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"Ah, this is ballet," sighed one white-haired woman to another. And then, for emphasis, "This is ballet." Originally choreographed by George Balanchine, this is Francia Russell's staging of the master's A Midsummer Night's Dream (at McCaw Hall through April 13, tickets $20-$150). It's "real" ballet in the way that a Cheever short story signifies the New Yorker. But we're not here to beat up on oldsters, according to our parole officer--and neither is the Peter Boal-led Pacific Northwest Ballet, which approached the work with a captivating intensity, driving straight for its muscular, passionate heart.
Shakespeare's play is a touchstone--the ballet references the story more than it tells it, preferring to explore moments inside the plot: Titania and Oberon's narcissism, the haplessness of romantic attraction, the strange reality of waking up with a donkey's head. In Felix Mendelssohn's music, Balanchine found a childlike wonder at the natural world and a surfeit of romantic drama. (Like an opera like Cunning Little Vixen, the childish appeal can be overstated; there's sexual frustration-tinged violence, too, as in the way Demetrius threatens a kick at a pleading Helena.)
For scenic and costume designer Martin Pakledinaz, Act I is all forest and moonlit, tree-trunk silhouettes, with a profusion of giant, pop-up book foliage; kids whimsically dressed as bugs and butterflies dance around in centipedal trains under the gaze of a frog big enough to crush them. Act II, in Theseus's court, is still moonlight and silhouetted shapes, but with open space framed by pillars.
Three males leads especially tapped into that punchy, stylized Balanchine presence--Jonathan Porretta as Oberon, Josh Spell as Puck, and Olivier Wevers as, well, a "divertissement." Carrie Imler's Titania made our heart leap into our throat (with a single move, a sudden jump into a kneeling position into Batkhurel Bold's outstretched arms), and Kaori Nakamura captured that wrenching disorientation when love goes wrong, spinning out of control across the stage as if she were watching herself losing it.
On the one hand, Oberon is a stuffed shirt, tyrannical and finger-waving, but when Porretta unleashes a flurry of entrechat six (which we have heretofore referred to as the "Snoopy Dance") or lands and elevates from one bionic leg, you give Oberon a bit more credit. Josh Spell's maniacally gleeful Puck, skipping about the stage in complete disregard of gravity, stood in contrast to the orchestra's more dutiful sawing away at 16th notes, and general lack of zest. Kiyon Gaines, as Bottom, entered a purely creaturely space, convincing us we could see his jaws actually munching grass.
Honestly, Act II is a bit of a snooze dramatically, but in the Divertissement, Olivier Wevers and Louise Nadeau decided to redefine elegance and grace, illustrating in their pas de deux the trust relationship that ballet uniquely embodies. Each catch, each supporting hand, was an I love you. The audience roared for them at curtain call.
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