A Glimpse into Fairyland

By Martha Duffy

With its thrillingly melodic Tchaikovsky score, its elegant dances, its vivid evocation of a faraway fairy kingdom, The Sleeping Beauty is the quintessential classical ballet. Everyone should see it as a child and as an adult, and every company should have an exquisite production to offer.

Alas, that is not the case. An enchanting Beauty is about as difficult to come by as a formula for magic. Most of the women's roles are difficult and must be carried off with the sort of aristocratic elan that only technically strong performers can muster. The character dances and, above all, the mime are alien to many young performers, particularly Americans. Finally, the overall production needs a beneficent fairy of its own; The Sleeping Beauty is a miracle of scale and symmetry; glitz or vulgarity or plodding pedantry will turn it into a long night indeed.

Finally there is the Margot Fonteyn problem. She was an incandescent Princess Aurora, and when she appeared in the role during the Sadler's Wells Ballet's American tour in 1949, she stole the nation's heart, sending thousands of youngsters to the barre. There are no Fonteyns available right now, no one with her ineffable mix of youthful poetry, gaiety and ever so ladylike sexiness. Still, audiences and critics alike, including many people who surely cannot have seen Fonteyn in the role, continue to compare all other interpretations with hers. So what is a ballet troupe to do?

American Ballet Theater has mounted a new production that finds an admirable solution. The Sleeping Beauty is, after all, an ample work with a variety of roles and many interwoven elements. It need not be, and probably should not be, a star vehicle. A.B.T.'s version, which was introduced on tour and will open the company's season at New York City's Metropolitan Opera House next week, is a lively, intelligently conceived Beauty, performed with panache by mostly young dancers in superb form. They have mastered the steps, and the mime and the manners too. Four women have already danced Aurora, and there will be more. No one "owns" the part, and that may be just as well.

The staging, by Artistic Associate Kenneth MacMillan, emphasizes clarity and tradition. He stays with Marius Petipa's choreography, wherever it has survived. (Many of his steps have been lost, as subsequent directors modified sequences to suit later, often smaller companies and different dancers.) The piece is set in 17th and 18th century French surroundings, as it often is. The scenery, by Nicholas Georgiadis, is pleasing if not quite light and airy enough. The costumes, also by Georgiadis and supervised by Anna Watkins, are breathtaking, not only sumptuous but redolent of a royal fantasy. The stage is filled with personages who could stroll the mirrored corridors of a palace. The Queen, for instance, wears a lyrical ivory silk dress, inspired by a Van Dyck portrait of Charles I's French wife, to her child's 16th birthday party; when she wakes from a magic spell a century later, she is in an 18th century pannier court costume to preside at the wedding.

In a few places the production stumbles. MacMillan's Garland Dance seems garbled and congested. The threadbare set for the forest scene looks as if the company ran through the budget before they got to it. And the tableau in which Aurora awakens to her Prince's kiss lacks rapture, but perhaps such transports take time to perfect.

The Sleeping Beauty offers a homely advantage to a ballet troupe: there is something in it for everybody. While on tour, A.B.T. switched the various roles around frequently. As Prince Desire, Beauty shows off a young Argentine performer of enormous promise, Julio Bocca, 20. Handsome, ardent, with a big light jump, he gave dramatic strength to the often thankless part. As the first of the Auroras, Susan Jaffe was able to drop much of her cool languor to give a sprightly performance. For one of the Lilac Fairies, MacMillan dipped into the corps to find Jennet Zerbe, 22, a tall, ample dancer who gave a poignant impression of authority and extreme youth.

Perhaps the show's most satisfying moments came not from youth but from experience. Playing Cattalabutte, the bumbling Master of Ceremonies, Associate Director John Taras, swathed in a sublime silk costume, looked like a Faberge egg and acted with delicacy and imaginative stretch. His performance lofted the production into the delicious follies of a court.