The ballets of Sir Frederick Ashton (1904–1988) will be presented this June at the Royal Opera House, launching Ashton Worldwide 2024–28, an international festival celebrating the choreographer’s work and legacy. It’s hard to overstate the significance of Ashton to the development and enrichment of ballet in the 20th century. Thanks to the initiative of the Frederick Ashton Foundation, 21st-century audiences are in for a treat.
I was fortunate enough to get the chance to speak to ballerina Dame Antoinette Sibley, now in her 80s, who created the role of Titania, Queen of the Fairies in The Dream, Ashton’s ballet based on Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. This one-act gem, set to Mendelssohn’s music, is revived in The Royal Ballet’s opening programmes. In the hallway of her London home, Sibley makes light work hopping over her granddaughter’s toys which colourfully adorn the floor leading to the kitchen: Titania’s playful fairy hops on pointe spring to mind.
Over tea and lemon cheesecake, the latter eyed intently by Nefertiti, her cat, she joyfully recounts creating the ballet with Sir Fred. She also tells me that the pleasures of tea and cake have never been far away. She grew up above a tea shop in Bromley, one of many owned by her parents, and travelled to London daily to take classes at the Royal Ballet School, joining the Royal Ballet to become one of its most significant ballerinas of all time. In a 1986 BBC television documentary, now on YouTube, Ashton said that when casting the role of Titania in 1964 he wanted a young dancer: “I chose Sibley because she wasn’t just sweet.”
Sibley brilliantly conveys Ashton’s ideas of sensuality and still today, her shoulders seem to purr. As conversation leads to other created roles, Sibley demonstrates a moment when Manon, heroine of Sir Kenneth MacMillan’s ballet, is tempted by a fur coat: she places her arm through the imaginary sleeve – again there is so much rich involvement of her shoulders, felt intensely through the whole upper body, complemented by filigree flourishes of the wrist. Such insights reveal the tapestry of The Royal Ballet and its creative forces. Both ballets are linked through Sibley’s celebrated on-stage partnership with Sir Anthony Dowell of which The Dream was the birth.
Dowell, the original Oberon, is rightsholder of The Dream. In a recent masterclass organised by The Frederick Ashton Foundation, he coached two beautiful young dancers, Sae Maeda and Leo Dixon, in Thaïs pas de deux, created for himself and Sibley in 1971. It’s uncanny how Dowell’s comments and corrections precisely echo those of Ashton’s. Dowell gives a succinct assessment of the choreographic process, “We were in the studio with Sir Fred and it all just sort of happened.”
In the original production of The Dream, the role of Puck was tailored for Keith Martin, then aged 20. He was familiar with the character having been cast, aged 13, in a school play, but recalls the shock of seeing his name on the company cast list. At The Royal Ballet Upper School, he and Dowell were classmates. He remembers his first rehearsal – a scene with Oberon: “Sir Fred was nice. He would say, ‘Listen to this music Keith. Do something. I like that, but we need something more’ – or less.” Martin acknowledges the immense influence of Rudolf Nureyev when proffering ideas to Ashton. He would try out all the new steps he had seen Nureyev practising in class. According to another dancer in the company, Martin possessed, “Unbelievable feet, huge insteps. Boys just didn’t have feet like that in those days”. He also had natural exuberance which Ashton utilised, notably in the trampoline-like series of sissonnes.
During a rehearsal before the premiere, Martin leapt off a tree on set. Michael Somes’ voice boomed from the auditorium, “Are you insane?” Martin acknowledges the ballet master’s role as catalyst between Sir Fred and the dancers. “Somes understood the dancers’ capabilities,” he says. In 1970, Martin left for the USA where he danced many principal parts. Two years later, he reprised the role of Puck as a guest artist when The Royal Ballet performed at The Met in New York – a return rapturously reviewed by Clive Barnes, eminent critic of the day.
In 1994, the ballet’s 30th anniversary, a new Titania, Sarah Wildor, debuted alongside the Oberon of William Trevitt. She was to become the Ashton ballerina of her generation. Wildor has a particularly special relationship with Ashton. She and Vanessa Palmer, a répétiteur currently re-staging his ballet, Les Rendezvous (1933), were the last dancers he created lead roles on. He crafted Nursery Suite (1986), based on children’s games, for students at White Lodge, just two years before his death.
