BALLET REVIEW : A Royal ‘Sylphide’ for All Seasons

Exquisite. Exhilarating. Astonishing. Illuminating. Touching. Shattering.

OK. We have the essential adjectives out of the way. Now we can start the review of “La Sylphide” as presented Wednesday at the Orange County Performing Arts Center.

I know. This isn’t like me. I don’t usually think, much less write, this way. I don’t usually feel this way.

Never mind. On with the raving.

It isn’t as if Southern California has never encountered Bournonville’s delicate fantasy before. That may have been the case with his full-length “Napoli,” which opened here on Tuesday--150 years after the world premiere. But “Sylphide” has fluttered its pretty winglets on numerous West Coast stages in the hand-me-down version of American Ballet Theatre.

We have seen the heroine’s fluffy tutu adorn such blithe, vulnerable spirits as Carla Fracci, Natalia Makarova and Gelsey Kirkland. We have admired Erik Bruhn first in the dreamy hero’s kilt, later in the witchy villain’s skirt.

But we really haven’t seen “La Sylphide” until now. We haven’t seen the Romantic indulgence re-created with the abiding sense of style, the unerring clarity of focus and the all-consuming dedication that are first nature to the Royal Danish Ballet.

This company happens to have been performing Bournonville’s intricate yet economical choreography since 1836. At last count, “La Sylphide” had graced the boards of the Royal Theater in Copenhagen more than 650 times.

Practice, in this delirious instance, has produced something better than perfection. It has produced a vital evocation of a distant, innocent age. It has produced an authentic ode to Romantic whimsy and ageless eloquence.

This does not mean that the Danes approach their “Sylfiden” as a sacrosanct museum piece in which every intricate leg-beat and every formal gesture is frozen in time. There is room here for interpretive evolution. Within obvious idiomatic limits, thoughtful individuality is still permitted, perhaps even encouraged.

Take the case of Madge, the spiteful witch. She is often played as a hideous crone, as a caricature of evil for its own theatrical sake, as a quaint refugee from some grim but quaint gingerbread house. Although Bournonville originally cast a man in the role, he eventually found it a congenial challenge for certain women on his roster who specialized in mime challenges. Gender didn’t seem to be the central issue.

Don’t tell that to Sorella Englund, who played Madge on this occasion. Did I say played ? Make that ennobled .

She obviously does not believe in the cliches of cackling grotesquerie. Before an injury curtailed her career as a ballerina, she was a celebrated Sylphide herself. Now she is the most human of witches, an adversary for all reasons and all seasons.

She makes Madge relatively young, and allows us to glimpse remnants of beauty in her time-dishonored features. She cares nothing about Disneyesque hags.

This Madge is capable of wit (watch how she tells the vastly dissimilar fortunes of the giddy bridesmaids during the wedding preparations). She is capable of cunning tenderness (see how she coddles poor Gurn). Most important, she is capable of erotic passion.

Her interest in the hero, James, is motivated by more than a desire to avenge some callous discourtesy. Englund makes Madge powerful yet oddly pathetic, the Sylphide’s almost credible rival in love. She illuminates the tragedy in the process.

Every flick of her long, bony fingers suggests a desperate command. Every piercing glance conveys a dangerous threat. Still, one senses the softness of pain behind her tough and craggy facade. When this Madge finally rises in triumph over James’ corpse, the exultation is edged in misery, and in pathos.

Englund finds a particularly felicitous counterforce in the dark, impetuous, magnetic James of Nikolaj Hubbe. Manly rather than boyish, he uses Bournonville’s crisp bravura as a means toward a dramatic end--never as an end in itself.

Heidi Ryom dances like a dainty zephyr in the title role. Her Sylphide, marked with a trace of melancholy even at the outset, may lack something in playful charm. But she lacks nothing in mercurial precision, not to mention ethereal magnetism.

The current production, impeccably staged by Henning Kronstam (once a fine James) and Anne Marie Vessel after Hans Brenaa, demonstrates ubiquitous respect for a viable tradition. Soeren Frandsen’s 1967 sets glow with fresh storybook nostalgia, and Henrik Bloch’s new costumes leave well-enough alone. Alexander Sotnikov and a local orchestra tend affectionately to Loevenskjold’s sweet platitudes in the pit.

The supporting cast is uniformly strong. Michael Weidinger offers a strikingly youthful, sympathetic Gurn (no comic villainy here). Christina Olsson complements him as a radiant, understandably troubled Effie. Kirsten Simone--beloved ballerina of a previous generation and now a much admired Madge in her own right--is not too proud to grace the sympathetic walk-on duties of James’ mother. The corps dances with perfectly integrated abandon and grace, as needed.

The evening ends with a splashy coda: the isolated third act of “Napoli” in a performance more notable for gutsy cheer than finesse. Lloyd Riggins, the American Wunderkind , returns as a fleet-footed Gennaro opposite the charmingly exuberant Teresina of Rose Gad. The incidental solos are dispatched with deft extroversion by Michael Weidinger, Henriette Muus, Niels Balle, Claire Still and Mette-Ida Kirk.

The Danish continuum seems secure. The next generation beckons.

Royal Danish Ballet, Orange County Performing Arts Center, 600 Town Center Drive, Costa Mesa. Friday, 8 p.m.: “Konservatoriet,” “Flower Festival” pas de deux, “La Sylphide.” Saturday, 2 p.m., 8 p.m. and Sunday, 1 p.m.: “Napoli” (full-length). Ends Sunday. $18-$55. (714) 556-2121.