that the ballet’s heightened intensity had actually improved upon the original play. This is a story of love – to varying degrees requited or unrequited – and flirtation of various degrees of seriousness between a bourgeois family’s young male tutor (danced by Matthew Ball) and, variously, a mother (Marianela Nuñez), her foster-daughter (Anna Rose O’Sullivan) and a domestic servant (Leticia Dias).
Ashton doesn’t attempt to replicate the full action of Turgenev’s drama and plays rather fast and loose with its details. He makes, for instance, the mother and father roles rather older than specified in the play, thereby adding a distinctive “toy boy” dimension to mama’s fixation on the tutor (an aspect of the story that’s convincingly related to the circumstances of Ashton’s own life at the time by his biographer Julie Kavanagh in Secret muses: the life of Frederick Ashton [London, 1996] pp. 546-556). Instead he concentrates on the story’s psychological dimensions, often conveyed by subtle bodily movements, the smallest of gestures or simply by slyly hesitant and often ambiguous glances exchanged between the characters. Variety is added by the insertion of a few comic episodes (the son bounces a ball around the family drawing room, the absent-minded father searches for something he’s lost, the randy maid pops cherries in the tutor’s mouth), all serving to lighten a mood that might otherwise be unremittingly intense.
Marianela Nuñez, the Royal Ballet’s grande dame and regarded by many as currently the world’s finest ballerina, is rarely off the stage and acts as the emotional core of the whole ballet. This is a role that plays very much to her strengths and her innate dignity of bearing only serves to make her discovery of her own feelings of illicit love and jealousy all the more shocking. Her dancing, needless to say, is on the highest technical level. As the tutor and object of her affections, Matthew Ball turns in another first-class performance. His dancing is, as you might expect, right up there with Ms Nuñez’s, but I have also been particularly impressed of late by his acting ability (I particularly enjoyed his superbly comic turn as Colas in La fille mal gardée). Here, the carefully conceived ambiguity of his facial expressions really serves to enhance the drama. Anna Rose O’Sullivan makes the most of her role as the lovesick foster-daughter who ultimately brings the whole emotional pack of familial cards crashing down, while Luca Acri is a natural audience favourite in the role of the young son, cannily observant but powerless to save the situation, that Ashton had originally allocated to Wayne Sleep.
It is a long time since I had seen A month in the country and I had, quite simply, forgotten what a rich, complex piece it is. Its choreography is a perfect match for the scenario: as one critic observes, it “is balanced between subtlety and melodrama. It’s full of delicately shaped solos, intricate footwork or yearning lines revealing its characters’ feelings – but there are also grand gestures set to big, crashing piano chords, people bursting through double doors, reacting extravagantly…” (Zoë Anderson The ballet lover’s companion [New Haven, 2015], p. 256]. Simultaneously thought-provoking and moving, A month in the country is ultimately a work that offers emotional insight into a time and place that’s very different from our own. If you have appreciated the way in which the Ashton’s Enigma variations or John Cranko’s Onegin similarly expressed universal truths about the human condition, even in repressed social settings, you will no doubt appreciate and enjoy this take on Turgeneva great deal.
That leaves Rhapsody, another ballet without an obvious narrative behind it. Danced to Rachmaninoff’s Rhapsody on a theme of Paganini and thus about 25 minutes in length, it is another Ashton creation that is usually highly rated by critics, with Clement Crisp, for example, describing it as “a work of the most skilled construction, subtle musicality, felicitous imagination” (Clement Crisp reviews: six decades of dance [London, 2021], p. 122). It was originally choreographed for Mikhail Baryshnikov, but, as it turned out, the collaboration between choreographer and dancer was hardly a meeting of minds. While Baryshnikov had hoped for a piece of “English” ballet by which he could widen his stylistic repertoire (or, as he rather pretentiously put it, “extend the spectrum of my presence”), Ashton wanted Rhapsody to reflect the flashy showmanship of the violinist Paganini himself and so came up with a work that would capitalise on the dancer’s explosive, typically Russian-school technique. Of course, the succession of Royal Ballet soloists who have danced in Rhapsody since then have neither been trained in that particular way nor possess Baryshnikov’s unique personality, so the piece as danced today is probably somewhat tamer and more restrained than its choreographer had originally envisaged. Nevertheless, the male soloist undoubtedly remains the star of the show, with the solo ballerina – it was Lesley Collier in 1980 – not coming on stage until halfway through. A dozen other dancers are also involved and, given that they do enjoy a few moments of their own in the spotlight – albeit collective rather than individual – I think Ms Kavanagh is a little unfair when she describes their role as “mostly as a chorus to enhance [the male soloist’s] impact, like a pop singer’s backing group” (Kavanagh, op. cit., p. 571).
