Kenneth MacMillan's version of one of the most fascinating political and romantic debacles of the 19th century gets an opulent remounting by the Royal Ballet.
The worlds of opera, ballet and film are filled to the brim with tales of star-crossed lovers who often meet tragic ends. Romeo and Juliet. Tristan and Isolde. Bonnie and Clyde. Zack and Miri. All right, maybe not those last two, but you get the idea. Quite frequently, major artistic enterprises have been built around actual historical figures, as in the saga of Barrow and Parker. What makes Mayerling so fascinating is that fact that it has been so repeatedly adapted from its historical source incident into a huge variety of genres, everything from film (several times), musicals, ballet (as in this production) and even, I kid you not, mangas (the Japanese comic book serials which frequently become source material themselves for animes). What also adds to the allure of the supposed facts of the tragic affair between Crown Prince Rudolf and young Baroness Mary Vetsera is that, because of an instant cover-up at the highest levels after what was most likely a murder-suicide pact, evidence was destroyed and everyone who knew anything about the case promptly "forgot" what had happened. That has led to decades of rampant speculation that Rudolf, in the throes of venereal disease and reeling from a series of both romantic and political disasters, was himself the victim of some sort of political conspiracy at the highest levels, rather than simply a royal fool who took an innocent young woman down with him.
Edward Watson as Crown Prince Rudolf.
The basic facts of what has become known as the Mayerling Incident are both unseemly and unbearably sad, for any number of reasons. Crown Prince Rudolf of Austria had been raised to ultimately be Emperor, but his childhood had been a cold, emotionless experience, often fraught with near abuse from any number of tutors. He was kept from his parents, both of whom barely tolerated each other and had long standing lovers of their own from whom they derived whatever emotional and, frankly, sexual release they enjoyed. This very dysfunction no doubt had a deep and psychologically profound impact on Rudolf, who became the very definition of a rake at a young age, cutting a large swath through the women of his country and amassing several simultaneous mistresses. As was the custom in those days, he found himself subject to an arranged, loveless marriage, in his case to Princess Stephanie of Belgium. Rudolf's psychological problems presented themselves early on to his bride, in his fascination with skulls and guns. In fact in this ballet interpretation by the iconic Kenneth MacMillan, first staged by the Royal Ballet in 1978, Rudolf (Edward Watson) scares the living daylights out of Stephanie (Iohna Loots) on their wedding night by brandishing a pistol at her.
As slightly humorous as it may sound, it was evidently a longstanding tradition at the Austrian court for the Royals to not only know of, but to actually acknowledge, their spouse's lovers. There's an oft-told tale of Empress Elisabeth, Rudolf's mother, giving Rudolf's father Emperor Franz Josef a portrait of his mistress, actress Katherina Schratt. That sad practice continued unabated, if without gifts, with Princess Stephanie, who was aware of her husband's many affairs, including his newest with a young Belgian Baroness. As incredible as it may seem, part of the actual historical record supports the story which Mayerling also posits, that Baroness Mary was actually introduced to Rudolf by one of his other mistresses, Countess Marie of Bavaria. Yet another one of Rudolf's liaisons, Mitzi Caspar, a commoner, figures in a subplot here, as she is a police informant and one of Rudolf's political undoings is his support of the Hungarian separatist movement.
Obviously this is an extremely "operatic" subject matter, and perhaps one not intuitively obvious as a dance subject. It's to MacMillan's credit, therefore, that for the most part relationships and plot points are relatively clear, and Rudolf's tragic downward spiral is convincingly depicted in Gillian Freeman's scenario. MacMillan cuts to the bone here on several occasions, for example summing up the entire Hungarian situation with some bravura dancing by a quartet of "separatists" trying to convince Rudolf to join their cause. Mayerling actually spends two thirds of its three acts setting the stage for the horrific denouement between Rudolf and Stephanie. That makes the first two acts full of at least as much political as romantic intrigue, and certainly a passing familiarity with the history being portrayed will help audience members to understand the gist of what's going on.
