Wheeldon's Beguiling Winter's Tale

Photo: Karolina Kuras, courtesy of National Ballet of Canada

Christopher Wheeldon is becoming very skilled at total theater craft, as evidenced in his production of The Winter's Tale performed last week by the National Ballet of Canada. It was the sole dance fare in the 2016 Lincoln Center Festival, at the Koch Theater. Of course, the still relatively young Wheeldon (43) has been an ace choreographer for years by now, with many plotless and themed ballets in company repertories around the world, with a lion's share for New York City Ballet. 

He conquered Broadway with the charmer An American in Paris, for which he won a Tony. The tools used there—moving large set pieces, employing video projections successfully, quickly crafting deft characterizations—were put to use in Winter's Tale to create a quick-paced, unexpectedly entertaining rendition of Shakespeare's story. He is able to focus on all elements of the production and not simply the dancing, although that remains the keystone. 

The show's length, around 2:45, demands a lot of choreography, and much of it is lyrical and shapely with inventive touches and some contortions as well (in particular, a lift by the young lovers in which Rui Huang basically folds in half as Skylar Campbell cradles her and they kiss. Ouch.) He generally favors outstretched diagonal lines, such as in the photo below, and free flowing phrases.

Skylar Campbell and Rui Huang. Photo: Karolina Kuras, courtesy of the National Ballet of Canada

With the exception of the petulant, brutal Leontes (Guillaume Côté, fierce and magnetic), the characters are subtly delineated. The main female role turns out not to be Hermione (Sonia Rodgriquez) but Paulina, head of the queen's household, danced incisively and with pathos by former Bolshoi member Svetlana Lunkina.  

Two tall portals move about the stage frequently. In one scene, a seemingly endless staircase foreshadows the impending death of the boy prince Mamilius, who descends it. Four statues that appear to be life casts sit on pedestals; uncovered, they imply pomp, and covered, stasis or death. The show-stopper is Crowley's magnificent and life-like tree in the second act, bedecked with ornaments. A flutist plays beneath it as the townsfolk spread blankets and climb ladders to add jewels to the tree's branches. An ensemble dance includes folk motifs of the Slavic sort, such as folded arms and flexed feet.

Bob Crowley's elegant costumes flatter; the men wear pieced tunic coats or kilt-like skirts over tights, connoting a tribal feel. The women are given sleek, flaring dresses with chenille vests to denote the outdoors. Huang and Campbell as the princess and prince injected joy and lightness into their lengthy duets and solos. The score, by Jody Talbot, is lyrical and perfectly pleasant, with dramatic swells and Gershwinesque horns. Perhaps with further viewings, notable musical themes might emerge. But it's a solid ballet with good bones, and a notable entry into the full-length canon.
  

Alice's Adventures—A Dizzying Delight

Sonia Rodriguez (Alice) and Cheshire. Photo: Bruce Zinger

Is it possible nowadays to make an entertaining ballet combining technology with a classic of literature? Christopher Wheeldon's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, danced the National Ballet of Canada and presented by the Joyce Theater at the Koch, offers a resounding yes. (It originally premiered at the UK's Royal Ballet in 2011, and with CNB that year as well). It falls closer to Broadway-destined spectacles by Matthew Bourne than traditional ballets—not a bad thing. Most enduring popular classical ballets are based on romances either tragic or hard-won, in part to justify the big pas de deux, the beating heart of the genre. Alice has a somewhat stitched-together storyline which fails to tug on the heartstrings like chestnuts such as Giselle or Swan Lake. Here, it's all about the adventure, as the title says, and a thrilling ride it is.

Photo: Bruce Zinger

The most prominent and surprising elements of the ballet are the sets and costumes by Bob Crowley. It feels as if he pulled every last proverbial rabbit out of his hat, where they've been multiplying for generations. Some effects are plain old stagecraft—puppetry (an enchanting Cheshire Cat, in large and extra-large), admirably built set elements (the Queen's rolling heart-shaped carapace), clever applications of playing card graphics (spade-shaped tutus). Video elements (projection design by Jon Driscoll and Gemma Carrington) are used cleverly, taking us through convincingly dizzying plunges through the rabbit hole, or causing a wall of doors to vibrate hallucinogenically. As in the book, one drawback to talking caterpillars and floating cats is that our protagonist is reduced to a wistful cipher, fading from prominence even as she hardly, heroically even, leaves the stage over the course of roughly two hours (excluding two intermissions). She is called upon, not surprisingly, to react to the various crazy events into which she is coaxed or thrust.

Elena Lobsanova and Xiao Nan Yu. Photo: Bruce Zinger

Sonia Rodriguez danced the lead role on Wednesday, with Naoya Ebe as her suitor, Jack/Knave. The flamboyant role of Mother/Queen went to Svetlana Lunkina, who landed at the NBC after departing the Bolshoi last year—threatened in the wake of artistic director Sergei Filin being attacked with acid. This real-life drama would be hard to match, but the Queen's eye-popping costume and favorite gesture (slashed throat) did just that. Lunkina switched from preening to bloodthirsty in a split second. Juicy signature phrases went to the Rabbit/Lewis Carroll (Robert Stephen) wearing Lennonesque round pink specs and twitching neurotically when not leaping about, the Fish and Frog Footmen (Dylan Tedaldi and Francesco Gabriele Frola) slithering and waddling with charm, and Raja/Caterpillar (James Harrison), slinking on his stomach, which he also comically rubs in circles. Alice and Jack are given relatively brief duos, in which little chemistry is produced, but Ebe displayed his elegant lines and expressive back, and Rodriguez her solid arabesque when she isn't wriggling through a tiny door or acting shocked, surprised, or delighted. 

Jody Talbot wrote the pleasing music, often filmic in feel, and recalling Prokofiev and Danny Elfman at moments. It moves the action along pleasantly; perhaps further listenings will let it imprint on the brain. New York City Ballet's orchestra manned the pit, led by David Briskin, music director of the National Ballet of Canada.

One niggling criticism about Crowley's costumes, which are on the whole brilliant and witty, is the clashing hues of Alice's lavender frock and Jack's red and white outfits (he is on the lam from Team Queen, whose color is red). Even when their lines are in harmony, they are visually off key. But what lingers in the mind's eye should be the abattoir complete with slaughtered pigs, giant teapots, flowers dancing down the aisles under a flurry of confetti, a massive neon labyrinth, and multiple houses of cards. Catch it if you can.