Give me my sin again, version Martha Graham
When I was 14, my best friend and I picked up a major, mutual obsession with Franco Zeffirelli's Romeo & Juliet. Looking back, our full-blown, borderline insane fixation on anything remotely connected to the play (Dire Straits' song of the same title, Italians, codpieces) represented more than a precocious admiration for British genius; it was emblematic of an intense and exclusive sisterly bond. Each time one of us would squeal at Henry Mancini's haunting rendition of the love theme, or unearth an interview with Leonard Whiting in People magazine, we played out our friendship's ritual of shared madness that would cement our solidarity as best friends -- at least until the next object of obsession arose.
Old loves die hard. Now, almost 15 years later, mention Shakespeare, Verona, or Nino Rota and watch me take a mini mental vacation, nostalgic for the naïveté of that age, that friendship, and the inevitable heartbreak that had yet to arrive. Not surprisingly, when I learned that the Bastille Opera would present Hector Berlioz's Romeo & Juliet, choreographed by Sasha Waltz, I immediately entered the date of ticket sales on my calendar and scooped up a pair the morning of.
It seemed fitting that the on eve of JB's return from a week-long absence in the South, we'd dress up for one another and take in a timeless tale of doomed love.
Hustling westward along the rue du Faubourg Saint-Antoine, le génie de la Bastille as our beacon, we were gradually engulfed by the crowd of buzzing spectators milling about outside the entrance hall of the Opéra Bastille. Once inside the modern monument, we ambled about the ground level among a motley audience of all ages, types, and manners. Generously perfumed women in furs tittered beside solitary unshaven men in jeans, and strands of older gentlemen in tuxedos made way for groups of middle school students kept in tow by frazzled chaperones.
Once we'd made our winding way up to our seats, a sparse, geometric set laid out on the empty stage below us, we watched with curiosity as the musicians tuned their tools and chatted breezily with one another. With something like nervousness and girlish giddy, I sat enveloped in the weird, partitioned lighting, anticipating the teenage pathos about to unfurl.
Sasha Waltz's production was simply awesome. Inspired. As the dancers bounded onto the stage for the Capulet and Montague rabble, the cliché and indulgence of the personal that sometimes characterizes modern dance did not follow. The direct and purified emotion of rivalry and infatuation were captured with severe precision by the organic gestures of Waltz's choreography, and I would venture, modern dance at its finest.
I'm often overwhelmed by the spotless beauty of a classical ballet performance; the strive to awe and impress with unnatural flexibility and inhuman out-turned posture stirs through its seemingly impossible nature. But the romanticism it embodies -- when compared to the visceral, fluid force of contemporary dance -- seems too civilized and polished for the turbulent lust of 15 year-olds. Under Waltz's artistic direction, the folly of youthful immediacy and the stinging failure of wise intervention pulsed magnificently.
Berlioz's Romeo & Juliet is the symphonic rendition that moves me least, compared to Prokofiev's and even Tchaikovsky's versions. And yet, as a testament to my enduring teenage sentimentality, by the tomb scene, I was fetching my pack of tissues and laughing at the tenacious fantasies of a 14 year old, as they ran mascara-tinged rivulets down my cheeks.
Old loves die hard. Now, almost 15 years later, mention Shakespeare, Verona, or Nino Rota and watch me take a mini mental vacation, nostalgic for the naïveté of that age, that friendship, and the inevitable heartbreak that had yet to arrive. Not surprisingly, when I learned that the Bastille Opera would present Hector Berlioz's Romeo & Juliet, choreographed by Sasha Waltz, I immediately entered the date of ticket sales on my calendar and scooped up a pair the morning of.
It seemed fitting that the on eve of JB's return from a week-long absence in the South, we'd dress up for one another and take in a timeless tale of doomed love.
Hustling westward along the rue du Faubourg Saint-Antoine, le génie de la Bastille as our beacon, we were gradually engulfed by the crowd of buzzing spectators milling about outside the entrance hall of the Opéra Bastille. Once inside the modern monument, we ambled about the ground level among a motley audience of all ages, types, and manners. Generously perfumed women in furs tittered beside solitary unshaven men in jeans, and strands of older gentlemen in tuxedos made way for groups of middle school students kept in tow by frazzled chaperones.
