It was backstage at a performance of Mayerling at London's Royal Opera House that Kenneth MacMillan breathed his last in 1992. This fateful scene, reminiscent of Molière's legendary death centuries earlier, is rich in symbolism. What choreographer could rival MacMillan's genius for seamlessly blending the most tragic aspects of reality with the grandeur of art in such a powerful and coherent way?
Kenneth MacMillan was born on 11 December 1929 in Dunfermline, Scotland. He spent his childhood in a modest family and moved to Great Yarmouth, England, at a young age. It was here that he developed an interest in dance, although he did not start dancing until relatively late.
Indeed, ballet was hardly seen as an appropriate pursuit for a young boy, and MacMillan had to keep his lessons hidden from his classmates for years, which led to a deep-rooted association between dance and a feeling of unease that was later to be evident in his most famous choreographies.
His professional training began in 1946 when, at 17, he joined Sadler's Wells Ballet School (later the Royal Ballet School). There, under the guidance of Frederick Ashton, the legendary choreographer of La Fille mal gardée, MacMillan was rigorously trained in the strict classical tradition.
Accounts from the period paint a picture of a dancer with exceptional technique, brilliantly performing secondary roles in Sleeping Beauty (tracks 1-2), La Sylphide (tracks 3-4) and Balanchine's Ballet Impérial, again to Tchaikovsky's music (track 5). However, the dancer soon developed severe stage fright, a challenge that likely steered his career toward choreography early on.
The next decade was marked by numerous creations for prestigious institutions like the Royal Ballet and the American Ballet Company. However, a disagreement with the Royal Opera House board over a potential ballet production of Mahler's The Song of the Earth (track 6) dramatically altered the course of MacMillan's career.
At the invitation of his friend John Cranko (Onegin), then director of the Stuttgart Ballet, MacMillan flew to Germany in the 1960s and successfully staged this long-awaited ballet, before taking over the direction of the Ballet of the Deutsche Oper in Berlin.
In Germany, MacMillan continued to explore the classical style, creating new choreographic adaptations of repertory staples like Sleeping Beauty and Swan Lake, reviving Tchaikovsky's classical legacy (tracks 7-8). His years in Berlin also allowed him to venture into the grand narrative ballet genre, leading to the creation of Anastasia, inspired by the life of Anna Anderson, who famously claimed to be the Russian princess in the 1930s.
MacMillan had discovered his distinct style and repeated his success with Manon, Mayerling, and Isadora (based on the tragic fate of ballerina Isadora Duncan) upon returning to London in the 1970s.
Yet, despite his creative explorations, MacMillan never strayed from his classical roots, unlike some of his contemporaries. In the 1980s, he revisited the grand tradition of Marius Petipa when he reimagined The Prince of the Pagodas to Britten's music (tracks 9-10), even incorporating quotations from the original choreography of Sleeping Beauty.
This ballet also marked MacMillan's return to the fairy tale genre, which had been absent from his recent works but remained a powerful symbol of the enduring classical heritage within his artistic imagination.
From his earliest choreographic ventures, MacMillan intentionally moved away from traditional ballet themes, choosing instead to explore darker, more ambiguous, and provocative subjects that were traditionally avoided on the classical stage. This is evident in The Burrow (1958), set to Frank Martin's unsettling concerto for seven instruments (track 11), which evokes a stifling atmosphere reminiscent of the confinement of Anne Frank and her family. Similarly, The Invitation (1960), set to an original and modern score by Matyas Seiber (track 12), boldly depicts a rape on stage, a daring and controversial choice.
Anastasia continues this trend, steering clear of the fairytale elements made famous by a certain cartoon. Instead, it uses a sophisticated blend of orchestral (track 13) and electronic music to portray the dark side of Anna Anderson, the notorious impostor. The ballet delves into her psychiatric internment, her descent into schizophrenia, and her obsessive identification with the Romanov princess who was murdered in 1918.
Exploring the tortured psyches of his characters, most often anti-heroes, is the common thread running through MacMillan's narrative imagination.
