Mark Morris has said that one of the things he finds puzzling about Romeo and Juliet ballets is that when the couple awakens after their night of nuptial passion, Juliet's still wearing toe shoes. When modern choreographers snipe at toe shoes, they're drawing distinctions between ballet's contrivances and modern dance's lack thereof. With Romeo and Juliet, On Motifs of Shakespeare — copresented last weekend by Cal Performances at Zellerbach Hall — Morris clearly wanted to bring R&J down to earth.
Morris' modern-dance, no-toe-shoe vision was impelled by Princeton University musicologist Simon Morrison's discovery, in Moscow, of Sergei Prokofiev's original 1935 piano score of the ballet. When Leonid Lavrovsky was choreographing the original version (it premiered in 1940), he and the artistic staff of the Kirov Ballet, over the composer's objections, reworked both story and score, making them darker, heavier, as officially mandated in Stalin's Russia. Now, as heard at Thursday night's West Coast premiere, with the Berkeley Symphony conducted by Stefan Asbury, the bombast is replaced by a marvelous lightness. The orchestra sounded superb.
Company members in the Mark Morris Dance Group
Photos by Gene Schiavone
The "new" score also includes about 20 minutes of music not heard before. And then there's the ending. Prokofiev wanted Romeo and Juliet to live. "The dead can't dance," he maintained. So they dance, and while we don't know where they'll end up (Prokofiev's Christian Science faith has something to do with this), at least they seem happy, which is a lot like what Morris did for Marie and the Prince in
The Hard Nut, his take on The Nutcracker.
Unfortunately, at three hours, Romeo and Juliet, On Motifs of Shakespeare (Prokofiev's title, since his version broke with Shakespeare's play) is long and lumbering. Despite the aforementioned changes, despite Morris' ingenious dances, despite a company of wonderful artists, it feels unsatisfying, right up to the final duet.
Morris says it's been years since he's seen a Romeo and Juliet ballet. The one that people here may know best is Kenneth MacMillan's at American Ballet Theatre. I was never a fan of the choreographer's overwrought, scenery-chewing full-length ballets, yet this was an exception, its intrinsic emotion underscored by ABT's stars and huge cast, but also by the grandeur of the Metropolitan Opera House stage space, with stunning sets and costumes.
By contrast, the Morris ballet, for a cast of 24, takes place on the Zellerbach Hall stage, rendered smaller than its good size by Allen Moyer's claustrophobic set. The walls and furnishings combine elements of Italian studiolo and 1950s Danish modern, right down to the aforementioned bed, all in (dumb) blond. There are also some cute little buildings of the same material on the floor, standing in for an actual village. Perhaps they are the homes of the Montagues, the Capulets, and the church.
More Verismo
Overall, Morris' creation feels earthier than the MacMillan version. The lifts are lower; the sex is realer; the codpieces, big as lunch bags, seem to be there for a reason (most of Martin Pakledinaz' costumes, by the by, are understated and quite unattractive). Romeo and Juliet, both nearly naked (she awakens still in her soft ballet slippers), enjoy their one night of sex as we watch.
Julie Worden as Tybalt and Amber Darragh as Mercutio
In Thursday's cast, you could see the playing against sexual stereotypes that's a Morris watchword. Both of the strongest male roles were danced to perfection by women: Amber Darragh as an explosive Mercutio, Romeo's best friend who also has a crush on him; and Julie Worden as a neatly nasty Tybalt. Noah Vinson was a gentle Romeo with a strong feminine side, and Maile Okamura's outstanding Juliet was high-spirited, though quite girly. Juliet appears to be a killer role, lightly wafting in a floaty white dress, yet substantial in presence, a bit like Giselle, to whom there were a few choreographic allusions. For both Romeo and Juliet there were suggestions of eternity; as they met with Friar Laurence (John Heginbotham), their arms rose up, sketching a winging movement. Lauren Grant's Nurse was an acerbic charmer, one part Thelma Ritter, all lust and heart.
Maile Okamura as Juliet and Noah Vinson as Romeo
Morris' Montagues and Capulets, who carry wooden swords, are like Shiites and Sunnis — you never know who is who, and who will get in whose face. They make lewd gestures at each other, funny but richly threatening. The ensembles were marvelously energetic, earthiness personified.
The main thing that's annoying about this production is that Morris is trying to have it both ways. On the one hand, he says that you can't make a play into a ballet, and that's why this is called "motifs of Shakespeare." If it's motifs, it doesn't have to make sense. On the other hand, this feels like a story ballet. So, for instance, Juliet is lying in bed, having swallowed poison, and suddenly, a motif, dropped from Prokofiev's original version, is introduced: A bunch of pirates haul into the chamber and launch into gift-giving divertissements, presenting her family with sparkling jewels. Juliet's lying on her face, three feet away, and they don't notice her. It makes no sense.
At any event, the concluding pas de deux, after Juliet awakens and before Romeo can do away with himself, came as a huge relief. The wooden walls went away, replaced by deep blue heavens and twinkly stars. Romeo and Juliet, in pretty white outfits with blue embroidery, circled each other joyously — swooping, lifting, spinning.
Romeo and Juliet under the stars
This is a huge undertaking, coproduced by Cal Performances, Bard College, and Morris' own company; by Lincoln Center, where it will be unveiled next summer; and by several other entities here and abroad. It required 11 additional dancers to the 16 in the Mark Morris Dance Group, as well as months of effort and tons of money.
Watching it, paradoxically, brought memories of yesteryear, when Morris' troupe was tiny and the works he gave us were sparkling jewels. Would it be so bad, once in a while, to go back there?
Janice Berman, SFCV’s senior dance critic, has been a dance writer and reviewer since 1978, beginning at Newsday and New York Newsday. She has written on dance for The New York Times, Los Angeles Times, San Francisco Chronicle, Ballet Review, and Dance Magazine, where she was editor-in-chief.
