The Resistance of Love

At its heart, “Sylvia” is a ballet about the resistance to love—a theme that continues to resonate deeply, as the human spirit often recoils from love, driven by fear, pride, a need for control, or the weight of duties and moral constraints. The ballet itself has endured a fate tragically similar to the one it portrays: passing through cycles of neglect and revival, with its fragile narrative, indistinct characterisation, and often inconsistent choreography repeatedly hindering its ability to win over audiences. Has Manuel Legris finally succeeded in overcoming these barriers and making us fall in love with it?

Performance

Paris Opera Ballet: “Sylvia” by Manuel Legris

Place

Palais Garnier, Paris, France, May 8, 2025

Words

Elsa Giovanna Simonetti

Amandine Albisson in “Sylvia” by Manuel Legris. Photograph by Yonathan Kellerman | OnP

The premiere on 8 May 2025 may signal the start of a new era for this work at the Palais Garnier, nearly a century and a half after its original debut in 1876, in the newly constructed theatre. Inspired by Tasso’s “Aminta” (1573), a pastoral drama set in an idealised Arcadia, it has always been a challenge to capture the essence of such a story without slipping into pastiche. The plot follows Sylvia, a nymph devoted to the goddess Diana, who is torn between her sacred vow of chastity and her overwhelming love for the hunter Aminta. As she is pursued by the wild and impetuous Orion, she cleverly evades his advances, only to eventually be reunited with her beloved. Eros serves as a deus ex machina, appearing throughout to propel the action and untangle the plot, while steering the emotional world of the characters.

While Léo Delibes’s score—famously praised by Tchaikovsky—has endured, beloved and recognisable, the ballet itself has undergone numerous revisions. Focusing on the Opéra de Paris alone, the original production, choreographed and danced by Louis Mérante with Rita Sangalli, remained in the repertory from 1876 to 1893, when a fire destroyed the sets the following year. The ballet was restaged in 1919 by Leo Staats and again in 1941 by Serge Lifar. In 1946, Albert Aveline revived Mérante’s original choreography, with Lycette Darsonval in the title role. In 1979, Darsonval and Violette Verdy reconstructed Aveline’s staging and mounted “Sylvia” once again. It was this production that a young Manuel Legris witnessed—leaving a lasting impression on him. He would later perform in John Neumeier’s 1997 version: a radically different vision, abstract and poetic, Anacreontic in spirit, modern in sensibility, and rich in symbolism.

Roxane Stojanov in “Sylvia” by Manuel Legris. Photograph by Yonathan Kellerman | OnP

This new “Sylvia” gracefully honours the rich legacy of its previous versions while introducing a modern sense of structure and elegance. First created in 2018 for the Vienna State Ballet and later mounted at La Scala the following year by Legris, who was director of both institutions, he now returns to Paris as a prodigal son, bringing with him international experience, renewed artistic depth, and an evolving vision that he shares with a new generation of dancers. The choreography flows with effortless French épaulement, sweeping manèges, pirouettes rising from fourth position in relevé, airy fouettés, and expansive grand jetés. The movement unfolds in beautifully textured, technically demanding sequences that honour both musicality and narrative. The iconic arrow-shooting gesture recalls Mérante’s 19th-century version, while the pantomime is pared down, and the male roles are given a fuller, more expressive choreographic voice.

The première gleamed with a finely assembled cast of étoiles, each afforded the opportunity to shine. Amandine Albisson, perhaps the brightest star at Opéra today, was radiant—her beauty, proportions, and purity of movement, complemented by impeccable technique, illuminated the theatre. As Aminta, Germain Louvet danced with fervour and sincerity, imbuing the role with unusual intensity. Marc Moreau, often cast as a danseur noble, ventured into darker territory as the fierce, almost feral Orion. His physicality and sharply etched characterisation brought the role vividly to life, complemented by the rough energy of his brutish acolytes.

Guillaume Diop, as Eros, commanded the stage with expansive lines and magnetic presence. Balancing divine poise with mischief, he remained composed even amid the production’s surreal scenic choices (such as when he emerged from the turning statue of Eros or vanished into a curious contraption at the end). Though clad in a dated greenish bodysuit with thong-like details and earth-toned wings, strangely at odds with Luisa Spinatelli’s otherwise elegant designs, Diop’s performance was impeccable, maintaining grace and authority throughout.

