When it comes to Eugene Onegin, how operagoers must envy balletomanes. With yet another disappointing production of Tchaikovsky’s masterpiece launched by The Royal Opera last autumn, it's a consolation to turn to John Cranko’s 1960s creation Onegin, in The Royal Ballet’s repertoire since 2001. Set to a patchwork score of music by Tchaikovsky, notably not drawn from the opera, it is one of the most sumptuously set jewels in the ballet crown. Jürgen Rose’s designs are dazzling – the St Petersburg ballroom scene still draws gasps – and perfectly capture the spirit of Pushkin’s classic verse novel.
There are a couple of key differences between ballet and opera. The Letter Scene – a magnificent gift for the soprano – becomes a Mirror pas de deux, the dreaming Tatiana imagining a love scene with Onegin, who steps out from her bedroom mirror, a duet they are denied in Tchaikovsky’s opera. Counter to Pushkin, and probably 19th-century duelling etiquette, Cranko’s masterstroke has Tatiana and Olga witness the duel with pistols, where Onegin kills Lensky. And there’s a twist in the ballet’s final bars: rather than Tatiana walking out on Onegin, she dismisses him, leaving the distraught Tatiana alone centre-stage.
When Tatiana is being danced by Natalia Osipova, prepare to be emotionally drained by that final curtain. Leading this summer run, the Russian Principal was partnered by First Soloist Lukas B Brændsrød, making his debut as the icy Onegin. A new partnership can spice up a dancer’s interpretation; here, there was heat aplenty. After doting on the lofty Brændsrød’s haughty Onegin in the first scene, doe-eyed, begging to be noticed, the thermometer soared in a sizzling Mirror pas de deux, Osipova tossed around in audacious lifts, an ecstatic look on her face, riding the crest of a teenage dream.
Brændsrød’s Byronic demeanour completely captured the bored guest at the Larin’s party in Act 2. The cruelty of Onegin ripping up Tatiana’s letter hit home, as did the moment when one could see his deliberate decision to taunt Lensky by dancing with Olga yet again.
By Act 3 several years have passed – a few decades judging by Onegin’s greying locks, although Nicol Edmonds’ Prince Gremin looked remarkably untouched by the passage of time – and we are at a grand ball. Osipova’s Tatiana made the transition to Petersburg princess wonderfully – confident, poised, chin jutting – until she encounters Onegin, an unwelcome guest. He puts pen to paper and the tables are turned.
Set to passages from the doom-laden symphonic poem Francesca da Rimini, the final pas de deux was anguished, she avoiding eye contact at first as they pulled against each other in counter-balances. Anguished, Brændsrød’s Onegin clung to her as Osipova struggled to free herself. The dramatic jumps where he jerks her from the floor, her foot kicking back almost to her head, took the breath away. When Osipova is on fire like this, there is nobody to touch her.
Sae Maeda and Joseph Sissens made a charming second couple, Maeda a carefree Olga, melting into the arms of Sissens’ Lensky in Act 1. His hot-headed eruption at the party convinced and his noble pre-duel solo – set to October from The Seasons – was beautifully danced, his feet caressing the stage. Edmonds’ Gremin was loving and sensitive.
The Royal Ballet corps was on fine form, particularly when the peasant dance closed with such thrilling diagonals of supported jetés criss-crossing the stage at full throttle, a moment guaranteed to draw applause.
Wolfgang Heinz drew exciting playing from the Orchestra of the Royal Opera House to cap a truly splendid evening.
