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It lived up to my recollection. In her final ABT performance of Manon, Alessandra Ferri, dancing with guest artist Roberto Bolle, had the audience on its feet, tossing bouquets as the curtain calls went on and on, even after the house lights had come up. What is it about Ferri? A young dancer sitting near me sighed, “Those feet!” Yes, yes. We all know about “those feet.” Possibly the most famous feet in the world. But there is so much more to her dancing than her arch. She makes a small rond de jambe en l’air into a work of art. When, in that long series of over-the-shoulder lifts in Act II where Manon is passed from man to man, she developpés her leg straight up into the air, it’s about how she unfolds her leg. It is indeed a gorgeous leg, finished with a perfectly pointed foot. What is so beautiful and exciting yes, exciting about it, though, is the way it is done. The care she takes, the deliberateness. That was what made the rond de jambe. And then, moments later, she can let herself be flung about or be caught up in a passionate embrace.

She is also an actress. Manon is not a particularly likable character. Fickle, weak, and easily tempted, it takes a quite a lot of ability to make the audience not only feel for her, but also understand Des Grieux’s infatuation. I have read the Abbé Prévost’s novel. Des Grieux throws his own life past, present, and future away for her. His life revolves around her; without her love, he can barely justify his existence. The story is a real downer, and you come away from it feeling great pity for Des Grieux. The ballet is somehow even more moving, and makes Manon the object of pity and compassion. She is so young, so fresh in Act I, and by Act III she is on her knees, humbled before the Jailer, dead in Des Grieux’s arms.
 

That first pas de deux that I found so memorable not in the bedroom but the one before, in the square sets up the entire ballet. It begins with a solo for Des Grieux, his declaration of love. He is visibly cautious in this demonstration of his attraction. How will she respond? She is a lovely young girl, on her way to enter a convent. Appropriately for such a character, she is shy to begin with. She is not the engaging flirt she plays when she is with Monsieur G.M. Her entrance into the pas de deux with Des Grieux is timid, though it warms quickly, the movement becoming faster and more sweeping, the affection growing more ardent. Literally caught up in his arms, in a whirlwind of lifts and turns, Manon cannot resist Des Grieux’s earnest love. The whirlwind quality of their dancing returns again and again in their pas de deux. Manon dances differently with Des Grieux than she does with any other man in the ballet. She is closer to him, physically, and she moves with him, their bodies coming together and apart in constant motion, never lingering, because despite the lushness, there is a sweep, a swiftness, that reflects the intensity of their deep but tortured love for one another. When Manon dances with Des Grieux, she is flung about, lifted, and spun with an exhilarating abandon. When she dances with the other men, she is carried rather than lifted, supported rather than handled. Manon is far too spirited, however much she may like the finer things in life, to deny herself the excitement that accompanies Des Grieux’s love.

And who could resist anything offered by this tall, dark, handsome Italian? Bolle, a resident guest artist at La Scala Ballet, delivered an intense performance as the diligent student who becomes smitten with Manon. His great height he towers a good head and a bit over Ferri, as well as everyone else makes his partnering of Ferri deliciously smooth. It also creates a paradox. He is the tallest man on the stage, and yet he is consistently beaten in both brute force and will power by men smaller than himself, in particular Herman Cornejo as Lescaut, Manon’s conniving, greedy brother. Lescaut spends the final moments of Act I pushing Des Grieux around, even knocking him to the floor, and the curtain falls as Lescaut twists Des Grieux’s arm behind his back. That Cornejo can physically dominate the scenes he shares with Bolle is due to the energy with which he attacks the role, to his superb jump (he tossed off the Act I solo with finesse), and to his wit (he and Gillian Murphy found unsuspected depths of humor in this tragic tale in their Act II drunken pas de deux). None of which is to say that he upstaged Bolle. They are very different dancers, and they complimented each other nicely.
 

I could go on and on. I could talk about how MacMillan always seems to choose complicated stories, such as Manon or Mayerling. I could talk about how the pas de trois in Act I can be interpreted literally as Lescaut and G.M. manipulating Manon. I could talk about how important the use of gaze is, and how Ferri uses it so well, something I could see very clearly from the Orchestra but would not have picked up from the Family Circle. I could talk about how I don’t like the courtesans’ wigs, and I could mention that the set change in Act III from the port to the jailer’s room was embarrassingly loud and excessively long, with no music to cover it. I could also mention that the thick ropes that create the swamp make it very difficult to see the dancers behind them, which is perhaps the goal but again is inconsiderate of people sitting further away. And I could just keeping talking about Ferri, and her interpretation of the character, and the fluidity of her dancing, and those absolutely undeniably voluptuously arched feet.