Once we'd made our winding way up to our seats, a sparse, geometric set laid out on the empty stage below us, we watched with curiosity as the musicians tuned their tools and chatted breezily with one another. With something like nervousness and girlish giddy, I sat enveloped in the weird, partitioned lighting, anticipating the teenage pathos about to unfurl.
Sasha Waltz's production was simply awesome. Inspired. As the dancers bounded onto the stage for the Capulet and Montague rabble, the cliché and indulgence of the personal that sometimes characterizes modern dance did not follow. The direct and purified emotion of rivalry and infatuation were captured with severe precision by the organic gestures of Waltz's choreography, and I would venture, modern dance at its finest.
I'm often overwhelmed by the spotless beauty of a classical ballet performance; the strive to awe and impress with unnatural flexibility and inhuman out-turned posture stirs through its seemingly impossible nature. But the romanticism it embodies -- when compared to the visceral, fluid force of contemporary dance -- seems too civilized and polished for the turbulent lust of 15 year-olds. Under Waltz's artistic direction, the folly of youthful immediacy and the stinging failure of wise intervention pulsed magnificently.
Berlioz's Romeo & Juliet is the symphonic rendition that moves me least, compared to Prokofiev's and even Tchaikovsky's versions. And yet, as a testament to my enduring teenage sentimentality, by the tomb scene, I was fetching my pack of tissues and laughing at the tenacious fantasies of a 14 year old, as they ran mascara-tinged rivulets down my cheeks.
Comments
I have been a fan of Dire Straits' Romeo & Juliet for years, but I have to admit that I've never seen the actual ballet in person -- something to consider in the future...
(And believe it or not, I studied quite a lot of classical music in college, but given my brain is worthless for retaining certain elements that it's lazy about, I couldn't distinguish between the Prokofiev or the Tchaikovsky versions if I tried...)
delphine
But the romanticism it embodies -- when compared to the visceral, fluid force of contemporary dance -- seems too civilized and polished for the turbulent lust of 15 year-olds.
Perhaps one of those many things on cannot appreciate until one gets older. My wife and I took our girls to see The Nutcracker last year - a different emotional palette, to be sure - and while having always been a fan of Tchaikovsky's score, seeing it in person for the first time was impressive. I don't think I would've enjoyed it quite as much if I had been forced to attend during my high school days, for example.
The physicality of human movement mingling with the notes and chords, each separate layer mixing with the others to create something new that we - those of us less gifted such as myself anyway - cannot truly feel until we have the emotional depth to absorb every facet of a performance.
Delphine, it's made me realize that the Opera needs to be a regular part of my nightlife. (as does winning the lotto.)
Thank you for your comment, Randal. The funny thing is, when I was younger, I preferred ballet to modern dance! In fact, as a little girl, The Nutcracker was a yearly Christmas tradition for my mother and me, and those evenings are imprinted in my brain as some of the more magical moments of my childhood. The pretty costumes, the elaborate sets, the amazing feats of flexibility and grace, and the clearly defined males/female roles suited my conception of how a professional performance of art should look and feel. And today, I am still enchanted and impressed by the classical, polished vigor of a ballet performance.
Which is why I was actually rather surprised to have been so moved by Waltz's choreography. Having studied both modern and classical dance, and endured a lot of pretentious, unsculpted modern performances, I was prepared to dislike this rendition of Romeo & Juliet. But it was brilliant and explosive, the way a refined, controlled ballet of two adolescent suicidal lovers usually is not.
I truly believe - having seen both classical and modern adaptations of R&J - that the refined, controlled art of classical ballet does a better job of imitating young, out of control infatuation than embodying it, the way contemporary dance, with its emphasis on the organic and primal, can.
destination metz, thank you, and yes I LOVE Nino Rota's other scores -La Dolce Vita is fantastic morning wake-up music - and who can forget the fabulous Godfather waltz?
delphine
It was so fantastic. The party scene-- with the knock-kneed partners and the tutus bobbing in time to the bells-- was just the most sublime thing I've seen at the theatre in a long time.
maîtresse, what a fantastic birthday gift! Good on Nicolas. Oh, the party scene - it was like watching wind-up toys dressed up in candy-wrappers. Unforgettable.
I am currently writing a score about two lovers who, despite the machinations of their Machiavellian families, were married in the town of St. Juliette and lived happily ever after.
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