Rhapsody’s lead solo dancers, Marcelino Sambé and Francesca Hayward, are, apparently, great friends in real life. Regular partners on stage, they are well matched, both physically and artistically. Both are light of feet and full of energy, at their best in the showy, bravura moves that characterise this particular piece. They are, though, equally at home in the climactic 18th variation where Rachmaninoff’s famous big tune heralds a welcome moment or two of romantic indulgence. A decade ago, Opus Arte issued a performance of the ballet that starred Steven McRae and Natalia Osipova (OA BD7180 D). That was just as good a performance the one on this present release and is, moreover, also available in Blu-ray format. If Rhapsody is your main interest and you already have Osipova/McRae in your collection, I would not necessarily feel obliged to buy this new version unless you are one of the many keen fans of its stars Sambé and Hayward.
[There is, by the way, another reason entirely to opt for the older Rhapsody DVD, in that it comes coupled with the only currently available account on film of Ashton’s The two pigeons. As you may recently have heard, the Royal Opera and Ballet intends to give up using live animals in performances. If, therefore, you want to fully appreciate the cathartic moment of emotional resolution when, mirroring the moving reconciliation of the ballet’s human protagonists, one of the titular birds flies right across the stage to cuddle up to its mate, you won’t be experiencing it at Covent Garden any time soon. Instead, you will need to acquire that particular Rhapsody/Two pigeons disc.]
This mixed programme is undeniably a very attractive one. The Orchestra of the Royal Opera House, conducted by Emmanuel Plasson, plays with the usual expertise and panache it brings to ballet repertoire and the vital contributions of the two pianists are accomplished and very idiomatically delivered. Two of this three-part programme’s constituent elements reflect the Royal Ballet’s commendable policy of re-filming its more important productions on a regular basis in order to showcase new casts. The release of A month in the country, however, is particularly significant in that it brings an important piece of Ashton’s later choreography before a wider home audience. Employing a high-profile cast of dancers at the top of their game and expertly filmed in a modern, technically state-of-the-art release, both this Blu-ray disc and its DVD counterpart will be warmly welcomed by anyone who appreciates dance performed at the finest level.
Rob Maynard
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Dancers and production staff
Scènes de ballet
Sarah Lamb, Vadim Muntagirov
Luca Acri, David Donnelly, Calvin Richardson, Joseph Sissens
Sophie Allnatt, Mica Bradbury, Annette Buvoli, Ashley Dean, Leticia Dias, Hannah Grennell, Sae Maeda, Nadia Mullova-Barley, Katharina Nikelski, Julia Roscoe, Mariko Sasaki and Charlotte Tonkinson
André Beaurepaire, designer
John B. Read, lighting designer
Christopher Carr, staging
Deirdre Chapman, répétiteur
A month in the country
Natalia Petrovna – Marianela Nuñez
Yslaev – Christopher Saunders
Kolia – Luca Acri
Vera – Anna Rose O’Sullivan
Rakitin – Gary Avis
Katia – Leticia Dias
Matvei – Harrison Lee
Beliaev – Matthew Ball
Julia Trevelyan Oman, designer
William Bundy, original lighting designer
John Charlton, lighting design re-creation
Grant Coyle, staging
Christopher Saunders, rehearsal director
Marguerite Porter, principal coaching
Rhapsody
Francesca Hayward, Marcelino Sambé
Mica Bradbury, Ashley Dean, Leticia Dias, Hannah Grennell, Isabel Lubach, Mariko Sasaki, Leo Dixon, David Donnelly, Téo Dubreuil, Benjamin Ella, Joseph Sissens and David Yudes
Frederick Ashton, set designer
William Chappell, costume designer
Natalia Stewart, costume designs re-creation
Peter Teigen, lighting designer
Christopher Carr, staging
Grant Coyle, staging
Alexander Agadzhanov, principal coaching
Lesley Collier, principal coaching
Gary Avis, senior répétiteur
Sian Murphy, répétiteur
Technical details
Picture format: 1080i High Definition Blu-ray
Sound format: LPCM 2.0 / DTS-HD MA 5.1
Region code: all regions
