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![]() January 2005 London, Covent Garden © Jeffery Taylor Former dancer, Critic and an Arts feature writer for the |
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The latest revival in the Royal Ballet’s Ashton 100 celebrations might have the legendary founding choreographer, Frederick Ashton (1904-88), nervously chain smoking his next cigarette. Ashton’s 1960 La Fille mal gardee, is a rural romp stuffed with Maypoles, antique pitch forks and happy peasants in spotless smocks. Then there is Ferdinand Herold’s music full of sleigh bells, cuckoos and thunder claps underpinning the riotous designs by the Express’s 1940s satirist, Osbert Lancaster. But pastiche can so easily become a sickly mess. And this piece, which many consider encapsulates Ashton’s ephemeral quality “Englishness,” last week teetered on the verge of terminally cute. Which is a shame because, as is the norm with Ashton, the choreography says it all, even the hilarious dance of the fowls, led by a stroppy Cockerel (Giacomo Ciriaci), precisely pinpoints farmyard values in and out of the henhouse. The ensemble, still registering the fundamental charge of self belief and technical progress that currently pervades the company, was near perfect last week, musical, disciplined and clearly having a darned good time. They did Ashton proud. It started to go wrong with William Tuckett’s Widow Simone, the en travestie control freak mother of heroine Lise (Marianela Nunez). Tuckett apparently chooses silent movie mugging as his starting point, adding flashes of Dame Edna and Les Dawson along the way. His/her famous Act II Clog Dance was far from tap perfect and his forlorn features unfortunately reflected his lack of physical conviction. Argentinian born Nunez is one of the company’s present crop of outstanding talent and is a delight of lyrical movement and world class technique. One thing she does not need to do is work at being sweet, it ends as saccharine.
Thankfully she gave a glimpse of her true value in Act II when she escapes marriage to bumpkin Alain, (an excellent Jonathan Howells), in favour for hero Colas (Carlos Acosta). She danced with more concentration and edge and their final love duet was exquisite. Acosta stole the show, not so much by the brilliance of his physical ability, but the natural charm of his performance. An exotic Cuban star epitomising “Englishness”? Even Sir Frederick Ashton would be entranced.
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