Homage to Rainier III, Prince of Monaco

“Soirée Maurice Ravel” (“La Valse”/“L’Enfant et les Sortilèges”)
Les Ballets de Monte-Carlo
Salle des Princes, Grimaldi Forum
Monte-Carlo, Monaco
December 23, 2023

by Ilona Landgraf
Copyright © 2023 by Ilona Landgraf

This year, Monaco celebrated the centenary anniversary of Prince Rainier III (1923–2005), the Principality’s monarch and head of state for almost 56 years. One highlight among the numerous events and exhibitions was a new double bill of Les Ballets de Monte-Carlo, featuring Balanchine’s La Valse and the company’s artistic director, Jean-Christophe Maillot’s L’Enfant et les Sortilèges (The Child and the Spell). Both pieces are set to music by Maurice Ravel. L’Enfant et les Sortilèges is a one-act opera with a libretto by Colette whose 150^th anniversary happens to be celebrated this year. World War I delayed its premiere at the Monte-Carlo Opera until 1925. Back then, Balanchine choreographed the dance sequences. In 1992, Maillot created his adaption. As a tribute to Prince Rainier – who is said to have loved Ravel’s music in general and especially L’Enfant et les Sortilèges – he presented a new version this year. There were only four performances scheduled at the Grimaldi Forum, and I saw the last one on December 23^rd. It was attended by Prince Albert II, Princess Caroline, and Princess Stéphanie and opened with Monaco’s anthem.

Balanchine’s neo-romantic La Valse, created for New York City Ballet in 1951, has been in the repertory of the Monte-Carlo company since 1994. Its gaily waltzing young couples care about nothing but themselves. The women’s chiffon skirts waft in the air, jewelry sparkles, and the night seems velvety and balmy (costumes by Karinska, stage design by Jean Rosenthal). Threat looms, though, when the sound of a howling, cold wind intrudes into the music. The women, whose ponytails have been gently flying in a waltz rhythm, at once look like witches celebrating Walpurgis Night. And indeed, death joins their ball in the form of a cold-eyed gentleman. A string-puller, he picks one woman and – by magic force – turns her into an eager victim. Together they waltz toward her fatal end as if caught in a devilish vortex. Though a few men shrink back at the sight of her corpse, the party resumes its waltz, and the show goes on regardless.

The company waltzed with nonchalant elegance and verve as if propelled forward on a predestined trajectory. Frivolous decadence filled the air. Each couple – whether boisterous, introverted (but haughty), dandy-ish, or endorphin-fueled – created their separate mini-cosmos. The evening’s harbinger of death was danced by Jaat Benoot; Lou Beyne portrayed his victim, plunging herself into ruin the moment she slipped into the black elbow gloves. Jérôme Tisserand was the hapless admirer who she ditched in favor of death.

Though denied by Ravel, the macabre mood of his composition resembled the sense of futility in Europe in 1914 preceding WWI, which has been described as a Totentanz. As the current world stage dances on the edge of a volcano again, the revival of La Valse was eerily apt.

L’Enfant et les Sortilèges is about a recalcitrant child who has not the least intention to do her homework. As a punishment, the mother confines the child to her room. Terribly upset, the child throws a tantrum, rampaging and destroying furnishings and toys. Surprisingly, the objects come to life and even begin to protest against the pain and misery inflicted upon them. Even the homework haunts the child in the shape of an old teacher. As the room disintegrates into a garden, the child is delighted. But flora and fauna, having been treated roughly on earlier occasions as well, shun the child and plan to take revenge. The tension unwinds the moment when the child helps a squirrel, which was injured in the overall hubbub. Upon witnessing this, the animals forgive the child and, echoing her faint call for “mama,” help to reunite the child with her mother.

I am not familiar with Maillot’s first take on the opera and hence can only comment on the new version. The unruly child was a girl (Ashley Krauhaus) whose outbursts seemed inspired by Mats Ek’s movement vocabulary. Her mother was danced by Mimoza Koike. Maillot complemented the family with a father (Artjom Maksakov), who was too apathetic to move out of his trendy chair. He came to life three times: to rebuke his daughter (to no avail), for a quickie with his wife in the living room, and – holding a white origami dove (or rather a crane) – to signal that family peace was restored.

Jérôme Kaplan, a regular collaborator of Maillot, was again commissioned to create set and costume designs. He kept the origami style for most of the props. Rollable cupboard-like elements defined the child’s room. Their surfaces were covered with huge Picasso-ish children’s scribbling and arithmetic problems for grade schoolers. (The miscalculations would have made a teacher’s stomach turn.) Barely wiped clean by the mother, the child wasted no time angrily re-decorating the room with even scrawlier graffiti. The beautifully colored Mediterranean garden grew with the help of LED string curtains.

Given the numerous living objects and animals that the girl clashed with, Kaplan had ample opportunity to indulge in fancy costumes. The floor clocks wore silver or gold from head to toe; the sexy-red tea cups sported black bobs, and the infuriated flames of the fireplace were wrapped in spiky red/orange/yellow outfits. The costumes of the shepherd and shepherdess (Matĕj Urban and Marianna Barabas) looked as if they would make their whole bodies blush for shame; their herding dog was blue and moved on castors. The Princess (Laura Tisserand) was dressed in a golden evening robe. She cared for the girl like a tender mother but didn’t expect that the mean brat would take away her belt.
In the role of the math teacher, Michaël Grünecker was boxed in geometric armor, which was as white as chalk. His threatening red stick caused utter confusion among the numbers. The Children’s Choir of the Académie de Musique et Théâtre Rainier III portrayed the teacher’s class of students, which sat (and sang) at his foot. Daniele Delvecchio and Juliette Klein portrayed the black tomcat and white cat, both meowing fully and smugly (Kamil Ben Hsaïn sang their parts). The garden was populated by dancing leaves, a flock of pastel-colored birds, hopping (and croaking) greenbacks, and boldly sailing black and red bats. Anissa Bruley was the delicate squirrel that was accidentally injured.

Ten soloists of Monte-Carlo Opera’s Académies Lyriques gave each protagonist their voice. They were supported by Monte-Carlo Opera’s choir, which was positioned on either side of the auditorium. In the pit, the Philharmonic Orchestra of Monte-Carlo, playing under the baton of David Molard Soriano, gave a fine rendition of Ravel’s score. In total, L’Enfant et les Sortiléges assembled 240 artists on stage. It’s a pity that this production is too big to tour abroad.

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