Iit has been more than four decades since Kenneth MacMillan choreographed Mayerling, one of his most enduring ballets, but his wife Deborah still has vivid memories of the creation. “Total neurosis on Kenneth’s part,” she recalls. “He was always in a state when he was doing something.”
Mayerling (1978) is a sordid beast of a ballet centered on Crown Prince Rudolf, heir to the Austro-Hungarian Empire, who died with his teenage lover in 1889. MacMillan steeped himself in the story and music of Liszt, but built the choreography in rehearsal. . “The only preparation he ever did at home was listening to the sheet music,” Deborah explains. “Over and over and over – he knew the music inside out. I never saw him do any diagrams or notes. Did he test steps at home? “God no, he was sitting in front of the TV. He never got up and did nothing.
MacMillan died in 1992, during a takeover of Mayerling by the royal ballet. The lavish and engaging work has become one of the company’s gems, providing dancers with vivid opportunities for expression. But without MacMillan to oversee it, how do you preserve the spirit of ballet? Can you keep the heart beating when its creator is no longer present?
“Kenneth didn’t expect him to be aspic,” Deborah claims. “Each cast has to find its own way.” Yet knowing how far to interpret is a delicate art. “I feel very protective,” she admits, “because as time has passed, the assumption is that certain items are up for grabs. People forget that Kenneth was very specific about these characters.
Edward Watson is perhaps the most famous recent Rudolf, his angst almost palpable. MacMillan died while Watson was still a student, but he had seen David Wall, who originated the role, teach dancers including Jonathan Cope (later his own coach), and immersed himself in history by visiting Vienna. Wall offered a stamp of approval. “He phoned me and said, ‘I’m happy, you’re doing it your way.’ It was nice to have that little blessing.
Watson himself is now able to pass on information and blessings – having retired from the stage last year, he coaches many of this season’s main cast as a new generation takes on Rudolf. “I never want to dictate. That’s how I found my way into the role: go for it, show me how you feel and I’ll tell you what works and what doesn’t. It always comes down to the stages and the story they have to tell: that’s my main responsibility.
This story is burning: Rudolf, fleeing his responsibilities, loses himself in sex and drugs. “I got better at the role as I went on,” Watson says, “by finding the sadness in his situation, rather than immediately revealing him as this crazy monster.” Rudolf confronts the women in his life in pas de deux complexes: mother, wife, past and present mistresses. “You have to get back to the choreography and the person performing each character, ready for what’s happening in that moment.”
Mayerling places severe demands on a dancer’s endurance. “I made that mistake early on,” admits Watson, “I gave it my all in the first 15 minutes and then I thought I was going to die. Now I’m advising people to calm down. Don’t forget not that you have two more acts to do – don’t give it your all.
Although he put such a memorable stamp on the role, Watson is happy to pass it on. “I thought I would be pickier about it,” he says. “But I realized that I’m so proud to be a part of this work and the fact that it has a life beyond me.” Deborah agrees: “It’s the most incredibly generous thing – people who do really good workouts convey something that they might have felt at some point. They want someone much younger to do as well, if not better, than them. It’s a wonderful culture to be a part of.
A notator sits next to the coach in rehearsal, because for Deborah, the bible of ballet is Benesh movement notation, which records movement like a musical score. It’s more reliable than memory or even film. “Nothing happens without the Benesh rating,” she says. “As soon as Kenneth saw that it was a precise way to write every movement, it freed him. I encourage ex-dancers to learn notation because then they have the power to say: don’t do That, do this. The bottom line is: don’t watch old videos until you’ve learned the steps.”
So people who switch to Mayerling now feel protective of ballet rather than possessive? “Exactly. That’s all in a nutshell,” says Deborah. “It’s about taking care of the information,” adds Watson, “a huge responsibility. Especially with MacMillan, because it feels so gratuitous , like they just made it up on the spot. But its genius is that it’s been carefully crafted to make you believe it. Musically, technically, there’s an awful lot of precision.
Deborah, notoriously childless, is with her daughter Charlotte, the final arbiter of the afterlife of MacMillan’s ballets (“I’ve got the argument if the argument should take place”), but she likes to see them with new eyes. “It’s the only way these ballets stay alive,” says Deborah. “If they are taught as if they were in aspic, they will die.”
“You can read the imprint of the original creators on ballets that have endured,” Watson concludes. “You want to be honest with the DNA of this one. It looks different on everyone’s body, but if the intention is there and honest, that’s all you can hope for.
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