Francesco Mura, in the role of the lead faun, impressed with buoyant jumps and fluid athleticism, paired with the undeniably beautiful and technically immaculate Inès McIntosh as the soloist naiade. Bianca Scudamore, as one of the two huntresses, was electrifying. Joyful and effortlessly refined, she commanded attention with natural ease and exuded the confidence of a true leading artist.

Amandine Albisson and Paris Opera Ballet dancers in “Sylvia” by Manuel Legris. Photograph by Yonathan Kellerman | OnP

The corps de ballet engaged in a richly layered dialogue—both among themselves and with the principals—as villagers, satyrs, dryads, and vestals came together to create a vividly textured world. In earlier productions, this interplay of human, mythical, and divine figures was often seen as a structural weakness; even Frederick Ashton, by his own admission, struggled to reconcile the ballet’s shifting registers. Here, however, these realms interact with coherence and finesse, lending the production a sense of internal harmony.

Across Acts I and II, the evening unfolded with clarity and drive, maintaining both a compelling narrative and a seamless choreographic flow. This unity culminates in Act II’s hypnotic, orientalist-inflected dance of the maidens. A whirlwind of chainés from Albisson, matched by fast and precise tours à la seconde from Moreau, along with a spectacular lift, drew spontaneous applause, bringing the act to a thrilling close. Act III follows as a kind of apotheosis. Sylvia’s famous pizzicato variation, the radiant pas de deux with Aminta, and the coda—the last of which is preserved from Mérante’s original—all reaffirm Legris’s dialectical approach to tradition. And in all of this, in the pit, Kevin Rhodes is far more than a conductor: he breathes, moves, and even sings with the company.

From a dramaturgical perspective, we witness an intelligent and refined interplay. Sylvia is torn between Aminta’s devoted love and the magnetic threat of Orion. This emotional triangle is reflected in the pastoral interlude—a compositional finesse. A peasant, Aubade Philbert, is pursued by her lover and suitor in a flirtatious contest that, in miniature, echoes the same emotional dynamics shaping the ballet’s drama.

Most importantly, however, it is the figure of Diana that drives the mirror effects at play, emerging as the central theme of the ballet. As Legris himself emphasised in a public rehearsal on 26 April, “Diana est le personnage le plus important.” Her emotional journey forms the true axis of the narrative arc. In the prologue, Diana is confronted by a vision of the mortal Endymion (Florent Mélac) —the object of her love, condemned to eternal sleep to preserve her vow of chastity. By Act III, his sudden reappearance becomes an emotional catalyst: a still, silent figure embodying all she has sacrificed. In Sylvia and Aminta’s love, Diana sees a reflection of what she has lost, of what might have been. Her torment transforms her from a distant deity into a woman suspended between duty and desire. Her final renunciation of love feels redemptive: a paradoxical act of freedom, marking her transformation into a compassionate and benevolent agent, granting to others what she cannot claim for herself.

For if love, at its heart, involves the courage to surrender and be transformed, Legris has achieved his goal: to lead us beyond our defences—and into the embrace of a ballet we’ve unexpectedly fallen in love with.

Elsa Giovanna Simonetti

Elsa Giovanna Simonetti is a Paris-based philosopher researching ancient thought, divination, and practices of salvation at the École Pratique des Hautes Études. With over a decade of ballet training, she studied History of Dance as part of her Philosophy and Aesthetics degree at the University of Bologna. Alongside her academic work, she writes about dance.

comments

Featured

REVIEWS | Rachel Howard

Into the Wilde

At a time when the arts in America are under attack and many small dance companies are quietly disappearing, San Francisco’s dance scene—for decades second in its volume of activity only to New York—still has a pulse.

Plus

REVIEWS | Rebecca Deczynski

Just the Steps

Noé Soulier enters the space without warning, and it takes a few seconds for the chattering audience to register the man now standing before them, dressed simply in a grey t-shirt and black pants, barefoot.

Plus