Prompted by Palmer, Wildor remembers their first encounter with Ashton. Aged 13 and 16 they stood by the piano, listening to the chosen piece of Elgar when halfway through, framed by the doorway, “He appeared and walked in to the music. That’s an entrance in itself!” she quips. Both girls were acutely aware of Ashton’s status in the ballet world, but Wildor remembers the sensitivity and kindness he showed, putting his young cast at ease. “He treated us like humans,” she explains. Looking back, she realises how beautifully he employed his signature step, the ‘Fred Step’, in almost unfledged form. The sense of childhood innocence was emphasised by a remark he made to Palmer, the slightly older of the two: “You’ll never experience playing like this again.”
As Titania, Wildor was rehearsed by Sibley and Dowell. She recalls, “They are both very visually driven. I remember Antoinette saying to me, ‘feel like you're skipping and jumping across the lily pads on the pond,’ and it gave me real enjoyment of movement in the moment. It became so much more than just about the steps.” It was a favourite role for Wildor, and Sibley was a huge influence. “She never dictated; she gave you the essence, the energy, the quality. That’s being coached by someone amazing.”
Before taking on Titania, Wildor had danced Peaseblossom and a corps de ballet fairy. She continues, “I loved all of that as well. It’s glorious to dance, but also really exhausting because it’s so 3D: there’s so much rotation, twisting and turning. You must fulfil every potential of movement. That’s quite hard to do in a corps de ballet!”
Part of Ashton’s brilliance, Wildor believes, is the room left open for interpretation for both dancer and audience. Titania can be either “a lighter, stereotypical fairy, or the darker one who has deeper desires,” she says. “Both portrayals work equally well.” She mentions the reconciliation pas de deux; moments of tension and submission which build to a climax. The sexual implication will be understood by some, while it will pass unnoticed by others. In her view, The Dream was forward thinking in its depiction of sensuality and the battles that occur between the sexes. Titania is no pushover.
Wildor danced many more lead Ashton roles: she relished the intricate footwork and lush romance of Rhapsody (1980), set to Rachmaninov’s Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini – seen now in the same programme as The Dream; she loved the fun of La Fille mal gardée – to be shown this autumn by Birmingham Royal Ballet. She also played a ‘hot squirrel’ in the staged version of The Tales of Beatrix Potter (1992): as with many Ashton ballets, I’m sure this can be read in more than one way.
It is now the turn of today’s generation to inhabit these roles: William Bracewell is working towards his Royal Ballet performances as Oberon. Enquiring about his preparations I discover that they began 13 years ago when, in his first season at Birmingham Royal Ballet, he was entrusted with the role – a key moment in his career. Bracewell fondly recollects the support and generosity of fellow BRB colleagues, but they also warned him, ‘It’s a killer!’
He was coached then by Dowell, who is joined for this current revival by Lesley Collier, another distinguished Titania. “Working with them is joyful,” Bracewell says, “They are both very warm, funny people.” In consultation with his coaches and the rehearsal pianist, Bracewell checks the tempi of archival recordings to ensure that he is up to speed. He is aware that Ashton’s choreography will suffer unless danced as intended and explains how, “The speed changes the energy and approach.” Bracewell mentions the abundance of opportunities that an Ashton ballet affords a dancer. On the physical side there’s the challenge of the unexpected: “Intricate shifts in direction, changes of tempo and there are the character-driven roles which have such clearly defined personalities,” he says, suggesting Colas, the lively country lad as an example.
Keith Martin remembers, “Sir Fred was such a gentleman,” but watching rehearsal footage, one can’t help noticing that while the dancers are hard at work, Ashton puffs away on his cigarettes. I asked Dame Antoinette if anyone was bothered by Ashton smoking in the studio. “No. No, not at all. We were far too concerned about getting it right.”
A 1960s member of the corps de ballet of fairies, Suzanna Raymond casts her mind back to rehearsals with Ashton. He, completely absorbed, watching his new ballet unfold, lit up yet another cigarette, oblivious to the one already smoking away between his lips. Mists and hazes ultimately resolve all trouble and strife under the moonlight of The Dream’s magical forest setting: a night this Midsummer at an Ashton ballet should prove an enjoyable one – for all mortals.
Sir Frederick Ashton’s The Dream and other ballets are performed by The Sarasota Ballet and The Royal Ballet at the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, from 6th–22nd June.
