by Alessandro BIZZOTTO
Pierre Lacotte’s reconstruction of Paquita, first performed at the Paris Opera Ballet in 2001, makes its Milanese debut. Drawing on Joseph Mazilier’s original choreography alongside Marius Petipa’s later contributions, and featuring Luisa Spinatelli’s 2001 costumes, this production joins La Scala Ballet’s repertoire with a series of performances that seem to herald the arrival of summer.
Striking a balance between historical accuracy and practical staging, this Paquita offers a rare insight into a work seldom seen in its original form.
Selected for La Scala’s repertoire by former ballet director Manuel Legris – who recently left La Scala and himself danced the male lead in Paris during his time as an étoile – the ballet is set in flamboyant Spain. It evokes the vibrant colours, scents and spirit of 19th-century romanticism, immersing audiences in an exotic atmosphere characteristic of the period’s fascination with southern Europe.
Unlike many of the era’s better-known Romantic ballets, which often rely heavily on supernatural themes to the point of cliché, Paquita remains firmly grounded in reality. Specifically, Napoleonic Spain. The story follows Paquita, a beauty raised by Gypsies. The villainous Iñigo covets her and, with the conniving Don Lopez de Mendoza, plots to end her romance with French officer Lucien d’Hervilly by murder. Paquita foils their plan and, furthermore, discovers noble origins and a distant familial connection to Lucien, clearing the path for a happily-ever-after marriage.
The overall effect of the production itself, however, feels somewhat cumbersome. The two acts are weighed down by an excess of choreography, leaving little room for genuine spirit or emotional engagement. The plot, centred on a familiar love triangle and questions of identity, offers little in the way of complexity. It remains more a showcase of heritage than a living, breathing drama, leaving the audience to watch rather than feel, its craftsmanship admired but its emotional impact almost muted.
The first cast in Milan, led by Nicoletta Manni and Nicola Del Freo, display an appealing rapport – courteous, poised, and thoroughly at ease with the demanding choreography. Yet Paquita, with its whirl of virtuoso steps and stylised mime, calls for more than elegance and precision. The work as a whole arguably flourishes when approached with a touch of extravagance; a performance that exudes confidence and is unafraid to risk excess, even at the peril of teetering on the edge of caricature.
Manni’s admirable composure serves as a reminder that technical prowess alone does not suffice to bring a character fully to life. Paquita is by no means the most psychologically layered role, but here the gypsy quality at the core of the role remains only delicately suggested in Manni’s performance.
For all her finesse and admirable mastery of the academic demands, Manni’s Paquita seems to shy away from the daring spirit that gives the role its strength – a heroine who must do more than dance beautifully, but also seize the stage with fearless conviction.
Del Freo has all the qualities to make Lucien his own: strength, impressive elevation, and tours en l’air that land cleanly in fifth. His stage presence carries an intriguing contrast – the kindly, courteous smile set against features that, at times, suggest the glint of a villain. The characterisation isn’t always entirely cohesive, but his technical assurance, in a role that echoes the traditional princely figure, nonetheless becomes a storytelling tool in itself. What lingers is the dancer’s authority in bringing Lucien to life.
Nicoletta Manni and Nicola Del Freo in Paquita © Brescia-Amisano
Marco Agostino gives us a rancorous Iñigo – capricious, consumed by love, though in a distinctly self-serving fashion. There is something compelling in the way he draws the portrait of a man desperate for his authority to be acknowledged in every sphere, both public and private. Agostino’s taut, restless dancing captures with finesse the inner turmoil of a leader determined to assert his power at all costs.
Lacotte’s Paquita, for all its admirable craftsmanship and faithful reconstruction, ultimately feels more like a window onto ballet history than a living drama. It is a work to be appreciated for its legacy and its technical splendour, rather than for any deep emotional resonance. Yet in a company so steeped in tradition like La Scala’s, there is no small value in reviving a ballet that reminds us – with its brilliance and its limitations – of the evolving nature of the art form itself.
