It may have been a miserably cold autumn evening on the streets of Birmingham, walking to the Hippodrome through that irritating mist of drizzle that seems to cling to your face, but inside the theatre we experienced the magic and romance of high summer all over again. Poultry were preening; the pony pooping; and the picnic prepared. It could only be La Fille mal gardée, Frederick Ashton’s quintessential English ballet, which just happens to be set in rural France.
These days, one can see this charming ballet about the wayward daughter, Lise, in many parts of the world but I have always felt that it sits best of all on the Birmingham Royal Ballet, where every role in this gentle comedy ballet is lovingly cherished and passed on through the experience of one generation to the next. Today’s dancers honour all of those that have gone before with a complete cluster of top-notch performances.
Beatrice Parma and Enrique Bejarano Vidal brought palpable youthfulness and a playful chemistry to their mutual portrayal of Lise and her cheeky-chappie lover, Colas – the one character in the ballet repertoire to be defined by unforgettable lemon-yellow tights! I loved how this loveable pair vividly brought to life their surreptitious romance, hidden from the overbearing mother, Widow Simone. They both exude an engaging cuteness that should seem at odds with the strength of discipline that their dancing requires but the one and the other are seamlessly integrated into marvellous and very believable performances. Parma has a particular sharpness of line in her attack allied to flashes of naughtiness in the expression of her eyes that tells the audience all that they need to know about Lise; and yet there is also a grudging obedience to her mother’s demands.
Parma was promoted to Principal earlier this year while her Cuban-trained Mexican partner only joined the company in 2021, being recently promoted to the rank of Soloist but, on the evidence of this and other performances, his is a fast-rising trajectory. Vidal has every attribute to become a Principal in very quick time and is already delivering performances at this level.
Despite this praise for these delicious romantic leads, the show was routinely stolen by every appearance of Rory Mackay – a veteran of over 20 years with BRB – as the Widow Simone, the farmer desperately trying to keep her daughter away from the impoverished Colas in order to secure a marriage with Alain, the simpleton son of Thomas, a rich neighbouring vineyard owner (a roly-poly caricature performed by Jonathan Payn). Ashton loved the English pantomime dame tradition, employing it both here and for the stepsisters of Cinderella. The image of Mackay’s Simone reminded me of the Old Mother Riley character, played by Arthur Lucan in almost 20 films over two decades (a representation that Ashton must have known).
The action in Fille is regularly punctuated by set-piece comedy, with either Simone or Alain at the heart of it, and Mackay’s comic timing was always excellent. The jewel in this crown is the famous clog dance, which was delivered with a wonderful sense of fun and implied danger for the assembled harvesters from Simone’s flying feet.
I worry that Fille might one day fall foul of cancel culture due to the gentle humour employed at Alain’s expense. He is clearly a figure of fun, overcome with excessive shyness and an obsessive attraction to his beloved red umbrella; and these days we might associate his anxieties and lack of self-confidence with some form of autism. Although I’m guilty of it here, I hope that any analysis of Fille stops short of going too deeply into this since Alain’s character is one of Ashton’s most cleverly observed creations (a fact acknowledged when the choreographer bequeathed the rights to Fille to Alexander Grant, the dancer who created this role). His shoes – and those of many other former interpreters of the role – are hard to fill and, debuting in the role, Gus Payne (although a tad taller than the usual Alain physique) did a very fine job in matching Mackay’s comic timing.
Every character was performed as if stepping out of Osbert Lancaster’s memorable comic-book designs (including the traditional charm of the Shetland pony) and the corps de ballet of farmhands, harvesters and chickens exuded the strong sense of fun that this ballet requires, certainly sufficient to banish all thoughts of that insidious autumn drizzle outside the theatre. Ashton’s La Fille mal gardée is shortly to celebrate its 65th anniversary and I would suggest that the legacy of its comedic and balletic excellence is no more lovingly maintained than here in Birmingham. It’s a great pity that the Hippodrome was far from full on this opening night since this was a performance that deserved to be sold-out.
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