Ballets 96

Cleopatra: A Review I saw Cleopatra this past Saturday at the Royal Opera House, a performance which I admit left me wanting more, perhaps for it to be a completely different show, something bolder, wilder, something that defied its constraints more dramatically. There were undoubtedly beautiful moments: a poignant stillness during the opening tableau, the languid, almost predatory movements of the dancers in the Nile scenes, a thrilling burst of energy in the final act, where the world spins into chaos. But the brilliance of these scenes, fleeting as they were, was overshadowed by a persistent sense of…unease. It felt like a ballet trapped, a phoenix longing to spread its wings but shackled by its own form. I am unsure whether to blame the choreography, the music, or the historical setting, for this lingering sensation of unrealized potential.
The Choreography As someone trained in the Balanchine school, my inclination is to always be a tad hard on classical ballets, those heavily focused on partnering and the romanticism of tutus and grand jetés. That is not to say I dislike the style: I appreciate its elegance and precision, its storytelling capabilities when applied with a firm hand. Yet, with *Cleopatra*, I found myself struggling to engage. The choreography, by Michael Fokine, felt somewhat constrained by the very expectations of a ballet. I understand this sounds ironic, given that he was a rebel against traditional ballet, one of the pioneers of what became the *Ballets Russes*. His work sought to incorporate the dynamic fluidity of Russian folk dance and pantomime into ballet, to infuse it with drama and emotion. I’m certain there were innovations within this production—the choreography was, after all, praised in its time. It's a shame these were lost on me. It felt a bit…stagnant, lacking a compelling narrative voice, the individual characterisation of each figure lost in a swirling vortex of intricate steps and complicated partnering sequences. As beautiful and elegant as they were, these did little to illuminate Cleopatra’s internal struggles or, perhaps more importantly, her emotional arc. There was something predictable, even expected, about the way the dancers embodied the various figures from ancient Egypt. Instead of feeling captivated, I found myself analysing the choreography: the subtle nuances of Fokine's hand gestures, the weight distribution in a soutenu turn, the elegance of a particular arabesque. My focus remained intellectual rather than emotional, leaving me feeling only a distant connection to the spectacle unfolding on the stage. I appreciate how dance has evolved, becoming a form that transcends its physicality and enters the realms of pure, emotive expression. Ballet’s past, however, cannot be discarded. We should explore those conventions in a way that enhances rather than simply recycles them. *Cleopatra* lacked that ambition, a genuine yearning to breathe new life into this established form.
The Music One would think that an orchestral score composed by several of Russia’s greatest composers would provide the kind of emotional depth and visceral impact *Cleopatra* needs. The use of diverse styles—the sweeping melodies of Arensky, the powerful drama of Taneyev, the hypnotic, atmospheric richness of Rimsky-Korsakov, the folk-inspired elements of Glinka, the lush orchestration of Glazunov, the intense expressiveness of Mussorgsky, the unique timbre of Tcherepnin – should have created a truly mesmerizing musical landscape. And it was, in places. There were certainly sections of intense beauty, haunting moments of pure melodic magic. I recall, in particular, the hauntingly melancholic music during the Nile scene, the way it mirrored the dancer's languid grace as they mirrored the water's gentle sway. And then, in the finale, a thrilling burst of energy, the orchestration hitting its peak, an epic musical tapestry fit for the gods.
The Dancers While I am not going to go into specific details about any individual, I will say that there was a collective quality to their movements, almost like a collective memory of an idealized ballet performance. This created a sense of grandeur but also, ironically, a disconnect with the dancers as human beings, leaving their individual talents somewhat subdued. Even the role of Cleopatra felt like it was played, not lived. We’ve seen numerous performances of Cleopatra through the ages. They range from Elizabeth Taylor’s sultry beauty to the more robust interpretations of actresses like Gina Lollobrigida. Cleopatra, this ancient queen, holds so much complexity, so many layers of depth—love, passion, strength, cruelty, desperation. I wished the choreography and music, and of course the dancer embodying this legendary figure, would reveal these layers, unleash the emotional torrent that resides within the queen. While individual technical feats, particularly some dazzling leaps and spins, stood out, I felt they did little to advance the narrative or elevate the ballet’s emotional impact. The dancer playing Cleopatra appeared elegant and refined, her movements flowing smoothly from one pose to the next. But the story within those movements felt missing, the depth of emotion left unexplored. This collective effort resulted in a breathtaking display of technique but ultimately contributed to a disconnect, keeping me, as a spectator, from truly embracing the emotional drama that I hoped would unfold.
The Verdict It was an interesting journey but, ultimately, a frustrating one. There were glimpses of beauty, of strength, of drama, but these never quite coalesced into a singular, powerful vision. There were times when the production’s elegance, the meticulous dance steps, the rich orchestration, managed to pull me in, creating a sense of wonder. I recall feeling an almost mystical connection to the ancient Egyptian setting, to the allure of the Nile, and to the weight of Cleopatra’s power. However, this feeling was constantly pulled back by a persistent yearning for a deeper exploration of character, of conflict, of the emotions that drive Cleopatra’s choices. This is not just my personal perspective, but one often reflected by critics of classical ballets, which at times lean on theatricality to cover a lack of narrative substance. Perhaps that is my fundamental critique, and perhaps my frustration, at this specific production. It chose the easier route, relying on classical ballet conventions and focusing on spectacle and technical artistry. It presented an opportunity for real exploration, for bold storytelling, for dramatic characterization, and opted for safety. The production felt timid in the face of a powerful, vibrant, and emotionally resonant story, resulting in a disappointment that lingered long after the final curtain. *Cleopatra* was not a complete failure. But, for me, it was an opportunity missed.