Effervescent

“The Merry Widow”
Hungarian National Ballet
Hungarian State Opera
Budapest, Hungary
February 8-9, 2025

by Ilona Landgraf
Copyright © 2025 by Ilona Landgraf

The brisk beats that opened last Saturday’s revival of The Merry Widow at Budapest’s opera house promised a peppy performance, and the following two and a half hours delivered brio indeed. Franz Lehár composed the music in 1905 for his popular eponymous operetta, and John Launchbery and Allen Abbot were the first to edit it for the dance stage in 1974. Both worked on behalf of the British choreographer Ronald Hynd who in 1975 adapted the comic operetta into a three-act ballet for the Australian Ballet. Since then, many ballet companies have added it to their repertory. The Hungarian National Ballet premiered The Merry Widow in 2014 with new sets and costumes by the Brit Peter Docherty.

Docherty designed a long workbench stuffed with books and champagne (shadowed by a wall-sized replica of the national coat of arms) where the staff of the Pontevedrian embassy in Paris shuffled papers, boozed, and stood at attention as soon as the anthem sounded. The small Balkan state of Pontevedrian was bankrupt, but its geriatric ambassador, Baron Zeta, had a bailout plan. If his first secretary, Count Danilo Danilovitch, married the Pontevedrian millionaire’s widow, Hanna Glawari, her money would refill the state coffers.
But the count, a Petruchio-like character fond of tippling, was an unreliable ally, especially after he learned that Hanna was the young peasant girl he once loved but was not allowed to marry. Sparks of affection flew when they recognized one another at an embassy ball, but nagging doubts prevailed. Was the count truly in love with Hanna or only interested in her wealth? To whom of the many admirers did she give her heart? While the embassy staff eagerly monitored the matchmaking scheme development, the romance between the ambassador’s young wife, Valencienne, and the French attaché to the embassy, Camille, blossomed in secrecy. The love web became complicated when Hanna covered for Valencienne’s tête-à-tête with Camille, causing a public clash between the two men.
As they fought like gamecocks at Paris’s (then world-famous) restaurant Maxim’s, the truth was revealed. Danilo and Hanna became a couple, and, unlike in Lehár’s operetta, Valencienne confessed her love for Camille, which was heavy-heartedly accepted by her husband. Pontevedrian’s finances were rescued, but, most importantly, love had won.

Compared to the faded splendor of the embassy’s antechamber, the embassy’s terrace, where the ball was held, looked like a textbook set for an upper-class screen romance. Below the spacious terrace’s generous balustrade lured the lights of Paris’s nightlife. Chandeliers, candle holders, and a starry night lit the rich and beautiful who descended from a broad staircase onto the terrace wearing cream-colored satin dresses and uniforms.
The stars seemed within reach at the Pontevedrian-themed garden party, which took place at Hanna’s Parisian villa the following evening. Lively folk dance unfolded in front of an ivy-clad pavilion where Valencienne and Camille, unable to control their desire, quickly hid. Red lamps spread a romantic glow. The whole setting was reminiscent of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Act III played on the art nouveau terrace of Maxim’s from which the guests had a prime view of the illuminated Eiffel Tower.

As state and love affairs intertwined at the Pontevedrian embassy, politics were conducted on the sidelines of social gatherings and smoothened by (generously poured) champagne. At every venue, the dance style was different but always buoyant. The ball guests at the embassy swiveled in waltz time, the women’s skirts billowing like delicate cream. At the garden party, the women performed a soulful group dance, holding handkerchiefs similar to the one the young Hanna had given Danilo as a present. It later became the crucial memento that reunited both.
The men’s dashing folk dance (including many fabulously clean tours en l’air) fueled the party mood. At Maxim’s, a mix of can-can and Fred Astaire-ish ballroom dance entertained the guests. The showstopper was Hanna who appeared in a silver dress that glittered like a disco ball.
Hynd included many pas de deux to reveal the chemistry between the lovers. Their main feature was the stunning number of lifts. Valencienne seemed to be in seventh heaven with Camille as evidenced by how rarely her feet touched the ground. Hanna was initially more hesitant to give herself over to the arms of Danilo. Maybe her previous Giselle-like experience with him (which Hynd cleverly visualized in a flashback during the embassy ball) gave her pause. Her self-assured solo at the garden party was reminiscent of Raymonda, except she flicked her foot instead of clapping her hands.
Saturday’s Hanna Glawari was danced by Tatyjana Melnyik whose entrance at the ball made me think of Odile but devoid of malice. She fascinatingly used her fan to cool her anger when ditched by Danilo at the ladies’ choice or to fan herself with the audience’s applause. At one point, I expected her to slap it on the heads of the men that beleaguered her like bees around the honeypot. But she only raised her arm and the men stepped back.
Count Danilo (Mikalai Radziush) became a daredevil when he was drunk or angry. The ferocity with which he hurled away his cape at Maxim’s was a bit diabolical, but when Hanna sank into his arms in the final pas de deux, he turned out to be the best possible partner.
It wasn’t clear if Valencienne (Miyu Takamori) wagged her wedding ring in front of Camille’s (Mattheus Bäckström’s) nose to pretend to be a faithful wife or to egg him on. In any case, eager passion oozed from each of her cells.
When Hanna (Maria Beck) suddenly faced Danilo (Gergő Ármin Balázsi’s) at Sunday’s matinee, she stroked his face like a knee-jerk response of former intimacy. Both danced flawlessly and were also strong actors. Balázsi was fabulous when miming the drunkard and uncouth womanizer. When Hanna, in contrast to the evening before, wrapped her handkerchief around Danilo’s neck in silence, the tenderness between them swept through the auditorium. Elena Sharipova’s Valencienne was an effervescent blonde with one thing in mind: Camille (Taran Dumitru). Their romance was vigorous. Although Valencienne’s flailing legs hinted at resistance when Camille held her on his lap, she enjoyed his brazen groping. When she swapped her rheumatism-stricken husband (Léo Lecarpentier, who played Baron Zeta in both performances) with Camille, she soared through the air in his arms like a freed swan.
A special bouquet goes to Motomi Kiyota, the leading man in the folk dance, for his dash and jumping power and to Ronald Hynd. The ninety-three-year-old came to Budapest to attend the first performance and take his curtain call.
Imre Kollár conducted the Hungarian State Opera Orchestra at both performances. Perhaps because Lehár was an Austria-Hungarian composer, his music sounded native to the orchestra. 

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