There are at least three salient quotes to keep in mind when you first come to Sylvia, one of the iconic pieces of 19th century ballet (even if, in fact, it didn't make much of an impact back then, having to wait until Frederick Ashton's early 1950's mounting to really find its en pointe legs). Two are from none other than Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky. Tchaikovsky, who like Sylvia's own composer Leo Delibes, could not escape the sometimes oppressive influence of Richard Wagner, was asked if he would forego the Ring in favor of Sylvia, and answered with a quick and unapologetic "yes." It's especially notable to take this particular quote in the context of Tchaikovsky's own evolution from the more Wagneresque, bombastic elements of Swan Lake to the more gossamer textures of his later ballets, something that might be attributed squarely to his exposure to Delibes' masterpiece. But there's even a more telling quote from the Russian master, namely: "It is the first ballet in which the music constitutes not just the main but the only interest." That's a rather back handed compliment, when you really think about it, but it points up both the positives and negatives of this piece, and perhaps helps explain the dearth of performances between the ballet's premiere in 1876 and Ashton's mid-20th century remounting. In fact, Ashton himself is the source of our third quote, one which sums up the failings of Sylvia's oft-lamented libretto: "Boy loves girl, girl captured by bad man, girl restored to boy by god." In other words, there's not much "there" there upon which to hang great swaths of drama, or in fact creative choreography. And yet Ashton's production of the venerable piece quickly entered the repertoire of most major companies and has become a contemporary favorite. If you're going to see something this redolent of classical idioms, both in its source material and its own individual production history, there's no need to venture further than Sylvia's contemporary ballet "home," as it were, Ashton's own Royal Ballet, which brings his creation to life with élan and grace, if not an abundance of actual excitement.
The mists of time part to reveal dancers worshiping Eros.
The problem with Sylvia is indeed that the music is so much better than anything happening on stage. Sylvia's libretto, even in the Ashton revision, is a muddled mess of classical motifs and characters, where Ashton's summary actually is not only a completely apt précis, it's also in its own way more involving than the actual ballet. Of course, I jest, but perhaps only slightly. In a somewhat amorphous sacred wood, followers of the Greek god of Eros (Martin Harvey) enact their ritual dance until shepherd boy Aminta (Roberto Bolle) wanders in and interrupts their bacchanal. Sylvia (Darcey Bussell), a nymph (in the classical sense) acolyte of Diana (Mara Galeazzi) soon enters, and it turns out Aminta has been lusting after her for sometime. In a somewhat comedic domino effect of misaimed arrows, Sylvia aims for Eros and hits Aminta, and Eros returns fire, wounding Sylvia. Sylvia has second thoughts about wounding Aminta, but soon the villain of the piece, Orion (Thiago Soares) arrives, kidnapping the nymph. Sylvia, held captive in Orion's cave, appeals to Eros, who helps her escape. But there are still a few more obstacles in store, including appeals to both Eros and Diana, which must take place before Sylvia and Aminta are able to pas de deux to their expected happy ending.
If there's the slightly musty smell of the archaic which hangs over the actual staging of Sylvia, despite Ashton's refreshingly modern take on the piece, the music itself is a cornucopia of wonderful ideas and often quite surprising orchestration. Delibes was one of the first composers to exploit the saxophone, and the alto sax solos in Sylvia are strangely both ethereal and earthy. There's also a justifiably famous long pizzicati section in Sylvia that conductor Graham Bond and the Orchestra of the Royal Opera House wisely don't overdo in a quasi-halting style, as has often been the case in productions of Sylvia. Delibes is also working in a nascent vocabulary of leitmotif here, gently and often very delicately weaving various themes for the characters together in inventive and unexpected ways. Delibes' orchestration can vary from the lightest of light (major characters can dance to just two or three instruments at times), to full orchestral splendor. It's little wonder Tchaikovsky made the comment above, because the simple fact is the glory of Delibes' music overshadows the onstage events, even as it resolutely refuses to overwhelm the listener in the typically Wagnerian sense.
The Royal Ballet here injects life into a ballet that many probably see as mostly a museum piece at this point. Darcey Bussell is both acrobatic and lithe as Sylvia, evincing both the huntress' strength, but also her delicacy. Roberto Bolle's Aminta is athletic and his final duet with Bussell is wonderfully danced. The ensemble is all excellent in what may be steps that come to them as second nature, so ingrained is Ashton's reworking of Sylvia with this troupe by now. The sets and costumes are minimal and evocative, if not overly colorful or exciting. Pale pastels and a plethora of light tones augment the feeling we're peeking in at a heavenly, astral world of spirits and Gods.
Frederick Ashton continues to be strangely underappreciated on this side of the pond, aside from those ballet cognoscenti who rightfully place the British master alongside Balanchine and others who made their fame and fortunes in the United States. Luckily, several recent Blu-ray releases, many with the Royal Ballet where Ashton toiled for much of his adult creative career, have seen the light of day and should help spread the gospel of this great choreographer who wasn't afraid to meld classical, age old techniques with more modern ideas. Ashton brings a lot to the stage with Sylvia, but as Tchaikovsky averred, it's ultimately the music that matters with this piece, and, frankly, that's more than enough to suffice when it's music as glorious as what Delibes offers the listener here.
Perhaps because so much of Sylvia plays out in mist-laden or darkened stage areas, this Blu-ray's AVC encoded 1080i image (in a 1.78:1 aspect ratio) seems decidedly softer than a lot of other Opus Arte titles I've reviewed. While detail pops nicely and is at least acceptably sharp in medium to close-up shots, as you will see from several of the screen captures included in this review, anything further away than a medium shot has an unappealing murkiness at times. Contrast is decent, but I personally wish it could have popped a bit more, as frequently dancers simply melt into the darkened background. Colors are intentionally muted throughout most of this production, so don't expect an eye popping palette, but what's here is very lifelike and nicely gradated, if often very subtly. There are no artifacting issues to report, good news considering the ominpresent blacks which might have crushed, or the misty opening which might have devolved into noisy territory.
Luckily, Delibes' music is brilliantly performed and lovingly recorded on the exceptionally clear LPCM 5.1 mix included on this Blu-ray. As noted above, none other than Tchaikovsky stated that the ballet itself is nothing, it's the music that matters, and so the image quality of this Blu-ray can perhaps be forgiven given the wonderful soundtrack presented here. Delibes is a master of unusual instrument groupings, and everything from the alto sax to flutes to the oboe is clear as a bell and extremely expressively rendered throughout this recording. Surround channels offer a very lifelike recreation of hall ambience, and discrete channels often single out solo instruments so that Delibes' delicate interactions can be heard in all their glory. Perhaps because Delibes works on a very precise canvas here, the 2.0 fold down sounded very good indeed in the spot checking I did. Orchestral balance on both of these tracks was splendid, with solo instruments being easily heard over the orchestral mass.
Darcey Bussell provides a brief, though interesting, introduction to each act on the Blu-ray disc (available as either a "play all" option from the Extras menu or as pop-ups before each act individually). The disc also features the usual illustrated synopsis and cast gallery. The insert booklet has a nicely informative essay by David Nice, who does an exceptional job tracing Delibes' influence on everyone from Tchaikovsky to Elgar.
Sylvia offers some of the most gloriously sumptuous ballet music of the 19th century, a score which very subtly points the way toward the more modern French era of Debussy and Ravel. If the ballet itself is frankly something of a snooze-fest, this Royal Ballet production is a classic production of a piece that perfectly highlights Frederick Ashton's melding of historical and modern idioms.
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