'Manon' at the Royal Opera House
BY HANNAH WILKINSON
Kenneth MacMillan was, quite frankly, a genius. His choreography captures all the complexities of human emotion without a single utterance. Set to Jules Massenet’s beautifully evocative score and framed by Nicholas Georgiadis’ visually-rich set design, Manon inhabits a world of contrasts: rags and riches, innocence and corruption, tenderness and brutality.
Based on Abbé Prévost’s 1731 novel, MacMillan’s ballet was first performed in 1974. More than fifty years later, this story of love, ambition, and the corrupting influence of wealth remains as compelling as ever.
From the moment the curtain rises, the stage comes alive. We are introduced to Des Grieux, played by Patricio Revé, whose encounter with Manon, played by Marianela Nuñez, sets the tragedy in motion. Their attraction is immediate, and the famous bedroom pas de deux (a duet) makes it remarkably easy to root for Manon and Des Grieux’s love.
Unfortunately, their romance is short-lived. The arrival of Monsieur GM changes the dynamic, culminating in a pas de trois (a dance involving three people) between Manon, Lescaut, and the wealthy suitor. It is a particularly clever piece of choreography: no longer is the dance a celebration of the intimacy between two lovers, but something more akin to a financial negotiation between three parties. Control shifts from Lescaut to Monsieur GM, and Manon is caught in the middle of them. Her future is out of her hands.
Let us not forget: the higher you rise, the harder you fall. It is a rather ominous notion for a woman whose new social standing depends entirely on the whims of wealthy men.
Marianela Nuñez gives Manon an incredibly raw quality, bringing out her fallibility as she grapples with her dilemma. Should she choose a life of love with Des Grieux or the apparent security and stability of wealth? She seems perpetually torn between the two, unable to reconcile her affection for Des Grieux with her appetite for the pleasures of Parisian society.
The third act is undoubtedly the most difficult to watch. The scene with the Gaoler is particularly harrowing. MacMillan offers the audience very little comfort here as he translates the brutal violence of rape into choreography. Here, I found myself seriously questioning the suitability of the production for some of its younger audience members; I couldn’t imagine that their parents had read a synopsis before bringing them along.
The final moments portray Manon’s act of liberation. Throughout the ballet, wealth and jewellery have represented the life she desires. In casting off the bracelet given to her by the Gaoler, she frees herself from her covetous desires. In this way, the audience recognises the bracelet for what it had really been – not so much an ornament as a shackle.
Although Manon and Des Grieux flee into the Louisiana swamps, their freedom comes too late. The swamp becomes Manon’s deathbed, and MacMillan delivers one final emotional blow. As Manon approaches death, fragments of her earlier life begin to pass before her. Vignettes from Acts I and II dance through her mind, and the distant memory of the innocent ingenue plays out before the audience's eyes once more. In this stunning scene, the audience is encouraged to mourn the life Manon might have had.
Ultimately, what makes MacMillan’s Manon so extraordinary is its refusal to offer easy moral judgements. Manon is impulsive, hedonistic, and occasionally infuriating. She is nevertheless also young and vulnerable, living in a society that is keen to put a price on her. Nunez understands this perfectly. Her Manon is a woman who wants everything from a world that is perfectly happy to sell it to her, but that has no intention of letting her keep it.
The bracelet, the shifting power in the pas de trois, and the final vignettes all reinforce the idea that Manon’s life does not really belong to her. She is pulled between different versions of herself constantly, until there is very little of the real Manon left. She spends the evening chasing wealth, pleasure, and security, only to discover that none of them are particularly reliable. A rather expensive lesson, but what a way to learn it.
Source for cover photo: Foteini Christofilopoulou, Royal Ballet & Opera