"The Flaming Heart"
State Ballet Berlin
Staatsoper Unter den Linden
Berlin
June 20, 2009
by Horst Koegler
copyright@ 2009 by Horst Koegler
“Percy Who? That was the unanswered question which seemed written on the face of many a dumbfounded Berlin ballet-fan, when the Berlin State Ballet announced as its latest premiere „The Flaming Heart“, with Percy Shelley as its protagonist. Wolfgang (Goethe) or Friedrich (Schiller) might have been OK. But Percy? With that, for a foreigner, unpronouncable second Christian name Bysshe? Hardly ever heard of!
And so they had to wait for the programme book to be informed that he lived from 1792 through 1832 and is considered one of the most important British poets of the romantic age. And there they could also read that he came from a noble family, studied at Oxford and became one of the most debated free thinkers of his time, an agnostic and anarchist, and, first of all, a notorious womanizer, who seduced his ladies by the dozen, married them, left them, drove them into suicide, while, maybe, loving even more his bosom friend, Jefferson Hogg, if not his poet pal Lord Byron. And there they could also read that he spent his last years in Italy and got ship-wrecked on a sailing spree, after which his corpse was washed ashore, to be finally burnt at the stake, but his heart refused to catch fire and thus blazed as filthy smoke to heaven.
So much for the story of the British poet who inspired Vladimir Malakhov, Intendant (General Manager) of the Berlin State Ballet, and his hand-picked choreographer Patrice Bart of the Paris Opera, to create a full-length ballet, which emerged an almost three hours crashing bore at the Berlin State Opera on June 20, performed to a selection of pieces by Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy, concocted and conducted by Ermanno Florio from Mendelssohn´s symphonies and overtures, and designed by Ezio Toffolutti and Luisa Spinatelli. Acclaimed unanimously by the audience, it fared less well with the critics, with some poking fun on it and suggesting that Gospodin Vladimir might perhaps next turn to Oscar Wilde and his “Picture of Dorian Gray” to complete his Berlin trilogy, which he had started with his “Caravaggio” last year, by adding another famous chum to his already impressive list of narcissistic characters, like Tchaikovsky and all the numerous princes between Albrecht and Siegfried.
And thus we were introduced to Bart/Malakhov´s rosary of pretty dances by a prologue, in which three sinister muses, clad like the norns in “Götterdämmerung”, mourn the death of their ex-lover at his stake, while the smoke curls towards heaven – to the first movement of Mendelssohn´s Scottish Symphony (remember a certain “Scotch Symphony” by a colleague of Monsieur Bart?). From there we proceed to Oxford, where Percy and his pal Jefferson study and scribble their blasphemous pamphlets on huge white balloons (for instance ´About the necessity of atheism`- now you try to dance this!) or signal their ideas by writing them into the palms of their hand – which reminds one very much of the conservations of Chinese people who speak different dialects and thus are compelled to communicate by sign gestures).
The university atmosphere is appropriately suggested by Mendelssohn´s ´Reformation Symphony´. That the two friends are relegated there does not prevent them to continue their amorous pursuits, and in the following scenes, to music from Mendelssohn´s various overtures, we watch them seducing their ladies according to the Shelley biography. It has to be admitted, though, that they really make a dishy bunch of dollies, as performed by Berlin´s star soloists like Polina Semionova, Nadja Saidakova, Anastasia Kurkova, Corinne Verdell, and Beatrice Knop. If it weren´t for her flaming red robe, however, Semionova as a sort of Massine-like Fate figure could hardly be distinguished from her companions, for they all seem to dance the same enchainements – as does wavering Gospodin Percy and his mate Dinu Tamaziacaru as Jefferson Hogg. It all looks very nice and clean and harmless, if rather devoid of sensuality, let alone sexual naughtiness, and is perfectly matched to the sounds emerging from the orchestra – as if Mendelssohn had written his pieces specially to be danced to. Some time later another guy enters, supposed to be Lord Byron (newcomer Martin Buczko,) an appetizing and quartet of womanizers is completed by Dmitry Semionov (brother of Polina Semionova) who is the tallest member of the company, with legs like a tree-trunk. They all dance like mad, and the technical standard of the company, efficiently trained by Valentina Savina in best Prussian tradition, is certainly mouth-watering.
Actually for me, a devoted Mendelssohnian (since van Manen´s electrifying choreography to his famous ´Octet´), to be treated to an almost three hours dose of Mendelssohn was the one relief of an otherwise rather dreary evening.
In the second act we move to southern shores, with Toffolutti´s décor changing from Britain´s boring brown landscapes to the Mediterranean whites and blues, with sailing boats on the horizons. Stimulated by Mendelssohn´s Italian Symphony, the choreography lightens up somewhat thanks to the introduction of various ´Tarantella´ steps. Clad by Spinatelli like the urchins in Massine´s “Carossello Napoletano”, the boys of the company certainly communicate some boisterous gaiety, while Shelley and Jefferson continue to lay their Italian preys according to their rather British rules of well-behaved erotic titillations.
It´s certainly a very imposing company, the Berlin State Ballet, looking quite groovy and even charming – Madane Tussaud could take them as a model to exhibit them at the ballet section of London´s Fortnum & Mason luxury department-store. But what it has to do with the palpitating pulse of Berlin on the verge of entering the teenage period of the 21st century, one asks in vain.
Photos copyright Enrico Nawrath.
