Pacific Northwest Ballet couldn’t possibly have planned this, but it seems that we’ve never needed a newly envisioned Sleeping Beauty as much as we do now. Amidst all the chaotic, spiraling noise of our current world, this ballet not only lets it all fall away for three precious hours, but with some fairytale wisdom, offers a glimmer of hope and the prevailing power of goodness. For two beautiful weekends, McCaw Hall held that magic within its walls, and I watched as show after show, a bit of peace went home with each person lucky enough to witness the spectacular wonder of The Sleeping Beauty. We desperately need the beauty of this old tale, which gleams even brighter when brought to life by so many artists who believe full-heartedly in its importance and purpose.
Reflecting on his historically-informed The Sleeping Beauty, Alexei Ratmansky told Marina Harss that the ballet “touches on the grandest themes, like life and death, chaos and order, art and memory, but it touches them with the simplest means, with an almost childish naivety and warmth on the one hands, and on the other, with the most sophisticated mastery of form”. The Sleeping Beauty is a tale of rebirth, and quite fittingly, this production feels like a rebirth for Pacific Northwest Ballet; a pushing into new terrain, a declaration of their innovative excellence which somehow doesn’t get the national attention it should. It feels like a defining moment for the company to create something so authentically their own that shifts expectations of this classical ballet, and subsequently, has the power to change what people believe a heritage ballet should look like.
By setting this ballet in a mythical Pacific Northwest, PNB brushed away the cobwebs and cultural hierarchy that have long dominated the work. Most productions of The Sleeping Beauty retain the original time and place, but do the scenes of French royal courts really give audiences of today something to connect to, or is that just the ballet clinging to its own history? What PNB keenly observed is that setting it in 16th-century France holds no logical reasoning. The original 1890 production was set there only due to the fact that Charles Perrault was French, Petipa was French, and the nod towards the era of Louis the XIV was deemed necessary. The story itself, winding its way through time in a multitude of forms and tongues, is at home wherever it may land.
As Herman Laroche wrote in his critique of the 1890 premiere: “But Sleeping Beauty does not belong to history, it has no locale; it is a myth, belonging to the traditions of many people… to narrow and limit arbitrarily the materials of works of art, to forget the glorious tradition of Pushkin’s period, when ‘nothing human’ was ‘foreign’ to us’”. By weaving together Pacific Northwest scenery and indigenous art, PNB has created a production completely unique to this place. Much like the 1997 redesign of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, seeing the particular beauty of a moss-laden forest, and local scenery reflected upon the stage will always bring the story home in a way that no other production can. It declares pride in the past and the present, and celebrates the way that PNB reflects on and responds to both.
The choreography of The Sleeping Beauty has never looked so freshly reinvigorated as it did upon the stage of McCaw Hall during these eleven performances. For that, credit is due to Doug Fullington and Peter Boal. who had the responsibility of deciding how this choreography would be presented using the dancers of today. Other historically-informed productions, such as Ratmansky’s reconstruction for American Ballet Theatre in 2015, strove to make the execution of steps look, for the most part, as they did in 1890. But of course, the training, qualities, and aesthetics of ballet are wildly different today. What Fullington pointed out during a pre-show talk is that the way that steps were done in 1890 was natural then, but that making dancers move in this outdated style would not feel natural, nor would it look natural to the audience. Thus, although the original choreography is used, it refrains from appearing antique, and instead, manages to show the brilliance and detail of Petipa’s work as if illuminated for the first time.
Layering that kind of historical recognition and knowledge with fantastical designs, and meticulous dancing, created a palpable sense of awe that swept through a very full McCaw Hall. Last year’s performances of Swan Lake broke PNB’s record for single-ticket sales, and I’m curious what this run of The Sleeping Beauty amounted to, for the line on pay-what-you-can night stretched along the length of the lobby and curled there like a coiling snake. Two nights later, at four minutes to curtain, the ringing bells didn’t dissuade anyone in the box office line that they might still get a ticket. Familiar faces appeared again and again, while for some, it was the first ballet they’d ever seen. At the close of the Sunday matinee, one little girl asked her mother “When can we come again?” and that is perhaps the only review Pacific Northwest Ballet will ever need.
During the second weekend of performances, the never-ending detail of this ballet continued to astonish me. I saw an unmentionable amount of shows, yet each time there was something new, some brilliant little flourish or hidden wonder waiting to be appreciated. Among these, was Ryan Cardea’s portrayal of Catalabutte, which showed his splendid capacity for physical character development and humor. I must note that in most productions, including the original premiere, poor Catalabutte has his hair pulled out by Carabosse, but I adore what PNB has chosen to do instead. Instead of his hair, Carabosse yanks black feathers from Catalabutte’s hat, which not only creates a stronger visual effect but removes some needless cruelty.
Over the course of the run, I got to see nearly every cast of the good and evil counterparts, but nobody portrayed the necessary tension and spite quite as authentically as Elle Macy as the Lilac Fairy and Dylan Wald as Carabosse. Beneath every interaction, there quivered some deep turbulence, an ironic tension that glinted between their eyes and made this story of restoring balance feel ever more pertinent.
Carabosse is a captivating character whose complexity is shown most brilliantly through dissonance and rhythmic chaos. But, it takes a great artist to be able to capture that potency and make it visible within each deliberate expression. Dylan Wald’s mastery of this character became more evident with each performance, until, one final time, his beautifully wicked Carabosse showed such clarity of spirit in each etched detail that it all nearly brought me to tears.
