Matthew Bourne's "Swan Lake"
by John Ardoin
 

If you listen to the casual comments that have been made about Matthew Bourne's new version of "Swan Lake," which premiered in London in 1996 and is scheduled for Broadway in 1998, you might think it was a send-up: something Les Ballets Trocadero de Monte Carlo could have dreamed up. Or, because of the sensation centering on Bourne's use of an all-male corps de ballet, that here was a gay "Swan Lake." It has even been seen as a take-off on Britain's Royal Family. Nothing could be further from the truth. In actuality, Bourne's creation, the winner of the 1996 Olivier Award in England for the Best Dance Production, is a serious, probing theatrical creation, despite considerable wit and moments of parody.
 

The Bourne version begins with a prologue in which we first meet the Prince as a young boy -- frightened, alone, racked by nightmares of a menacing swan figure, manipulated by his mother the Queen and his Private Secretary, and comforted only by a stuffed toy. . . a swan.

When the ballet proper begins, the Prince is a young man attempting to assert himself and find an identity. The Secretary introduces him to a vulgar girl, of whom the Queen immediately disapproves. But the Prince insists on the Girlfriend accompanying them to the theater (where Bourne creates a stunning parody of classical ballet). After further quarreling with the Queen over the Girlfriend, the Prince goes to a dive in town to forget his troubles. The Girlfriend turns up there as well, and her flirting with an old man (who turns out to be the Secretary in disguise) makes the Prince angry. He starts a fight and is thrown out of the club.
 

When the other swans appear and threaten to attack the Prince, the first Swan returns and protects him. The Prince feels that he has found a true soul mate and, with him, a reason to live.

At a party later at the Royal Palace, which is covered by a flock of paparazzi and includes the Girlfriend, a gatecrasher suddenly appears. Dressed in black, he is aggressive, arrogant, and instantly the focus of attention -- especially the Queen's. The Prince is stunned at how much the Stranger resembles his Swan. The Stranger begins to dance with the Queen, and the Prince is overcome by jealously and begins to mimic the Swan's movements. They are soon embroiled in a struggle which leaves the Prince looking foolish and the object of laughter. Driven to the point almost of madness, the Prince draws a gun and aims it at the Queen. Shots are fired, and the Girlfriend is hit.

Back in the Prince's bedroom, where he has another nightmare, the Queen attempts to comfort him but shows no real compassion. She calls for a doctor and a corps of nurses who are copies of the Queen, and the Prince is left spent and drugged. When he awakens, the Swan again comes to him, only this time he is again tender and loving rather than scary and menacing. The other Swans soon follow, push the Prince off the bed, and turn on their leader. It is now clear to the Prince he cannot be a part of their world, and the Swan he loves cannot be part of his. As his sanity gives way and he dies, the swans disappear. The Queen returns and grieves over his body, the first time she has shown any love for her son. High above them, the Swan cradles the Prince, again a young boy, in his arms. At last they are reunited forever.

It is a good story, well told, and has proved a wrenching one for audiences here and abroad who have succumbed to the fantasy and brilliance of the storytelling. The press and audience reaction has been overwhelmingly favorable: THE LONDON SUNDAY EXPRESS called it a "performance of such breathtaking power and originality it will haunt you forever."
 

Bourne doesn't ask that his "Swan Lake" be taken as seriously as the classic "Swan Lake," but adds, "How seriously do a lot of people take that? To some people the original 'Swan Lake' looks ridiculous. As long as you approach the music in a truthful way, I don't see why it must always have the same steps and the same images."