San Francisco Ballet in Helgi Tomasson’s Swan Lake. Photo by Erik Tomasson.
There is no lake in the San Francisco Ballet’s new production of Swan Lake, which opened last Saturday at the War Memorial Opera House. And, there aren’t a lot of feathers on the swans who wear headpieces that resemble clumps of calcified sauerkraut. This writer is scarcely an inveterate literalist, but there’s little here that makes conceptual sense. Yes, artistic director Helgi Tomasson has finessed his own choreography that served since his first production of the classic narrative in 1988, and much, but not all of it passes muster. And, yes, the dancing, for the most part, embodies the high international standards Tomasson has instilled in the company.
But, oh my, the look of the thing, cold and minimalist. You will remember that the earlier and elegant décor by the late Danish master, Jens-Jacob Worsaae, placed Swan Lake in a roughly 18th century ambience, fragrant with memories of Fragonard. The nexus between French and Russian culture (not least in the debt Russian classical dance owes to France) is familiar; and, if your décor is not going to adhere to the medieval Teutonic roots of the original libretto, France is an OK substitute.
But the new designer, Jonathan Fensom, with minimal experience working in the dance world, has, inexplicably, moved Swan Lake to what resembles Regency England around 1800. England and Swan Lake simply do not connect, historically or conceptually; and, early in the first act, when Siegfried enters and flaunts his new jacket, like Beau Brummel, credibility slips away fast. It doesn’t return with the women, all Emma Hamiltons dressed in high, Empire-waisted dresses, cavorting around the stage. When Val Caniparoli, as Siegfried’s tutor wearing a period hat, tries out a few steps with the youngsters, you’ll think you’ve wandered into a choreographed version of The Pickwick Papers (no, that’s not a suggestion). Anachronisms surface, too. I am not an expert in the history of armature, but I doubt that a queen in a cotton candy white wig out of Gainsborough would have handed her son a crossbow in this historical period. Fortunately, the swans’ tutus look splendidly cut.
What’s missing everywhere in this Swan Lake is any hint of nature. Act 1 devolves before a stone wall and gate, topped with a fence and fronting what looks like a small castle. The masonry is oppressive, but not in any meaningful way. Act 2 (and Act 4) yield minimalism on an awesome scale. No vegetation here, only a huge moon and an immense slab that suggests a small mountain of licorice. Even the illustrious lighting savant Jennifer Tipton can’t moderate the brutishness. That moon is merely decorative; unlike, say, the Oscar Wilde-Richard Strauss Salome, it radiates little symbolic value. Dominating the palace ballroom in Act 3 is a curving staircase that soars into the flies. Think English TV game show.
Fensom, fortunately, leaves plenty of space in his plans for the dancers to move about the stage. Yet, while he has devised acceptable theatrical solutions, he doesn’t seem to have thought deeply about the meaning of Swan Lake. The third act set could also serve nicely for a production of The Merry Widow.
Tomasson has attempted to tweak the narrative with mixed success. A prelude shows us Von Rothbart, clothed in black like Edward Scissorhands (without the blades) drawing Odette into his spell. It looks more like a violation (rather than a seduction) and we see the transformation in a silhouette; this episode has been introduced in other versions, but rarely so abruptly as here. Swan Lake still remains Siegfried’s story. It is his choice of woman that precipitates tragedy. The projections here are feeble, scarcely multimedia state of the art.
The Act I choreography, including the peasant pas de trois, looks much as it did back in the last revival in 2006, but Siegfried’s yearning solo seems abbreviated now, so the motivation for the prince’s subsequent quest is muddied. Fortunately, Tomasson has retained Lev Ivanov’s telling choreography for Act 2 (eliminating much of the mime) and slightly rearranged the corps patterns to eloquent effect. The heart of Swan Lake is here, and so it remains.
San Francisco Ballet in Helgi Tomasson’s Swan Lake. Photo by Erik Tomasson.
Act 3 brings us a new and charming Russian princesses diversion for two couples, but the Polish mazurka is gone (why?) and Tomasson rearranges the sequencing in Tchaikovsky’s score. There’s a wrenching cut in the music before Petipa’s familiar black swan pas de deux, and the entire episode seems rushed. Siegfried’s increasing infatuation with Odile, so beautifully limned in the older production, is muted. The ballroom looks strangely unpopulated. The costuming, especially in the national dances, lacks the uncanny color schemes, lush textures and line-complimenting artistry of Worsaae’s outfits in the earlier production.
Tomasson has rethought Act 4. Gone is the duet to Tchaikovsky’s Sérénade mélancolique. The music for a corps number has been given to Odile and Siegfried for a second pas de deux and it suggests a deep emotional connection. The apotheosis, as the couple leap off the licorice block and fly away as swans, is incomprehensible. If Von Rothbart’s spell has been broken, who is effecting the transformations? If you believe in the narrative power of Swan Lake, these are questions that must be asked.
The performances I attended (Feb. 24 and 25) offered two of the six couples featured in this premiere run and both offered substantial pleasures. On Tuesday, squired by Joan Boada, Tina LeBlanc danced the penultimate Odette-Odile of her career at SFB (the last will be Saturday at 2 p.m.). As ever, this inimitable ballerina drew one into her world, communicating Odette’s vulnerability and finding deep sources of strength. LeBlanc’s dedication to the score remains paramount; watching her phrasing, with its momentary hesitations, its gentle port de bras and her complete immersion in the role reminds us of how much we will miss after May. Even in her fifth decade, LeBlanc remains a formidable technician; her coquettish Odile traded in marvelously dispatched fouettés, delivered without the customary movement across the stage. Boada was a superior, buoyant and supportive Siegfried, though a characterization never came into complete focus.
On Wednesday, Lorena Feijoo brought an incisive, death-defying vibrancy to the dual roles. Her volatile swan queen, a flurry of dramatic extensions and anticipations of the music, seemed like a career highpoint. No Odette in this company has more eloquently delivered the enchanted exit in Act 2, bourrées obsessively etched, back rippling with terror. Unfortunately, Feijoo’s Odile looks cut from the same cloth. We can’t blame the dancer for the head piece or the overdone lipstick (yes, she looks like Liza Minnelli on a tear), but the interpretation is so predatory that this poor Siegfried never had a chance. He was Pierre-François Vilanoba, at his best in lovelorn hero assignments (interestingly, he danced a fabulous Von Rothbart in the last revival), though the elevation was not as impressive as we recall it.
Tomasson doesn’t allow his Rothbarts much opportunity for characterization, but Damian Smith, SFB’s outstanding villain, did what he could with all the skulking and posturing. Anthony Spaulding missed menace, but a likeable Rothbart won’t work in this context. Taras Domitro’s astonishing elevation and velvety landings highlighted Tuesday’s pas de trios, completed by Rachel Viselli and the ever-exuberant Frances Chung. The 24-member swan corps, barring a few stray arms, has never looked more secure, more united in a single purpose.
Two conductors are leading the Tchaikovsky score this season. Wednesday, music director Martin West supplied the drama, occasionally at the expense of polish; concertmaster Roy Malan was not consistently in tune. Tuesday, Paul Hoskins furnished the soaring lyricism, the sheer romance that propels all great performances of Swan Lake.
Swan Lake continues at the War Memorial Opera House through Sunday at 2 p.m.
Tickets: www.sfballet.org, 415.865.2000.
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