By james art Is any 20th-century masterpiece, across the artistic spectrum, as enchanting as La Fille mal gardée? You have to wonder. Frederick Ashton (1904-1988) created this effervescent romantic comedy in 1960 as a prelude to his ‘beloved Suffolk’. “In my imagination there exists,” wrote the ingenious choreographer-founder of the Royal Ballet, “a life in the land of ever-late spring, leafy pastureland of eternal sunshine and humming bees.” And the piece that emerged—all dancing chicks, silly suitors, and disapproving matriarchs—is a sun-kissed, thrillingly paced love story with an almost unique capacity to enchant grandparents, grandchildren, and all ages in between.
Also, because it’s Ashton, it’s particularly difficult to dance while requiring the cast to give the impression of moving effortlessly through it. Packed with diabolical choreographic complexity, props large and small and even a live Shetland pony, the potential pitfalls are legion. But, as the Royal Ballet’s sister company Birmingham Royal Ballet fascinatingly and delightfully demonstrated on Friday night, you can really go very wrong with Filet and still get it right.
True, I found myself cringing inwardly at various hind legs that were left to trail lightly in arabesques, stances and leaps, at the almost random angles of the four girls’ raised arms during the Act II clog dance, some barely perceptibly missed musical cues at the beginning. At one point, the hero, Kolas (a humble, frail peasant) almost impales his titular, wayward but irresistible crush Lisa with a ribbon, while later one of the boys becomes a borderline (albeit quickly recovered) brat. as he hops over a stick during the short Morris dance. Oscar the pony also pooped on stage, but then again, that was always an occupational hazard with Fillet, and it was worth it anyway for the ensuing gazelle leap, which a grinning Jonathan Payne (as Liz’s father Thomas supposedly intended) Alain) shoots to save his shoes from ruin as he leaves the stage in Act I.
As it happens, Payne’s fleeting (and much-needed) moment of improvisation was in keeping with the collective performance, which, for all its flaws, fully captured the warmth of the ballet’s spirit and the spirit of fun. The cool, polished steel modernity of the Sadler’s Wells auditorium is not ideal for such a decidedly 21st-century mix – up to and including Osbert Lancaster’s sweetly old-fashioned designs – and I also feared that the Islington crowd might be a little too cool for the school Ashton. But in the end, I’m not sure if I’ve ever heard so much laughter at a Philae performance, such a sense of collective delight at the story that was unfolding. It’s as if everyone, pressured by modern life and current events, realized they had just stumbled upon the perfect antidote.
Credit goes to Ashton himself, of course, but also to Friday night’s cast (corps and all) who carried us helplessly along its bubbling stream of choreographic and comedic inspiration. Rory Mackay had a great time as the widow Simone, Lisa’s constantly disapproving, ultimately accepting, oddly huge mother; Gus Payne was superb as the simple-minded Alain, agile as a squirrel but also capturing the character’s pathos.