I was hesitant to review Frankenstein for several reasons, including my dislike for ballet, especially one that’s three hours long and marketed as “A Sci-fi Horror Ballet Comes to Life,” or as I prefer to think of it, “He Did the Mash, He Did the Monster Mash,” in three acts. Moreover, since its premiere eight years ago—a coproduction of the San Francisco Ballet and The Royal Ballet— it has received mixed reviews, few neutral. However, as soon as I entered the theater and saw a ghostly image of a skull on the proscenium scrim, I became intrigued. The tone of the performance was immediately established by a single magnificently large, ominous image dimly illuminated.
What follows is as suspected: Mary Shelley’s gothic tale of a vain man plagued by hubris and grief—having just lost his mother—who creates a life, a creature from found body parts. A monster he rejects once he gives it life because it doesn’t meet his expectations. The creature doesn’t look or act as he imagined. (Sounds like online dating.) This tale is thus as much about identity, self-acceptance, and resilience as it is about obsession, death, and daddy issues—the monster with its creator.
But it is also the romantic tale of Victor Frankenstein’s (Esteban Hernández) childhood infatuation with Elizabeth Lavenza (Jasmine Jimison), which blossoms into romance and, by act three, a brief marriage. Their relationship is as central to this myth as is his bond with his monstrous adult-child. Elizabeth emerges as a pivotal and equally significant character, on par with the assembled creature (Cavan Conley.)
By Act II, Elizabeth attempts to rescue Victor from his all-consuming obsession and guilt, setting up a pas de deux supported by an emotional context that transcends traditional stereotypical ballet pairings. Their connection is tangible, their struggle, realistic, as Jimison begins to cast her spell with flawless execution and exquisite ethereal lines that bring her character to the forefront, making Frankenstein her show. Jimison’s dancing is unstoppable throughout, leading to her stunning and sudden ballroom death at the end of Act III.
Cavan Conley, as the sexy monster, is also perfectly cast and a pleasure to watch. His presence and physicality lend legitimacy to the role, previously absent in SFBallet Frankenstein productions. What falls short is Liam Scarlett’s choreography, which regrettably represents a missed opportunity and left me wishing the creature’s role had been choreographed by Gaga choreographers Ohad Naharin or Bobbi Jean Smith. How would a monster, composed of different body parts, dance?
Conley’s grand jetés are impeccable, but aside from his steampunk makeup and red stitches, his featured movements are predictably balletic crowd-pleasers instead of a choreography that could have stolen the show. However, to Scarlett’s credit, during Act III’s ballroom scene, she places the monster in and out of a waltz, like a slight-of-hand card trick. Now you see him, now you don’t, as the monster swirls among spinning ballroom dancers, disappearing, reappearing until Victor realizes this isn’t happening in his mind. The monster who earlier threatened him is at the ball.
Dylan Pierzina as Henry Clerval, Victor Frankenstein’s bestie, also catches the light, dancing with verve throughout his peppered scenes. In contrast, the corps de ballet struggled with timing and dancing cohesively. They seemed under-rehearsed and were overcrowded in several groupings in each act, creating more distraction than enhancement. Still, I enjoyed Frankenstein, which went through its three hours at a reasonable clip and maintained its cinematic scope thanks to the artistry of John Macfarlane’s painterly scenic design and breezy costuming. Macfarlane does much of the painting himself, including the skull that captivated me at the start.
Lowell Liebermann’s score was conducted by Martin West and performed by the San Francisco Ballet Orchestra.
David e. Moreno
