In A Folk Tale (Et Folkesagn), choreographer August Bournonville swoops from domestic life to the temptations and dangers of the magical world. It’s a major theme for Bournonville, most famously in his 1836 ballet La Sylphide. This time, the boundaries between the two are blurred. A Folk Tale’s changeling plot means that human heroine Hilda has the sparkle of magic about her. Leading a bright revival from the Royal Danish Ballet, Astrid Elbo dances with a glow that shows both sides.
It’s a very Danish magic, with its troll mounds and elf-ballad storyline. The music, by Niels W Gade and JPE Hartmann, is sprightly and dramatic. This 1854 score has percussive hammering for the goldsmith trolls – predating Wagner’s much heavier Nibelungen – and a waltz that has become a traditional part of Danish weddings.
Though Bournonville himself saw A Folk Tale as his finest work, it’s rarely performed outside Denmark. The Royal Danish Ballet’s current production, created in 2011, is part of current director Nikolaj Hübbe’s move to refresh the Bournonville legacy. Created with Sorella Englund, Hübbe’s staging streamlines some of the traditional story, particularly downplaying its religious aspects.
Mia Stensgaard’s sets and costumes move away from cosy 19th-century naturalism to something much starker. Her frontcloth suggests both a moth and a Rorschach test. Her sets are dominated by huge but delicate paper cutouts, framing the action with tendrils and insect wings – a natural world ready to expand and take over. Domestic scenes nod to paintings by Vilhelm Hammershøi.
Inside the troll mound, the gathered supernatural creatures are more modern Halloween than Romantic folk tale, with a headless dinner-jacketed giant and prim children with back-to-front faces. It’s comic and high in energy, but lessens the sense of overlapping worlds.
Elbo’s Hilda brings them back into focus. Her phrasing is rich and musical, combining airiness with human warmth. In her first solo, she floats one leg up into a high extension, then firmly lowers the heel of her standing leg. It’s a step that pulls in two directions, and Elbo brings plush texture to the whole movement.
There’s real spark to her eye contact with the hero Junker Ove, danced by Andreas Kaas. It’s a highlight of their duet, with its unusual partnering. As she holds a balance, he walks in a circle around her, and she turns, unsupported, to keep facing him. They don’t touch, but there’s a glowing connection between them: it’s like a planet orbiting the sun, or a compass needle following north.
Kaas shows clean line in his solos, but could bring more weight to the dramatic dancing. The troll maidens lure him into a dance – gentler and less vengeful than the wilis in Giselle, but still dangerous. Though Kaas whirls lightly through the steps, his descent into madness could have more fear.
The ballet is full of mime as well as dancing: chattering conversations between trolls, gossip among human servants. The storytelling and characterisation come naturally to this company. Camilla Ruelykke Holst is emphatic as the changeling Miss Birthe, with a swagger to both her mime and her dancing. Ludwig af Rosenborg is commanding as the troll queen, even though very heavy makeup makes it hard to read his face. As the friendly troll Viderik, MacLean Hopper shows both vulnerability and mischief, particularly when enchanting human characters into dancing.
The best-known part of A Folk Tale is its pas de sept, a setpiece celebration for the final wedding. Where Russian 19th-century classicism can be grandly aristocratic, Bournonville is sunny and social. His choreography is fleet-footed and buoyant, full of bounding jumps and precise footwork.
At this performance, there were some untidy landings from the male dancers, though they catch the sense of joy in the dancing. The women’s solos have a lovely windblown quality, as light and crisp as a leaf on the breeze.
