Choreographer: Natalia Horečná
Music: Nino Rota
It is possible that one day audiences will tire of stories about waif-like women who get involved with men who anyone can see are absolute bounders, but manage to preserve their romantic attachment and, even more crucially, their wide-eyed innocence and their enduring belief in goodness and beauty.
Fellini put Giulietta Masina through this experience loads of times, and Alina Cojocaru channels Giulietta with a will. No eyes were ever wider, no childlike innocence was ever quite so passionately manifested, as it is on the stage at Sadler’s Wells in Natalia Horečná’s version of Fellini’s La Strada.
That said, it would take a heart of stone to deny the appeal of Alina Cojocaru. She wears a simple cotton dress almost throughout, and its delicate floating quality emphasises the ethereal, will-o-the-wisp lightness with which she embodies her role. Often supported by two fine male dancers, and in the epilogue by four men, she is floated round the stage like thistle-down. She is lithe, she is exquisite, and she projects strength and endurance despite her frailty. It is an absolutely sensational display of balletic skill, superbly supported by a quartet of dancers (Mick Zeni, Johan Kobborg, Marc Jubete, and David Rodriguez) who all get ample opportunity to display their own considerable abilities, but are brilliant at supporting Alina Cojocaru’s attempts to levitate.
The story of La Strada, taken from the Fellini film of the same name, is fairly straightforward. Gelsomina is a young woman living with her mother at the side of the road (La Strada, as it is known in Italy) when a passing circus strongman (Zampanò, danced by Mick Zeni) passes by, takes a fancy to her, and buys her off her poverty-stricken mum. They take up with a travelling circus which features a charismatic acrobat Il Matto (the Fool, the Crazy One – more of the fool in a pack of tarot cards than someone who knows nothing) – danced by Johan Kobborg, who also rides a mean unicycle. She falls for him, being somewhat less brutal than Zampanò, and he for her because why wouldn’t he?
And Zampanò and Il Matto vie with each other, in a series of whirling dance-offs, for the right to be with Gelsomina. She is torn – brutal strongman or dashing acrobat? Until the men get into a terminal fight and she finds the victor repulsive and runs away. He later, full of regret, tracks her down to where she is sleeping at the roadside, and leaves her his jacket (to keep her warm) and his trumpet. As is often the way with ballet, the narrative isn’t crystal clear, but probably people get to go to heaven when they die, and heaven is a sort of circus. The heavenly circus needs to be more inviting than the circus from hell that closes the first act, with two looming clown puppets and a general sense of decadence and decay, half-lit, moody, atmospheric, gorgeous.
All the dancers are amazing, mostly very robust and earthbound even when managing impressive acrobatics. The contrast with Alina Cojocaru is wonderful and enhances the floaty impact of the two dancers portraying angels, Marc Jubete and David Rodriguez, in filmy black trousers and loose white shirts, often set against the backdrop so only the fabric of their white shirts shows through the intentional gloom of Andrea Giretti’s lighting design, making a fine counterpoint to the vigour of the circus folk.
This is a beautifully conceived, exquisitely danced piece of theatre, with some thrilling pas-des-deux and trois, and sometimes cinq. The only cavil is the significance of the trumpet. It didn’t seem to be a very valued gift and becomes something of a tripping hazard in the finale. But that is a very small criticism. The show is beautiful and Alina Cojocaru is a wonder.
Runs until 28 January 2024
