REVIEW: 5 ***** Romeo & Juliet, Northern Ballet at Royal Shakespeare Theatre, until 28th September
You know how Quentin Tarantino caused a bit of a stir when he got naughty with the narrative, having Hitler assassinated in Inglorious Basterds and Sharon Tate survive the Manson Family to groovily party on in Once Upon A Time In Hollywood, historical fact sacrificed in the name of high entertainment? Well, imagine the kerfuffle back in 1935, when Russian composer Sergei Prokofiev accepted an official Soviet commission to create a ballet version of The Tragedy Of Romeo And Juliet, and then opted to give it a happy ending!
Crazy, right? Yup, darn crazy. But completely true. In Prokofiev’s version Friar Laurence stymies the double suicide and robs us of our sob-worthy ending by explaining to Romeo that Juliet has not taken a deadly poisonous potion but merely a sleeping draft, Romeo hangs around for Juliet to wake up and the two lovers literally dance off into eternal happiness. What the heck? Had one of the world’s most revered composers suddenly taken leave of his senses? Certainly, comrade Stalin seemed to think so. Mindful of the political tensions in Europe leading up to WW2 he was keen to keep in with us Brits and didn’t consider mucking about with our greatest ever writer exactly the best way to do it. Hence, he put an immediate stop to the happy-ending nonsense, forbidding the ballet to be performed until it realigned itself with the sombre Shakespeare original.
What on earth had gotten into the esteemed composer to play so fast and loose with the Bard? “Well," he declared, “living people can dance, the dead cannot.” Sergei Radlov, the director who was working with him on the project, clarified further, claiming the story is, “about the struggle for the right to love by young, strong, and progressive people battling against feudal traditions and feudal outlooks on marriage and family.” There’s also the fact that Prokofiev was a Christian Scientist, a religious sect that doesn’t believe death actually exists, so he saw Romeo and Juliet’s love as infinite, continuing forever and ever in paradise.
Whatever, the ballet was mothballed for five years and was finally staged in Kiev, after protracted bouts of threats and wrangling with severe rewrites under the edict that it be “traditionalised”. And it’s this version that’s just graced the main house at the RSC courtesy of the Northern Ballet’s touring company, albeit with a cheeky measure of modernisation, most noticeably in the comic boob-snuffling and bum-goosing of Dominique Larose’s waddling, extravagantly padded nurse which would surely never have passed muster back in the day.
The relationship between the lovers is pretty steamy too. Saeka Shirai comes over more sexually aware than the shy, virginal Juliets we often encounter and when she meets Harris Beattie’s Romeo for the very first time, the pair are immediately stricken with such erotic seismic force we are left in no doubt whatsoever that it won’t be long before face-to-face becomes lips-to-lips becomes loins-to-loins.
Shirai dances like mist, her every move a miracle of delicate gossamer poise surrounded by the brutally-costumed Capulet clan. Black-on-black with slashes of bloody scarlet, no-one would have been in the least bit surprised if Darth Vader had popped up in the midst of the famous Dance Of The Knights, a funerealy ominous pageant set against an impressively monumental gothic backdrop.
The choreography by Massimo Moricone is clear and mesmeric, while Christopher Gable’s uncluttered direction allows for a succession of intriguing background glimpses of suggestive little liaisons, enlivening the main thrust of the tale. Especially splendid are the moments when the hoi-polloi are freeze-framed in shadowed mid-action while the two lovers entwine, bathed in light, the onstage crowd oblivious to their courtship, the pair completely cocooned in a world of their own.
Super-impressive, in my opinion, are George Liang’s surly, villainous Tybalt, Helen Bogatch’s bleak and terrifying Lady Capulet – even scarier when she refuses to break character amongst the smiling cast at the final curtain call – and Jun Ishii who, as the nimble juvenile jokester Mercutio, crying wolf that once too often, nigh-on out-dances all and sundry.
Quibbles? One or two. Brilliant as it is, we would have surely benefitted from there being a live orchestral accompaniment rather than the score being played on tape (or digitally, or whatever). It was a decision based on financial needs-must rather than anything artistic but the Musicians Union had every right to protest outside on press night about the impact on the livelihoods of their members while the audience is robbed of the colour and flexibility afforded by a group of musicians responding and adapting uniquely to the prevailing atmosphere of each different night’s performance.
And, although the plot is clear as day, it’s somewhat strange that, with all the vigorous fight scenes between the familial factions, it never really comes across that the Duke and his Lady really object to Juliet getting it on with Romeo so much as that they just want her to wed someone else (Bruno Serraclara’s safe-hands-stuffed-shirt Paris).
Finally, if you care to dig around online you’ll find the odd ballet buff having a moan about the fact that the production cheats a bit in its relaying of the story, with the performers resorting to “acting” rather than “dancing” to express their emotions. And it’s true that facial expressions, even audible vocal exclamations, are employed to help get across each scene. Which actually goes down a treat, of course, this being an RSC crowd and all that.
As for Prokofiev’s claim that the dead can’t dance, he’s right. They can’t. But that’s exactly what makes the ending so moving. When Romeo discovers Juliet in the crypt, he tries to establish whether she’s still alive by lifting her up and engaging her in a dance. She’s limp. He lays her back down. The ballet’s broken. I don’t need to tell you the rest.
