Call It Sleep

By Martha Duffy

In its most elaborate and expensive production ever, the American Ballet Theater last week introduced Tchaikovsky's The Sleeping Beauty. The three-act version is based as closely as possible on Marius Petipa's choreography, created in 1890. The sets and costumes are spruced up by Oliver Messel from his designs for the 1946 Sadler's Wells production. This was The Sleeping Beauty that enchanted U.S. audiences in 1949 and introduced them to Margot Fonteyn. For its gala opening at the Metropolitan Opera House, the A.B.T. presented perhaps the most brilliant stars in the dance world today, Natalia Makarova and Mikhail Baryshnikov.

One can only wish the company a sturdy future with this ballet, which will become part of its national touring repertory, because things got off to a very confusing start. Despite the care and hand-sewn detail lavished on them, the costumes seemed a garish tangle of colors. Even for mythical royalty these people looked overdressed. Baryshnikov in particular was unbecomingly clothed. In his first scene he was swaddled from chin to toe in fabric -a bright red frock coat and high boots that made him look disconcertingly like a stray Cherubino.

The corps seemed to have done its preparation in the fitting rooms. As they have shown in La Bayadere and Giselle, this company can dance very well together, but in The Sleeping Beauty they were a gathering of anonymous soloists. They will improve. It would help greatly if Conductor Akira Endo, whose orchestra made some savage sounds on opening night, led the music at a brisker pace. As it was, the joke at intermission was that the royal court was in a stupor long before the Lilac Fairy cast her 100-year-long spell upon it.

Part of the problem is that the A.B.T. does not yet dance this exacting romantic choreography with conviction. The Kirov and the Royal companies have it; their members seem to believe in faraway kingdoms, and they play their roles with panache. So do Makarova and Baryshnikov, who gave the evening infusions of spirit and great beauty. No pace defeats Natalia Makarova. She fills the music and lets it breathe. At regal ease onstage, she manages to make languor a lively quality, that of a young girl just awakening.

There was simply too little of Baryshnikov. By being faithful to Petipa, this version does not give the Prince much to do but be charming. A variation has been added for him in the last act. It was more than three hours coming and worth the wait. Like a man set free, Baryshnikov whirled through space. In a series of double cabrioles his legs beat as invisibly as a hummingbird's wings.

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