Manon is back at the Royal Opera House and Kenneth MacMillan’s ballet, created in 1974, gives standout roles for the three main characters, offering plenty of dancing along with ample room for interpretation. Is Manon just a greedy little minx prostituting herself for wealth or is she a victim of circumstance in seedy 18th-century Paris, where love takes second place to money?
MacMillan never flinches from showing us the dark side of the story: a backcloth of rags is a constant reminder that poverty and wealth sit uneasily side by side and the sexual nature of the narrative is always present. Some of the dances are almost pornographic in nature (this is not a ballet for children to see) and who but MacMillan could have ladies of the night cavorting across the Opera House stage? (He does it in Mayerling too, and his Romeo and Juliet has a couple of wonderful dances for three harlots… I see a pattern here!)
On opening night, Francesca Hayward danced Manon, with Marcelino Sambé as her lover Des Grieux and Joseph Sissens as her manipulative brother, Lescaut, who does not think twice about pimping her out to men as a way of accumulating wealth.
Physically, Hayward is the perfect Manon: tiny, fragile and very pretty, it is easy to see why she entrances men around her. Hayward plays her as flirtatious from the very beginning, revelling in her sexuality as she realises it is her route to power.
Her various pas de deux with Sambé provide the highlights of the evening: he is strong, with a lovely line and throws her around with abandon (there is always an abundance of throwing in MacMillan ballets). His solos are slow and demand great control, of which he has plenty, while her variations allow her to luxuriate in the glory of her own body – and the speed of her bourrées are a joy to behold.
As the unscrupulous Lescaut, Sissens did well, though he overplayed the drunken solo and pas de deux in Act II. This is obviously meant to offer some light relief, but I find the comedy tiresome and if toned down a little, would be way more effective.
Anna Rose O’Sullivan was technically assured as his mistress, bringing her lovely jump to this small but important role. Bennet Gartside added a creepy lustfulness to Monsieur G.M., who desires Manon and is willing to pay for her services. It is a rather sordid ballet, but astonishingly beautiful at the same time, with some of the most exquisite pas de deux ever created.
I always find the final dance between Manon and Des Grieux utterly heartbreaking. Hallucinating from fever and tossed around like a ragdoll, Manon finally realises that love is what matters and the posh frocks and diamonds count for nothing.
Alas, it is all too late. I challenge anyone to watch the last scene without shedding a tear or two.
Not to be missed – and don’t forget the Kleenex.
Manon
Royal Opera House
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