In contrast to Carabosse's roaring theme, the Lilac’s Fairy’s melody is a recurring assurance of goodness, and we look for her as soon as we hear those tranquil notes as if waiting for the messenger of peace. Elle Macy’s silken luminescence once again made me believe that perhaps fairy godmothers really do exist, for she looked towards heaven with an otherworldly sanguinity that let the story blossom far beyond the confines of the proscenium. In each far-seeing reach, and ethereal breath, her meticulous sincerity is simply glorious. During Sunday’s matinee, the particular way she wrapped up the kingdom at the close of Act One, blanketing it with the embrace of her divine port de bra was such a deeply felt beauty that the stage became blurred before me. And surely I was not the only one, for these temporary visions of profoundly pure wonder are so desperately needed.
Over the course of these two weekends, I came to know Aurora like never before, for in each dancer’s hands, she shone in a new light. Once again, Sarah-Gabrielle Ryan leaped into the role of Aurora with brilliantly bright fervor, which was only made richer by some perfectly captured stubbornness (that one tiny moment holds such potential for characterization that it nearly hurts when some dancers skimp out on the opportunity to be a bit headstrong amidst all the beauty). Ryan’s Aurora, brimming with contagious energy, feels real and down-to-earth which is a challenge to portray in a character of such regality and between every demanding show of excellence. Her danse-vertige was one I could have watched one hundred times over. It was full of feverish intoxication; fraught with fear, then delirious anguish, and exhilarating speed, so real that it could be felt to the bone.
On Thursday evening, Madison Rayn Abeo came bounding down the stairs like a fawn catching sunlight for the first time. Alexei Ratmansky describes Aurora’s entrance as “a little goat sent free into the fields”, and never has that been as clear to me as in the gleeful height of Abeo’s pas de chats, which seem to declare everything we need to know about Aurora. She is abundantly youthful, brimming with an infectious spirit evident in each step of this intoxicatingly sublime entrance. Even in the corps de ballet, Abeo’s epaulement and the glint of her perfectly placed hands always distinguished her amidst the crowd. Now, in this leading role, that attention to detail, delicate grace, and musical sensitivity is what shapes her Aurora. In the smallest of moments–a sustained balance, a breath, a genuine joy –she finds an opportunity to show us this extraordinary character. The infamous Rose Adagio, performed by Abeo with striking composure, was Petipa’s attempt to proclaim Aurora’s nature, yet I would argue that the smaller moments often tell us much more. Such as one particular moment in sous sous en face, which is so simple, yet reveals everything about Aurora. All she does is open her arms, but as the music stills, it’s the most captivating, enchanting thing. There she stands: composed, centered, heart open, glowing.
Every time that Lucien Postlewaite steps into the role of a prince (or Romeo for that matter) it is with such steadfast certainty that the character before us is, in every form of his being, fully invested in the story. As Prince Desiré, he shows a remarkable ability to make us believe that he has no idea how the tale will end, and this alone adds unparalleled depth to the ballet. In a story as well known as The Sleeping Beauty, this fresh naivety paints the unfolding plot with refreshing intrigue. Postlewaite may have been the most senior prince of this run, but one could never possibly have guessed that from the boyish eagerness which pervades his character, and the spring in his step. His buoyancy and ease in this role was evident even in dress rehearsal, but on Saturday evening, he soared untethered from the Earth, a glorious vision to behold.
It was a gift to see Christopher D’Ariano and Sarah-Gabrielle Ryan weave poetry together again, for their genuine, precise partnership is one of felicitous thrill. D’Ariano makes the wedding pas de deux look like a stroll in the park, landing so softly that one might need to pull out the opera glasses to see if he ever really hits the stage. And oh, that final pas is exquisite, filled with radiant energy, and nuance which lets their partnership gleam through and through. Their precision and fine-tuned attention allows the choreographic detail to be fully appreciated, such as the final pose of the vision scene pas de deux, which is, brilliantly, a mirror image of a unique, almost neoclassical pose they later find again at their wedding. The choreographic references in this ballet, which recall earlier scenes as well as prior eras of ballet, are striking and speak to the depth of meaning that Petipa poured into this ballet.
Another one of these delights is the distinctive port de bra which Aurora uses in the wedding scene variation as she crosses the stage on a diagonal with feathery steps. Some scholars believe that this port de bra stems from a folk dance, but it can also be seen as Aurora telling the story of how she grew up. In an interview with Alastair McCaulay, Alexei Ratmanksy describes it as “bending at the beginning, a certain sweetness to it (as if speaking to a child) and en dehors movements of the hands (as if showing, presenting something)”. It’s poetry in motion; simple, yet full of meaning and delicate beauty.
Madison Rayn Abeo imbued this variation with every characteristic that the fairies bestowed upon her. Honesty, beauty, prosperity, eloquence, courage, wisdom…they were all there, singing through each fingertip. One could have heard a pin drop as the charming beauty of this moment and Michael Jinsoo Lim's emotive violin stole the air from the theater. Throughout the ballet, Aurora's development is shown through her dancing, from her dashing eagerness in Act One, to the somber, airy dances of the vision, and finally, a mature and impressive display of virtuosic ability and poise in the finale scene. Abeo and Luther DeMyer were an unstoppable force of technical finesse in the wedding pas de deux, but it was so much more than just technique. There, beneath it all, sparkled two radiant characters filled with unrestrained vitality, and, as if often the case, I never wanted it to end.
Even after nearly three hours, it’s terribly difficult to let it all come to a still. The finale is tinged with such sweet harmony and a folk-influenced joy that lingers long after the curtain falls. After eleven beautiful performances, we’ll have to let Aurora catch some sleep, but I hope we mustn’t wait long too before the Lilac Fairy’s theme comes floating from the orchestra pit once more, promising the goodness and beauty we so desperately need. Until then, dear Sleeping Beauty, rest well…
Commentaires