Of love and magic
Where Swan Lake is performed, Amal Choucri Catta never tires of watching
Ilitch Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake; Cairo Opera Orchestra, conductor Ivan Filev; Cairo Opera Ballet Company, artistic supervisor Abdel-Moneim Kamel. Cairo Opera House Main Hall, 8 April
As the lights dimmed and the haunting prelude heralded the drama to come, the growing tension was accompanied by overwhelming joy. In large, large numbers, music lovers had flocked to see one of the world's best loved ballets, listening to what many believe remains the loveliest music ever written for the dance: Tchaikovsky's four-act Swan Lake, the fail- proof old-time favourite.
It is interesting to note that when Tchaikovsky wrote the music to the ballet, which was commissioned by the Imperial Theatre in Moscow and first produced in 1877 at the Bolshoi Theatre, it was a flop. This was not due to Tchaikovsky, but to the choreographer, Reisinger, who thought the music "insufficiently danceable". The ballet vanished into oblivion, where it remained until 1895, after Tchaikovsky's death, when Marius Petipa discovered it and created a new version premiered in Saint Petersburg in 1895. The musical introduction's orchestration was, and still is, a masterpiece, gradually growing from a gentle tune into a dramatic fortissimo dominated by the ever-recurring theme of the swan, which remains the principal melody till the end.
This time the Cairo Opera Orchestra, headed by the charming Bulgarian, Ivan Filev, gave a colourful if still accurate rendition of the ballet's unforgettable tunes. Filev has been with this orchestra for over ten years now, and has gained such prominence he is always welcome figure on stage. As the prelude's crescendo soared, the curtain gave way to a garden scene, with Siegfried enjoying jokes and dances in the company of friends. Though not without an element of surprise at seeing a new version of the set, the feeling was one of joyful recognition.
Swan Lake is not a newcomer to the Opera. It premiered several years ago, and has remained a hit ever since, even if some performances were not without their flaws. This time round, happily, the ballet was produced with meticulous care. Nour Saad as Siegfried, though a little on the heavy side, is an excellent dancer and a charming young prince, a dreamer awaiting his lady-love. Next, the audience encounters his mother, a catapult of a woman hurrying into the garden in her lavish garments, escorted by her faithful retinue. Insensitively she has decided that Siegfried must choose a bride at the ball she will be giving the next day. She presents him with a crossbow for his birthday, leaving as briskly and abruptly as she came.
The scene may be naive, indeed childlike in its simplicity. Yet it supplies the viewers with details essential to the development of the drama. Like many Russian ballets, Swan Lake is based on a fairy-tale. It covers the entire spectrum of laughter (with a naughty clown), tears (with an evil sorcerer) and a blissful ending that brings the lovers together. Nor does the ballet eschew the usual mood swings and moments of dramatic intensity. In Act One, for example, while the friends are in the company of the mirthful clown Kiriniok, a brilliant performer who makes fun of love's antics, delighting the girls with his drollery, Siegfried suddenly turns wistful, stopping in the line with the music, which crescendos into the swans' sad song. This is his moment of nostalgia and yearning for an unknown love; it is the moment at which he decides to take his crossbow and go hunting in the forest.
If Act One gave us abundant greenery and rich floodlights, with delightful waltzes, exquisite pas-de- deux and de-trois, Act Two introduced a corresponding intensity of grey shadows, mysterious mists and blue hues, accompanied by fabulous violin solos during which Siegfried encounters the lovely Odette, played by a gorgeous Alexandra Volkhovskaya, a bewitched swan who has just turned into a beautiful maiden. Waving her arms like birds' wings in flight, she seems to enjoy her brief moments of freedom, her fragile body gracefully following the music's romantic rhythms.
The scene has begun with an oboe melody beautifully unfolding to the accompaniment of the harp and tremolo strings, followed by a stunning violin solo to which Siegfried and Odette performed an emotional pas-de-deux. Her fear of the prince having vanished, Odette reveals the swan's secret: Rotenbart, the evil sorcerer, has cast a spell over her and her friends, turning them into swans, and granting them a return to their human bodies only for a few hours by night. Faithful love was the only way out of their predicament, their salvation. Siegfried pledges his oath to Odette, not realising that Rotenbart had overheard them.
