Lorna Irvine reviews Scottish Ballet's 'affecting, timeless mediation' of the famed tragedy.
Choreographer Krzysztof Pastor's re-staging of Romeo and Juliet is, for the most part, a devastatingly dark journey into Italy's war-torn past and, a nod to the future, ever mindful of the ghosts of fascism. It is pitched somewhere between the slickness of a James Cagney gangster flick, complete with vivid fight sequences, and the melancholic contemplation of an Edward Hopper painting.
It is beautifully staged. Juliet's balcony scene is heightened by a makeshift lift in which she descends, and sliding black screens bookend each act. Tatyana van Walsum's design is outstanding with elegant compositional detail. Tonal shifts are represented by cappuccino beiges and creams for frothy, lightweight moments, monochrome for the warring Capulets and Montagues and sunset reds and steel greys for impending doom.
However, one visual aspect is deeply troubling: the back projections of real-life hurricane victims, bundled off in body bags, piled on the ground or carried off into ambulances, which sit very uncomfortably with the onstage portrayals of slayings. It leaves a bitter taste in the mouth, and ethical questions should be raised.
For this, the matinee performance, Sophie Martin's understudy (there are four different iterations besides Martin) of Juliet is Bethany Kingsley Garner, whose performance is initially a little twee and tentative, particularly cloying with charismatic Remi Andreoni's Romeo in the first scene. Thankfully, she comes into her own in the third act when facing up to her mother's disapproval (a stately Claire Robertson)—seemingly, teenage rage is her forte. Andreoni is at his finest in his sinewy yet graceful solos, distilling a grand matinee idol poise—a Montgomery Clift or young Marlon Brando.
Ensemble work is tightened, as evinced by the trio work (the Montagues are the very picture of Italian machismo) and the flamenco flourishes in the 50s ballroom have the sassy corps de ballet shaking and swishing in peacock displays of rivalry and mating ritual alike.
But it is a particularly feline Mercutio, in the sleek shape of Daniel Davidson, with his vaudevillian gestures and menacing sexuality, who brings danger, humour and a simmering eroticism to the production, effortlessly out-classing all. Expect wonderful things from him—he is an endlessly mesmerising dancer.
A couple of questionable visual choices aside, Scottish Ballet have crafted an affecting, timeless meditation on the ultimate doomed teen lovers, and the themes of war and religious and class struggle remain as pertinent as ever.
Touring Scotland until May 24th.
www.scottishballet.co.uk
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