The Merry Widow
American Ballet Theatre
Metropolitan Opera House
May 25, 2001

The Merry Widow carries the charm and style of Paris in 1905, and it's a genuinely funny ballet— not one that tries but falls short. The performance I saw, while uneven in parts, was good overall, both entertaining and poignant in turns.

Ronald Hynd's use of pantomime was witty and readily comprehensible to today's audience; the dance combinations also showed beautiful craftsmanship. Some of the enchainements in The Merry Widow, particularly those for the groups of men, are smooth and very clever in the way the steps fit together, clever in the way that the best solution for anything is usually the simplest. The momentum and the angle of one step led so naturally into the next that the viewer could experience a visceral satisfaction and one just knew the performer was enjoying dancing it.

There are so many humorously pantomimed moments in this ballet I won’t even try to recount them, but what a joy it was to see something that aimed to be funny and succeeded in hitting the mark. It wasn’t long before the very proper audience of the Metropolitan Opera House loosened up enough to laugh out loud. It’s so improper, you know, to make noise in the theater; it takes quite a bit of cajoling on the part of the choreographer and the performers to let folks know it’s okay to laugh; I thought Ronald Hynd’s choreography was brilliant in this regard.

The performers in this production did a wonderful job of bringing the roles to life, but I had the impression each gesture had been carefully crafted by Hynd and that even in the hands of a lesser cast, his genius would still shine through.

The scenery and costumes were on loan from The National Ballet of Canada: Desmond Heeley’s work was fabulous. From simple, to fanciful, to exactly what you might expect in the Paris of 1905, the lines and colors of the garments felt exactly right.

The sets were equally delicious with their Art Nouveau curves and floral motifs. Michael Whitfield’s lighting design filled in the sets to create some remarkable illusions: the Scene II ballroom was stunning, and the interior at Chez Maxim's was crazy, festive, and fun. The picture you see here does not do it justice—it’s just one of those things you need to see in person.

There are some proponents of theatre who claim that a production should stand on its own and not call for lengthy notes in the program booklet. I’ve often agreed, simply because reading program notes feels like work. When I saw the notes in the program for this show, I felt as strongly about this as ever! So many words… but I scanned them over lightly and decided to see how much I retained and how much the ballet made clear. This is another reason why this ballet is so good. I could have skipped the program notes altogether and still followed the action. Mr. Hynd’s work is that good. I would have missed some of the details particular to the locale, but every character, and his or her purpose in the tale, was made clear.

While I’m raving about how articulate Hynd is in his choreography, let me point out a particular gift of his. Beyond his humor and comic timing, there is also a great sense of subtlety. Numerous times, during the course of this ballet, the characters are meant to fall in love, step back with reservations, and then give up, again abandoning themselves to love. This was conveyed on so many levels it was really quite extraordinary; Hynd's gestures and pantomime carry a great deal of nuance. Certainly credit should also go to the performers who did such a believable job: Julie Kent, who played the Widow, and Robert Hill, who danced the role of the Count, share a palpable chemistry one does not usually see on stage.

Ashley Tuttle and Angel Corella were great as the lovers. At the end of the ballet, when the Baron (played by Victor Barbee) acknowledges that he cannot keep his young wife Valencienne (Tuttle) and resigns himself to her leaving him for Camille (Corella), I was getting a little teary: it was quite sad to see him so defeated. The lovers are caught up in what they feel for each other, but during the times that the three interact, Tuttle’s character still shows affection for her aged spouse, and Camille, an attache, is still respectful to the Baron, his boss. Finally the three of them exit together and while this soothes the poignancy of the moment, it does leave one wondering exactly how that threesome is going to work out.

Meanwhile, the Widow and the Count are working out their own relationship, which I found a little frustrating as I could not figure out which set of people to watch and when I chose one, I just knew the other was doing great stuff; I couldn’t manage enough peripheral vision to take in all the dancers.

As in most ballets like this, where there’s a crowd trimming the periphery, there is a lot of stage business going on amongst the onlookers. Some of this got a little out of hand at times, though mostly by accident. In Maxim’s, the Count tosses his top hat into the wings, but it mistakenly hit Valencienne as she sat demurely at a small table off to the side. And there was the waiter who, having struggled through a crowd of dancers, was supposed (one presumes) to stagger off, stage right, under the burden of his tray. Instead, his staggering turned into actual careening and he barely managed to tumble off into the wings. There was also a lot of bravado which manifested itself in the swigging down of drinks and then tossing of goblets into the wings. The metallic crashes got to be quite humorous after a time, though it was remarkable that bystanding dancers weren’t clipped by the flying vessels.

In the scene in Maxim's, there was a brief sextet for the men in their white tie and tails which looked wonderful. Hynd’s steps were nicely chosen and the group of men danced cleanly in a tight unison. I can’t say all the groups of men were together when they were supposed to be, but this group sure was and they looked great.

Now having gone on at length about how much I liked this ballet, I should note that the press kit I received states:

Who are these critics who don't acclaim it? I think some critics go to see so much dance that they lose sight of what the experience of "going to the ballet" is for most dance-goers. I believe the obligation to constantly see dance performances, and to write about them, gives one a whole other point of view from the rest of us.

I believe, among many critics and dance historians, there's an inclination to appreciate serious works which will go down in the annals of dance as important or socially relevent or meet some other academic criteria. Personally, I've seen some of these works and I didn't enjoy sitting through them. On the other hand, I'm no fan of contentless fluff, either. I believe if you're putting something on stage, and people have to pay to see it, then there is an obligation there to engage the audience. They don't necessarily have to laugh, but they should want to see the show. Hynd's ballet is like this.

If you have a chance to see The Merry Widow, therefore, I recommend it as an opportunity to see a nuanced, well-made work that entertains. Through Desmond Heeley’s designs, you'll also have a chance to soak in some of the stylistic fervor that raged in Paris around 1905. This actually is an important ballet, and you'll want to sit through every joyous second of it.