Review: Balanchine’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream – magic, mischief and romance in Rome

A Midsummer Night’s Dream springs from the imagery of midsummer solstice celebrations, when, in English folk tradition, the shortest night of the year was believed to teem with magic, romantic omens, fairies, and spirits. In his first great comic masterpiece, Shakespeare blends this folkloric heritage with mythological and literary sources: the Ovidian echoes embodied in Titania, the Oberon of chivalric tradition, the Theseus of Plutarch, and above all, the irrepressible Puck, the embodiment of the fantastical and disruptive element. Yet the most surprising character remains Bottom, at once comic and visionary, capable of transforming the most earthly desire into a form of dream.

When, in 1962, George Balanchine turned to Shakespeare’s masterpiece for the New York City Ballet, his interest was anything but philological. What attracted him above all was Mendelssohn’s score and a theatrical tradition rooted in the Imperial Russian Theatres of his formative years. Through Lopukhov and ultimately Petipa, Balanchine inherited the idea of a dance deeply bound to musical structure while retaining a strong narrative and theatrical dimension – a balance that emerges in his choreography.

From the opening moments, the Fairies’ pas couru come alive through the fluttering movement of their arms, while the delightful costumes recreated for the Rome Opera Ballet by Gianluca Falaschi help fashion a universe suspended between fairy tale and dream. Puck immediately stands out, brilliantly portrayed by Simone Agrò, darting restlessly through the forest without conforming to the neoclassical aesthetic of the choreography. This disruptive presence extends seamlessly from the stylistic to the dramaturgical sphere of the production, of which he becomes, in a sense, a co-director.

At the outset, we are introduced to the story’s noble protagonists: Theseus, portrayed with stately dignity by Mattia Tortora, and the two pairs of lovers. Though lively agents of the stage action, they are ultimately destined to become victims – first of their own passions and then of the magical spells cast upon them by Puck at Oberon’s misunderstood command. Yet there is clearly a mischievous impulse in the sprite’s desire to complicate matters and thereby enrich the delightful drama unfolding before our eyes.

Hermia (Marta Marigliani) and Helena (Alessandra Amato) embody two contrasting stage temperaments. The former is romantic, enveloped in the lyricism of Lysander’s (Walter Maimone) kisses and warm embraces, confident in the happy fulfilment of their love. Helena, by contrast, is far more dramatic and afflicted. Unable to win the heart of her Demetrius (Giacomo Castellana), she is painfully aware of her plight and expresses her despair with intensity, repeatedly reaching out toward her beloved only to be rejected.

Particularly striking are the trios created by the four lovers when their affairs are complicated by Puck’s blunder. Lysander falls in love with Helena and openly gravitates toward her; she recoils, covering her face with her hand, while Hermia is pushed to the margins, striving to recapture her beloved’s gaze. Prompted by Oberon, Puck eventually realises his mistake and attempts to correct it by inspiring Demetrius to love Helena. The result is a sword fight between the two rivals, a scene that connects naturally with the tradition of twentieth-century narrative ballet, from Lavrovsky’s Romeo and Juliet to its Western descendants.

Yet A Midsummer Night’s Dream is above all a ballet of enchantment. While the plot is rooted in the dispute between Oberon and Titania over possession of her changeling child, the conflict is conveyed through a revitalised pantomime that departs from the conventions of late nineteenth-century ballet, where mime had often become little more than a codified sign language (after all, New York could hardly reproduce the pantomime instruction of the Imperial Theatres).

Oberon’s entrances – Gabriele Consoli in golden unitard – are both compelling and effective. He displays remarkable vigour and brilliance in the recurring battus of the petit allegro and in his entrechats. Equally spectacular is the entrance of the regal Marianna Suriano as Titania, with her long red train and enchanted retinue. In her pas de deux with the faithful Knight, Michele Satriano, her deeply romantic nature comes to the fore, eager to launch into soaring lifts and ethereal off balances, yet equally resolute when confronting Oberon. And when Puck, with malicious cunning, attempts to abduct her changeling child, her attendants reveal a cohesion reminiscent of the Wilis of the Romantic ballet.

The comic dimension is no less prominent, embodied by Antonello Mastrangelo’s Bottom in scenes designed to provoke spontaneous laughter. More austere and detached than the other characters is Federica Azzone’s Hippolyta, who, shooting her arrows before plunging into a whirlwind of tours fouettés, succeeds in restoring a sense of equilibrium.

It is now time to celebrate love. In the dreamlike whiteness of the second act, room is made for the vivid colours of the three couples – Oberon and Titania having joined the original two – while Claudio Cocino and Sara Loro celebrate them in a concertante finale.

Marta Mele

Graduating with honours in “Literary and Linguistic Studies” at La Sapienza University of Rome with a thesis on ballets inspired by Alexander Pushkin’s works, Marta Mele subsequently specialised in “History and Theory of Choreographic Art” at the Vaganova Academy in St Petersburg.

She translated from Russian the autobiography of the dancer Natalia Makarova for Gremese publishing house, and edited the Italian edition of the book Swans of the Kremlin by the scholar Christina Ezrahi.

After participating in two conferences dedicated to the bicentenary of the birth of Marius Petipa, she won the La Sapienza University’s PhD competition in Music and Performing Arts, and in 2022 received her doctorate with ‘eccellente’, her thesis entitled Ballet in Leningrad between avant-garde and ideology.

Marta participates in national and international conferences in performing arts research and writes for scientific reviews such as Danza e Ricerca, Biblioteca Teatrale and SigMa. As a dance journalist, she began by collaborating with the Russian dance magazine PROTanec, and she also writes for GBOpera.