My darlings, July! The very word evokes images of long languid days, sun-drenched terraces, and perhaps, for those of us fortunate enough to be on the continent, the allure of a fabulous festival in some charming, cobbled corner of Europe. But this season, a touch of that Parisian chic has come to London. And, while the temperature may have finally reached "temperate", we were positively ignited by the brilliance and fiery talent on display at the Royal Opera House.
This month, dear readers, was a feast for the senses, a kaleidoscope of dazzling talent, and oh, those costumes! It all began with the unveiling of Christopher Wheeldon’s "The Winter’s Tale" – a breathtaking, albeit melancholic, spectacle.
I confess, the first act had me sighing with disappointment. Not a bad performance, just... well, I hadn’t expected the same level of dynamism and flair I associate with Wheeldon's more playful, mischievous work. The stage design, for instance, was decidedly dark, an uninspired backdrop for the emotional turmoil unfolding on the stage. Yet, amidst the heavy atmosphere, emerged an extraordinary young talent. Sarah Lamb's interpretation of Perdita, the lost princess, was quite simply mesmerising, her performance, the embodiment of the pure and the divine, a true blossoming on the stage. And while the dancing wasn’t revolutionary in itself, there was a gentle, emotive beauty in her every move, that drew you in and captivated your imagination.
Oh, darling! How could I forget that shimmering emerald dress Perdita wore! It whispered of hidden elegance, its fluidity evoking a delicate strength. A truly perfect costume for that scene where, lost in a thicket of enchanted flowers, she awakens in a garden bathed in sunlight, her joy bubbling to the surface with an exuberance that had the audience swooning.
By the final scene, the magic had woven its spell. It wasn’t necessarily the masterful story telling, although I found the staging to be incredibly effective. And no, darling, it wasn’t solely down to that divine emerald dress. The finale had a palpable gravitas to it, the sorrow palpable yet hopeful. Perhaps the effect was born out of the contrasting silhouettes: Leontes, draped in muted black, beside the breathtaking, white clad Hermione. The scene simply brought a sense of unity and completion that left the audience deeply moved.
A week later, I found myself once more under the shimmering, gilt chandeliers of the Royal Opera House, this time, ensconced in the glorious Royal Circle. We were presented with another triumph, this time an all-male cast performing "Swan Lake." Oh, dear readers, the sheer audacity, the raw physicality was simply sublime. This production was a glorious reimagining, both innovative and poignant, a powerful homage to the dance. My, my, those white tutus - each one so exquisitely detailed! The entire ballet was like watching a thousand flickering candles illuminating the darkness – each dancer’s movement, a radiant beacon.
I must say, I was completely enthralled, particularly by Steven McRae’s interpretation of the noble yet haunted Prince. There’s an innate intensity in his movements, an element of rawness that is simply riveting. McRae conveyed such vulnerability in the Prince's fight against despair – the struggle so apparent that you feel every twist of his soul, every heart-wrenching doubt.
The ensemble dancing in this particular staging of the classic Swan Lake was especially noteworthy, not for the elegance alone, but for the effortless unison - the precise synchronisation of every step and movement was utterly awe-inspiring. But then again, with such skilled, lithe limbs, those black-clad cygnets gliding through the air, what other outcome could you expect, but to be utterly spellbound?
Oh, dear readers! From one stunning performance to another, July had me in an absolute whirl. It’s simply no surprise that I found myself jetting off to Venice to experience another remarkable dance experience, "La Dolce Vita" in all its shimmering grandeur at the prestigious Teatro La Fenice, the opera house made famous by the likes of Verdi.
It's hard to describe, dear readers, the magical combination of setting, dance, and exquisite music. I was completely charmed by "La Dolce Vita," this sensual ballet where each step felt like an eloquent, yet graceful whisper, each expression, a symphony of longing and unspoken truths. Of course, I was smitten by the choreography, every turn, every graceful, fluid move, like a page torn from a fashion magazine brought to life! The overall impact, quite magical – like slipping into an extravagant Italian fantasy.
The costumes! Oh, my dears, the costumes! This is what truly had me enraptured. The very air of La Fenice seemed infused with the essence of chic and elegance. The dancers were, of course, absolute goddesses, swathed in gowns of rich velvet, swirling satin, and shimmering sequined fabrics. Such sumptuous details. One particular dress stood out: a sumptuous sapphire blue that flowed gracefully like liquid moonlight, its silhouette perfecting every curve, leaving little to the imagination. It made for a most enchanting sight.
From the grandeur of the Royal Opera House, to the intimate opulence of the Venetian opera house, this past month has been an intoxicating journey of sublime beauty, poignant storytelling, and above all, the breathtaking skill and artistry of those extraordinary human beings - our ballet dancers.
Speaking of exquisite, darling, the very word seems synonymous with our summer's greatest event! I simply must recount our journey to the hallowed grounds of Covent Garden for the opening night of "La Bohème," the ever-classic masterpiece that truly defines romantic drama in the art of ballet.
And, as ever, we were welcomed with an aura of expectation and refinement that only the Covent Garden can provide. The sheer scale of the ballet - and oh, the costumes! A veritable symphony of romantic Parisian elegance, they brought a touch of wistful magic to the stage, leaving a deep impression. The colour palette was just right, darling. Soft, faded blues and subtle touches of rouge, all so captivating against that shimmering midnight stage setting.
The dance itself simply brought tears to my eyes, an explosion of sheer talent, but one I couldn't fully connect with this time around. It seemed to lack the emotive force that had captured me in the past. This might have been the staging, darling, not sure... perhaps even that slight miscasting of the ever-handsome Roberto Bolle. He just didn't have that melancholic longing that we expect from a Rodolpho. Still, the whole affair was, undeniably, spectacularly stylish.
What a fabulous month, my dear readers. Now, excuse me, as I head to Paris to replenish my wardrobe and scout new trends in the ballet world. Stay stylish!
Your ballerina friend, [Name]