If you have ever had the displeasure of sitting through a corporate-mandated getting-to-know-you exercise, you may have run into this particular brand of icebreaker: If you could time travel back to any era, where would you go and why?
Some may want the marble columns and philosophical ideals of ancient Greece, or the dusty saloons and frontier heroism of the Old West. And some may choose the libertine excess and decadent demi-monde of 18th-century Paris. But there’s a reason those are all hypotheticals. The reality is that none of those eras would be kind to the vast majority of us, and it’s a truth that lies at the heart of Kenneth MacMillan’s Manon, where love is a luxury few can afford.
The story begins when Manon’s carriage, on its way to drop her off at a convent, stops at an inn where she reunites with her brother Lescaut. He can’t help but notice that one of Manon’s travel companions, an Old Gentleman, is besotted (and handsy) with her. While Lescaut tries to broker a deal with the Old Gentleman, Manon has a meet-cute with a young student named Des Grieux. In no time at all, they fall in love and run off together. Present is the wealthy Monsieur G.M., who decides he wants Manon and, after throwing a bag of money Lescaut’s way, Lescaut agrees to find Manon and convince her to accept Monsieur G.M.’s patronage.
When Lescaut tracks his sister down to Des Grieux’s lodgings, he and Monsieur G.M. entice her with finery and jewels. She opts for the luxury offered to her and leaves Des Grieux for Monsieur G.M. Heartbroken, Des Grieux seeks out Manon at a party and asks her to run away with him. But before she leaves, she wants Des Grieux to steal money from Monsieur G.M. Per Manon’s request, Des Grieux tries to cheat Monsieur G.M. at cards, but gets caught, setting off a series of events that lead to Des Grieux and Manon’s love meeting a tragic, swampy end in Louisiana.
MacMillan premiered Manon, or L’histoire de Manon if you’re feeling fancy, in 1974. The three-act ballet, based on Abbé Prévost’s 1731 novel, L’Histoire du Chevalier des Grieux et de Manon Lescaut, is a sumptuous tragic romance with evocative choreography set to a musical grab bag of works by French composer Jules Massenet.
If you’re wondering, yes, Massenet is responsible for one of the two most famous operatic takes on Manon (the other being Giacomo Puccini). You would be forgiven for expecting any of that music to have made it into this ballet. It doesn’t. Instead, the score, re-orchestrated and arranged by Martin Yates, has been pulled from multiple Massenet operas, orchestral suites, songs, and oratorios.
Manon is particularly interesting in how it subverts the archetype often seen in classic story ballets. Instead of choosing love, our heroine Manon chooses survival, security, and luxury. The story explores power, doesn’t shy away from darkness, and challenges the audience to consider pragmatism over romantic fantasy.
Our understanding of the potential poverty-filled future Manon is avoiding comes almost exclusively from Peter Farmer’s costume designs. His barefoot beggars in clothing tattered and torn stand in stark contrast to the shinier, lush designs given to their wealthy counterparts. Farmer’s atmospheric scenic designs, under Christina Giannelli’s shadowy lighting designs, evoke a world where glamour and desperation exist side-by-side.
Because Manon contains as much moral complexity as it does dance technique, it plays directly to Houston Ballet’s greatest strength: The fact that its exceptional dancers also happen to be exceptional actors.
As our titular heroine, Karina González beautifully embodies Manon’s transformation. Conveying Manon’s interiority is no small task, but González finds the nuances that keep us hooked on her choices. We see her initial reluctance upon meeting Des Grieux as she flits away from him, and then, her girlish leap onto his bed, her feet kicking in the air with the giddiness of young love. And not long after, we watch her test her newfound sexual power, lifting her skirt for Monsieur G.M. in a move that gives way to a far more controlled, sophisticated solo later.
Angelo Greco is the smitten Des Grieux opposite González’s Manon. Self-serious and guileless, he first attempts to win over Manon through sheer precision and classical control in a preening solo. Together, their partnering hits every emotional mark, from swoon-worthy romance to agonizing anguish.
That said, González’s most compelling dancing occurs when the coercive power dynamics surrounding her are laid bare. First, in Manon’s erotic, deeply unsettling pas de trois alongside Lescaut and Monsieur G.M. in Act I. Here, Riley McMurray, already a striking figure dressed in red with his nose in the air, leans into skin-crawling territory. And later in Act II, as Manon’s body is handled and tossed among a group of men. The way she is physically manipulated is a dark precursor for her encounter with Gian Carlo Perez’s intimidating Jailer in Act III.
Then there are the scene-stealers of the night: Julian Amir Lacey and Danbi Kim.
MacMillan telegraphs the importance of Lescaut by placing him center stage in a frozen tableau to open the show before a bustle of beggars and townsfolk erupt from the wings. He is the catalyst for the coming tragedy, but Lacey does not play him as evil. Lescaut is money hungry, but his defining trait seems to be that he is here for a good time, if not a long time. As Lescaut, Lacey brings an unexpected joie de vivre to pimping his sister, though small moments, such as sneaking Manon the cards Des Grieux will use to cheat Monsieur G.M., show a little something extra under that self-serving grin. It’s a delightful choice.
Opposite Lacey, Kim’s Mistress is a perfect match and foil. Her solos are sharp and self-assured, and their comedic timing during their drunken pas de deux in Act II is worth the price of admission. To be clear, it’s Lacey’s Lescaut that’s unsteady, heavy-handed, and precariously drunk while Kim’s sober Mistress character understandably seethes with annoyance.
Equally fun are the cartwheeling, jumping, split-doing beggars of the first act and Jessica Collado’s commanding performance as the Madame.
There are moments where the sheer majesty of Massenet’s score, rendered here with emotional brilliance by the Houston Ballet Orchestra under the baton of Simon Thew, threatens to outpace MacMillan’s choreography. Yet, whenever it seemed about to happen, a well-placed lift saved the day.
So, while time traveling to 18th-century Paris might sound romantic on paper, Houston Ballet would like to remind you, with a stellar production that proves a hundreds-year-old tragedy can still cut and challenge, that the struggle may be more real than you would enjoy.
Performances will continue through October 4 at 7:30 p.m. Friday and Saturdays and 2 p.m. Sundays at the Wortham Theater Center, 501 Texas. For more information, call 713-227-2787or visit houstonballet.org. $30-$173.