MacMillan's deep interest in the vulnerabilities and flaws of the human condition is apparent in works like The Seven Deadly Sins (Kurt Weill, track 14) and The Judas Tree (Brian Elias, featured on track 15), his most recent choreographic endeavor focused on Judas’s betrayal and profound remorse. Even in abstract ballets such as Danses concertantes (Igor Stravinsky, track 16), a sense of subdued violence or ominous sensuality lingers on stage.
MacMillan’s fascination with the impulses and neuroses of his characters, and their consequences, is most vividly expressed in his grand narrative ballets. For instance, in Romeo and Juliet (Sergei Prokofiev, track 17), he opted to move away from the traditional, stylised portrayals of the star-crossed lovers, presenting instead a carnal, raw, and frenzied retelling.
Manon, based on Abbé Prévost’s famous novel and set to a selection of re-orchestrated music by Jules Massenet (tracks 18-19), vividly portrays the raw realities of love, lust, and domination between Chevalier Des Grieux and Manon Lescaut. The ballet juxtaposes the opulence of Parisian high society with the squalor of the streets and prisons, staging the brutality inflicted on Manon by the jailer in the final act with uncompromising intensity.
However, the depths of Kenneth MacMillan’s imagination are most strikingly displayed in Mayerling, set to the all-Hungarian music of Franz Liszt (tracks 20-21). This ballet is inspired by the tragic death of Austrian-Hungarian Archduke Rudolf and his mistress, Marie Vetsera, in one of the prince's debauched hunting lodges—an event surrounded by enduring mystery.
The choreographer's depiction of the Crown Prince's dissolute life, the violence of his love affairs and his morbid obsession with firearms, which led him to commit the irreparable at just 30 years of age – is strikingly radical and unflinchingly bold.
Despite his bold explorations, MacMillan has consistently maintained a delicate balance between transgression and sublimation. In Anastasia, for instance, the line between grandeur and despair, royalty and madness, proves to be far more fluid than one might think.
Thanks to the talent of his faithful set designer Nicholas Georgiadis, MacMillan's productions have consistently showcased opulent gilding, period reproductions, luxurious costumes, and intricate props.
Nevertheless, MacMillan’s primary focus has always been to allow the dancers to express themselves as freely as possible. This often meant stripping the stage bare or partially removing elements to enhance the authenticity of the choreographic movement. Similarly, while aiming for historical accuracy, costumes were designed to support rather than restrict movement, fluidly adapting to the dancers' actions—a significant challenge for his costume designers!
The choreographer was fearless in expanding the expressive potential of movement, sometimes deconstructing or even freeing it entirely to better capture a character’s inner depth or to better convey the tragedy of a situation.
MacMillan transcended the role of a traditional choreographer; he was a true "discoverer of movement." For him, it was not the story that shaped the form or gesture, but rather the movement that revealed and defined the narrative.
“I wanted dance to express something largely outside its experience”, MacMillan explained. “I had to find a way to stretch the language - otherwise I should just produce sterile academic dance.”
Could this be why he valued improvisation with dancers and appreciated the richness that the chance of a misstep offered before finalising the choreography?
Rather than adhering to traditional symmetry, MacMillan prioritised expressivity, making it easy to overlook the classical foundations of his work. For instance, The Rite of Spring (tracks 22-23) shocked audiences of its time with its departures from convention, yet it is clear that only a classically trained dancer could fully embody the role of the Chosen One...
Kenneth MacMillan’s innovative yet respectful approach to classical ballet has made a lasting impact on the world of dance. His skill in using dance as a medium for psychological and social exploration, while maintaining the integrity of classical technique, establishes him as a true pioneer. His work, marked by the duality between splendour and misery, remains a powerful testament to the human condition, still resonating today with unequalled relevance and force.
On 12 November at the Palais Garnier, we invite you to experience the depth and paradoxical nature of MacMillan’s imaginative world, marked by its extraordinary emotional power.
Image
Title: Naïs Duboscq (Louise)- Hugo Marchand (Prince Rodolphe)
Copyright: Ann Ray / Opéra national de Paris