Act Two is a choreographic masterpiece for both the solo dancers and the entire corps-de-ballet, with a number of ravishing pas-de-deux by Siegfried and Odette, and equally arresting pas-de-trois executed by three swans, not to mention the famous pas-de-quatre brilliantly performed by Sherine, Tania Katia and Lina, the four small swans. The prima ballerina was a sparkling Odette: fragile, tender, loving, desperately in need of Siegfried's help, even as she knows her hopes will be crushed by Rotenbart, remarkably interpreted by Serguey Bolonsky, who has taken on the role splendidly since the ballet premiered.
In the orchestra pit, Ivan Filev's delirious baton delivered tremendous crescendos, romantic melodies and colourful diminuendos. In Act Two the music quietly reflected the overwhelming emotions and promises of love exchanged under a mellow moon, leaving the passion and grief for Act Three. It was rhythm that presided over the latter, its rapid, unrelenting pace punctuating Rotenbart's efforts to entertain the royalty in the company of his followers that night.
This is the night of nights, the night of the ball, the night during which Siegfried is to choose his bride. While his mother eagerly awaits his decision, each of the princesses hopes that he will choose her. But Siegfried seems distracted, far away. He is dreaming of Odette, remembering his oath, determined never to change his mind. Suddenly he sees Rotenbart and Odette, or so it seems to him, for little does he know that this fabulous black swan, played by Ira Prokopenko, who is full of flamboyance and vitality, is Odile, Rotenbart's own daughter. And while the audience is presented with the Spanish, Neapolitan, Hungarian and Polish dances, Siegfried is spellbound by Odile, the ostentatious, dazzling beauty, as tough as Odette had been delicate.
Siegfried cannot tell the difference between them. He should have sensed the disharmony while performing his pas-de-deux with the black swan. As the waves of sound speed up and gather intensity, Siegfried finally succumbs. Yielding to Rotenbart's insistence that he should swear eternal love to Odile, who is now performing her extravagant, triumphant solo, Siegfried sees the evil sorcerer rejoicing and realises what he has done. Desperate, he flees from the ballroom, running to the banks of the lake, while the curtain closes on the consequent chaos.
The swans have given up all hope of freedom. In their lovely white tutus they gather on the banks, grieving. As Act Four opens, with what has become the Swan's Theme, they even refuse to greet Siegfried, who has let them down. The prince pleads for forgiveness, but Odette's sorrow is unbearable, for she is condemned to roam the lake with her friends till the end of time. Delicate and dainty, she no longer seems as helpless as she was that night when they encountered each other. The music soars to unprecedented heights when Rotenbart appears: he has come to claim his swans and to chase Siegfried away. The fight that ensues between the prince and the sorcerer is fatal to the latter: Rotenbart disappears in the dungeons of hell, the evil spell is broken and Siegfried, Odette and her friends celebrate their freedom and their future bliss. The corps-de-ballet perform a beautiful "danse d'adieu" while the curtain comes down to an exuberant standing ovation. Those who had seen the ballet before were still enchanted, while those who had never seen it -- and there were not a few -- vowed to come back again and again.
Though the sets had suffered somewhat from age and some of the costumes were not of the latest design, both had been submitted to expert renovations, while a rejuvenating breath of fresh air seemed to have been waving over the scenery. The black swan glittered, while the corps-de-ballet was a most welcome sight. Their elegance and dignity, their talent and discipline were duly admired, as were some laudable choreographic shifts. Rotenbart and Siegfried presented an excellent fight over Odette: their scene was directed with intelligence and subtlety, giving the viewer the satisfaction of a happy ending.
The happy ending was not always there. In Marius Petipa's time Rotenbart could not be vanquished. He provoked a storm on the lake, due to which Odette and Siegfried and all the swans drowned. When the storm was appeased, the swans' song could be heard for one last time, reminding the audience of Siegfried and Odette's love. It was only much later that choreographers introduced changes and the ending was adjusted; only then did the ballet come into its own. The second and fourth acts, indeed, are widely regarded as the best "ballets blancs" ever produced; and Abdel-Moneim Kamel made a perfect job of the entire drama. Once on stage, the audience applauded him with passion.
