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Credit: DanceTabs |
Ed Watson
is now so synonymous with the role of Crown Prince Rudolf, the making of
Macmillan’s mad male masterpiece, that during a recent sojourn to Vienna, I was
disappointed to stumble upon a portrait of the Prince in which he wasn’t even
redhead. More fool me – but the opening night of the Royal Ballet’s latest run
of Mayerling has only cemented this impression more firmly in my mind.
Some of the
quickest impressions of Friday night’s performance before an action-packed bank
holiday weekend whizzes me away:
The first
cast is perhaps the strongest Mayerling cast ever fielded. Eight
principals: Watson’s Rudolf; Osipova as his Mary (role debut); Lamb as Countess
Larisch; young starlets Hayward and Campbell as Princess Stephanie and
Bratfisch respectively; the soon-departing Yanowsky as the Empress, and; even
principals in comparatively marginal roles of Mitzi Kasper (Nunez) and the lead
Hungarian soldier (Hirano). For a discipline often stereotyped as intensely
political, it is remarkable to see the coherent and united front presented by
the highest rank of the company.
Watson as Rudolf
– what is left to say? What more can possibly be added? The very build of his
body seems ideally suited – lanky, pale, long-limbed, slightly waif-like and
tragic. No-one tells a story quite like Ed Watson. Rudolf’s internal monologue
throughout is clear and loud; his wavering over the strong-arm opinions of the
Hungarian soldiers, his maniacal desperation when left alone. There is
vulnerability and insanity in his solo variation upon spying the Empress with
her lover, and ferocious negative capability in every pas de deux with Mary.
Also exceedingly well acted is the slightly vague nature of his feelings
towards his doomed mistress. History dictates that while Rudolf was certainly
the great love of Mary’s short life, his affections did not extend quite so
deeply. It wasn’t Mary’s “deep, black eyes,” that drove him to seek
respite, but a more grandiose obsession with the macabre. This is expressed
beautifully and devastatingly in both Act Three pas de deuxs. The first, in
Rudolf’s apartments, is disturbingly harrowing to observe. When his Mary
approaches to coax him out of catatonic stupor, Rudolf is slow to react but
then snatches blindly, ferocious, the very upturned tilt of his palms angular
and detached. Too often does the final pas de deux, in the Mayerling lodge, verge
upon a great lovetorn farewell. There is nothing to suggest that here; Watson’s
Rudolf is lavish with the physical, but mentally depraved and already departed.
If previous
experiences with this dancer have taught anything is that you must
endeavour to catch his final performance of the run. Such is the gruelling
nature of the role that – pragmatically – there may have been a slight tinge of
calculation in his Act One portrayal, a need to pace himself early on. Rudolf
requires complete, immersive abandon – so, see it on the 11th and
weep.
Now to
Mary. I think the moment the casting announcement was made, it was instinctively
apparent that Osipova’s Mary was going to be something different. Indeed, it
was. Let us ruminate upon the Baroness Vetsera herself. We know that Rudolf
comprised her world. While she perhaps lacked the intellectual savant that the
Crown Prince valued so highly, her adoration for his person was limitless and
fanatical; she both bought into and channelled anew Rudolf’s unhinged
world-weariness. On Osipova, this latter aspect was disconcertingly wonderful. She
is the first Mary, in a long time, who seems to amplify Rudolf’s intense
obsessions and triumphs, not luxuriates, in his physical attentions. She has her
own perverse afflictions, separate from his – in the bedroom pas de deux, she
seemed to break free of convention and entered a state of frenzied hedonism.
Rudolf, weakened and world weary, is almost prone before such a sybarite
display. In this interpretation, while Mary was not perhaps the love he chose
to take to death, she was the catalyst without whom it never would have materialised.
The other
emotional standout of the evening was Yanowsky’s Empress, a complex cool icon.
The strength of her gaze alone conveys the unhappiness that seems to overshadow
her person. Her Act One pas de deux with Rudolf was heartrendingly uncomfortable
to observe; yet, she facilitates the character’s internal conflicts so
convincingly with the stolen pas de deux with Gary Avis as her lover a snatched,
suspended moment. There is an elegance about Yanowsky few can emulate; she has
time, she has reason, under all of which simmers tremendous dramatic
capability. I shall miss her something terrible.
It should
perhaps suffice to say that all roles, across the board where beautifully conveyed
(one nervous moment with a costume mishap in Act One aside), and time is not on
my side to lavish sufficient attention on each. Sarah Lamb’s Larisch is
grand, coy and authoritative – when she circles Rudolf, together with Mary,
there is a marvellous internal gravity underpinning the interchange of the two
women. With every shared bouree, Osipova’s Mary seems to be guided from and
learn from this much more worldly being. I long to perhaps one day see Ryoichi
Hirano’s Rudolf, such is the depth of his style and I believe that
dramatically, he has much to give. Most of all, I long to see this cast
immortalised to the end of days.