In the 1970s Kenneth MacMillan snatched ballet from the land of myths and fairytales and thrust it into worlds of psychological darkness, with complex, unsympathetic characters that dancers love to get their teeth into. Does Manon, a ballet about prostitution and sexual violence, come dangerously close to misery porn? In the lower rungs of 18th-century Paris, women are bought and abused, the society on show is an ugly one, but this is ballet so it’s also beautiful: I think that’s called cognitive dissonance.
Manon is full of dislikable characters, and its success hinges on whether the dancers can engross us in their journey. Opening night features two of the Royal Ballet’s strongest actors, Francesca Hayward and Gary Avis, as well as Marcelino Sambé making his debut as pure-hearted Des Grieux, so the answer is yes.
The real theme is power. There’s the guileless power of youthful femininity that Manon (Hayward) doesn’t even realise she has, radiating goodness and beauty that others want to leech. There’s the power that comes with money, obviously. Monsieur GM (Avis) is the kind of guy who likes to throw a handful of coins on the floor and laugh as desperate souls scramble for them. But how the balance subtly tips when he shows his interest in Manon and suddenly he wants her too much (Avis is excellent at being creepy, rubbing his face against her satin shoe). She’s frozen with confusion and discomfort but quickly realises her currency.
In a clever pas de trois she is pimped by her own brother (Alexander Campbell, very good) who lifts her legs in arabesques over Monsieur GM’s head and the question of who is in control is ever changing. Later, lavishly dressed, Hayward carries herself like a queen, but Manon’s power is an illusion and we see just how far she falls.
Whatever your feeling about the content, the craft is consummate: MacMillan’s pas de deux packed with inventive, unexpected steps and lifts; the insatiability of young love captured in sweeping phrases that don’t stop to breathe. The whole company is on strong form and Sambé remains ardent to the end, but swallowed by this snake pit of a society.
• At the Royal Opera House, London, until 8 March
