Manon
Royal Opera House, London WC2
Whenever Sylvie Guillem reprises a role, she rethinks it. Her Manon now is a different creature from a few years ago. With Jonathan Cope as Des Grieux, the man she loves, she gives in this revival of MacMillan's ballet the performance of her career - of both their careers. Joining them in the other key role, that of Manon's brother, Lescaut, is Thiago Soares, a young Brazilian almost half their age.
This is why he joined the Royal Ballet in 2002 - to have the chance of dancing meaty roles with exceptional artists who never stop developing. A principal dancer in Rio, Soares accepted a low-ranking contract in order to gain experience in the Royal's rich repertoire. He's just won the critics' award for outstanding male dancer in 2004, so he's hardly gone unnoticed. Seeing his pleasure at taking his bows on Thursday alongside Guillem and Cope was to appreciate how much the Royal Ballet has to offer dancers and audiences.
Let's not hear any nonsense about the company losing its soul to non-British dancers. Its reputation was largely built on talent from abroad, first, the former colonies, then Europe; how lucky we've been that world-class dancers want to perform here. Guillem, like Nureyev before her, has brought high standards of artistry for others to strive towards. Cope has met her challenge in his maturity; Soares is profiting in his youth.
With his striking looks - long, curling mouth and sharply defined jaw - Soares is still melodramatic as an actor. But that's all right in the context of this Manon cast: the other two give such finely nuanced performances that Lescaut needs to be made of baser metal. He's tarnished, capable of selling his sister to the highest bidder. Guillem keeps her strangely pure, always true to herself. Her Manon is not a golddigger, seduced by the riches of her protector, Monsieur GM (Anthony Dowell). She's a realist, playing GM at his own game.
She understands that he needs to flaunt a trophy mistress. Dowell makes him so decadent that she's unlikely to have to reward him much with sexual favours. What she wants is status.
Then, when Des Grieux reproaches her with his presence in the brothel scene, she knows she'll pay the price to be with him again. Their relationship as lovers has been so strongly established in their first pas de deux that she has no option.
Guillem used to portray Manon as a gambler, hoping to get away with everything. Headstrong, she'd cause Des Grieux such trouble that their reunion was bound to be a disaster. She'd even defy death in the swamp, fighting to the end. Now her responses are genuine, no longer calculated; she accepts her fate, while Cope's heart breaks at its injustice. He has told us all we need to know about him in his introductory solo, dancing with such purity that he deserves to be loved. Here's the advantage an experienced performer brings to an apparently naive role: he can reveal its essence from the start, then describe its arc over three acts.
MacMillan's choreography sets out Manon's character in the way she takes her first steps in each act, placing one foot, on pointe, in front of the other. From that simple motif, the ballerina builds her interpretation. Guillem is so complete a dancer that her physical extravagance seems the natural expression of Manon's emotions. How much longer such technical ease can be taken for granted must be open to question. Celebrate her, and Cope, while we can. It's a rare delight to see them recover themselves during the curtain calls, coming out of their roles and realising they've given magnificent performances.
Backing them are Royal Ballet artists, home-grown and foreign, who are taking the company to new heights this season. A younger generation of dance-actors has come into its own: William Tuckett, Alastair Marriott, Genesia Rosato and Elizabeth McGorian bring fresh life to old roles; Dowell's Monsieur GM is a reptilian addition to the canon of creepy villains.
And the whores, courtesans and clients who populate Manon's demimonde are classier than ever. When they're not plying their trade in MacMillan's brothel, they're sweet-natured peasants in Ashton's La Fille mal gardée, another five-star production. Under Monica Mason's directorship, the company is in its best shape for decades.
