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Impressions are further set by the triumvirate of players—Morris, scenic designer Allen Moyer and conductor Leon Botstein—who together underscore Shakespeare’s poignant duality behind the game of life, and love, as subject to the fickle finger of fate. Dancers confidently glide, trot and spar across a stage of giant marble squares, reminiscent of an enormous chess-board. Stationary wooden panels, which twist to reveal architectural hints of windows, doors and crevices, both protect and endanger the players they house—physically highlighting layers of protection and vulnerability translated so masterfully by Morris’ deft, grounded and playful choreography. Miniature wooden houses double as stools, which are maneuvered at will around the set, inverting a traditional view of architecture as imposing, and placing the dancers front and center, where they ought to be. 

Morris’s movement and gestures evolve in meaning (just as they do in real life) depending upon the relationship between the counterparts and the history behind each. One particularly vivid example is the traditional courtly dance, which at the ball is portrayed as a highly misogynistic dance where men are in crisp control and women cower and are thrown about like puppets in fancy garb, but in the soft light of dawn, is danced by the Capulets in the privacy of their chambers with a delicacy and grace that emanates a loving partnership.

While theatrical dancing can often seem more pantomime than verse in motion, Morris’ attention to detail and the delicate trajectory of human emotion steers him clear of any such pitfalls. His choreography, whether for the court, villain or a star-struck ingénue, is carefully chosen to elicit specific, complex emotions, distilled to the point of elegant efficiency. Each movement, gesture, progression and interaction is ripe with depth, suggestion and study. And nowhere is this truer than in the match between the young lovers. Romeo, to be sure, was stunning as a young man of uncommon sensitivity and grace, mimicking his lover’s arabesque’s and playful teasing in strong lines and a light foot, while offering a strong foil to his more rough and tumble counterparts. But, it was Juliet who stole the show.

Danced by Rita Donahue, Juliet moved with such a range of nuance and poignancy that I could all but hear Shakespeare’s complex, lilting verse rolling off of her limbs—alternately creeping toward Romeo with hesitance, battling her emotions for independence versus lasting love, hurtling defiance at promised suitors, gathering uncommon courage for a woman’s task. Nothing wasted, nothing added—pure movement, pure emotion and a pure voice. 

In true Shakespearean form, Morris exploits traditional gender roles, but not as Elizabethan theater dictates. Women are played by women, as are the most potent male characters—Mercutio (who albeit at has at times been portrayed by other artists as a manic depressive and as a drag queen) and Tybalt. In what might be the biggest achievement of the evening, Mercutio, danced by Amber Darragh, is at once playful, irreverent, bawdy and precise, relishing each moment of his reverie and exuding both power and grace. He leapt, bounded and swaggered across the stage with such gusto, bravado and sex-appeal that I had to look in my program to find out that he was, in fact, danced by a woman—a true trompe l’oeil in motion. 

In the final scene re-written by Prokofiev and interpreted by Morris, all impressions have fallen away, and there is only love. Running in endless circles around one another, the curtain falls not on a rigid game, but a stage transformed into a sea of stars, boundless and beyond the reaches of judgment and fate. If you think your impressions of Shakespeare, and Morris, are set in stone, dare to defy fate and come to see the game so masterfully played by this worthy triumvirate and their cast of delicious players.

More About Prokofiev's Original Romeo & Juliet (courtesy The Bard Festival)

According to Princeton musicologist Simon Morrison, Bard Scholar in Residence for the 2008 SummerScape and Bard Music Festivals, the project has no parallel in ballet history and will correct an historical injustice. It is perhaps hard to imagine that Romeo & Juliet, arguably the most popular ballet of the 20th century, has never been performed as the composer intended. But the original, intended Romeo & Juliet score, which is preserved at the Russian State Archive of Literature and Art, has never been performed, even though the composer left precise and detailed instructions with respect to the orchestration. It includes six dance numbers and more than 20 minutes of music omitted from the usual performing score, resulting in a radically different ending to the story.

Prokofiev conceived the ballet in 1935 in collaboration with innovative Soviet dramatist Sergey Radlov, who re-imagined the familiar tragedy "as a struggle for the right to love by young, strong, and progressive people battling against feudal traditions and feudal outlooks on marriage and family." Much of Prokofiev's score addresses the theme of love's transcendence over oppression. However, in a radical gesture that caused a scandal in Soviet ballet circles, Prokofiev and Radlov gave the ballet a happy ending. In the final scene, Juliet rouses from her potion-induced sleep just as Romeo begins to conclude that she has died. The two lovers express their feelings of relief and joy in a final dance. The music represents the two lovers willing away their world—the Verona square and palace—and entering another, greater one.

But this final act has never been staged. Prokofiev presented his score to Soviet cultural officials, who responded by canceling the premiere productions in Leningrad and Moscow. Prokofiev at first defended his and Radlov's ending, arguing that "living people can dance, the dying cannot" and that "Shakespeare was himself said to be uncertain about the endings of his plays." However, had he not rewritten the score, he would never have seen it staged.

The artistic climate in Stalin's Russia darkened: in dance, music, and drama, conservative neoclassicism supplanted accessible innovation. Not only was Prokofiev forced to rewrite the ending of the ballet, replacing the entire fourth act with an epilogue, but he was also forced to insert large-scale solo dances for the Ball and Balcony Scenes, which resulted in a break-up of the dramatic flow. A divertissement involving three exotic dances in Act III was thrown out for logistical reasons. The Kirov Theater dancers complained about the difficulty of the rhythms and the original choreographer, Leonid Lavrovsky, insisted on thickening the orchestration. As the demands piled up, Prokofiev became increasingly frustrated, but each time, he acquiesced in an effort to see the work performed. The ballet received its Russian premiere in 1940. When Prokofiev saw it, he had a hard time recognizing parts of his own music. He begged, to no avail, to undo the changes that he had not sanctioned.

Sergey Prokofiev's Romeo & Juliet, on Motifs of Shakespeare, Op.64, restored by Simon Morrison, is performed with exclusive permission of the Prokofiev Estate and G. Schirmer Inc., the bearers of the rights to the music. Source materials used in this production are provided by the Russian State Archive of Literature and Art.

Romeo and Juliet Production Calendar

Below is the production calendar for the 2008-2009 production of Romeo & Juliet, On Motifs of Shakespeare. Tickets can be purchased through the individual commisioning partners.