I mentioned the woefully underappreciated work of one of the Royal Ballet's regular arrangers, the marvelous John Lanchbery, in my recent review here of Tales of Beatrix Potter. In that piece, Lanchbery cobbled together snippets of folksongs and other older pieces to fashion a remarkably cohesive and charming score, perfectly redolent of Miss Potter's magical world. Here, in Mayerling, Lanchbery traverses a much more emotionally bombastic territory, culled from the compositions of Liszt. As befits the subject matter, this is frequently martial music, quite often tinged with penetrating minor chords, and Lanchbery perfectly captures the devolving emotional chaos which Rudolf, by his own tragic bad decisions, brings upon himself.
Ballet seems to often find its most potent subject matter in tragic love stories. Mayerling on its surface may not strike some as anything that can be "danced." While it may indeed be more suitable for filmic or even operatic treatment, MacMillan's triumph here is that he explores the emotional world in which these tamped down characters find themselves ensnared, perfectly articulating their interior world through movement. With a superbly heartbreaking lead performance by Edward Watson, this is a riveting experience that helps shed some light on one of the most interesting political cover-ups of the 19th century.
Mayerling pirhouettes onto Blu-ray from Opus Arte with a generally excellent AVC encoded image in typical "live" 1080i and an aspect ratio of 1.78:1. The production design here is incredibly opulent, recreating the original Royal Ballet designs of Nicholas Georgiadis. Detail on the costumes is a standout throughout this presentation, with gorgeous woven scrollwork and beautifully robust colors, especially for the women. The men are unfortunately relegated to shades of white and beige. While contrast and black levels are excellent, there are a couple of patently strange moments of blooming when the camera cuts to the orchestra in the pit and the players' music on the brightly lit stands bleeds ever so slightly. There are also a couple of very minor moments of shimmer on hair. Otherwise this is a crisp and sharp looking Blu-ray, with one of the most impressive physical productions the Royal Ballet has ever mounted.
Both lossless tracks offered here, a DTS-HD Master Audio 5.1 and an LPCM 2.0 fold down, are simply superb, and offer an really surprising amount of low end. This is largely courtesy of martial orchestration by Lanchbery, which emphasizes tympani and snare drums, both of which burst forth quite impressively in both the subwoofer and surrounds. This is a very brass heavy orchestration, and the DTS track (which I defaulted to aside from spot checking the 2.0) offers really robust clarity, with just the right amount of punch and warmth. Separation between the instruments is excellent, and an astute listener can clearly hear discrete channel separation for various soli of such instruments as the oboe and bassoon. Anyone who's experienced Liszt's own orchestral music is already well aware of what a dynamic composer he was, and Lanchbery works wonders weaving various pieces and motifs into this very, very colorful score, all of which is wonderfully rendered in the DTS offering. Spot checking the 2.0 revealed a very clear representation of the score, with perhaps just a slightly more muddled feel in the midrange due to its narrower soundfield.
One of the best extras on this Blu-ray is the inclusion in the insert booklet of scenarist Gillian Freeman's original program notes for the premiere of the ballet in 1978. The booklet also contains a synopsis, which I recommend reading before watching, especially if you're unfamiliar with the history of these events. The Blu-ray itself has a cast gallery, as well as two brief featurettes, one rather interesting one on the Costume Design (10:52), showing how the Royal Ballet catalogs and recreates costumes for its repertory pieces, and another, Principals in Rehearsal (11:53) showing the stars going through their paces in the Act III pas de deux.
The "Mayerling Incident" has popped up in an amazing array of artistic endeavors over the past century plus (it's even alluded to in a way in the relatively recent film The Illusionist). This 1978 ballet shows why MacMillan and Lanchbery were so esteemed in their home country. The Royal Ballet offers one of the most impressively opulent productions in recent memory, and the searing music of Franz Liszt helps to underscore one of the most tragic events in the often tragic world of 19th century royalty.
