Lord Byron dashed off his epic poem, The Corsaire, in ten days. Published on 1 February, 1811, it sold 10,000 copies on the very first day. The poem inspired Berlioz to write an Overture and Verdi to write what many people consider his worst opera. There have been many ballets, most notably by Marius Petipa.
One of the most thrilling moments of my theatregoing life was seeing Rudolph Nureyev in the pas de deux from Petipa’s second act, a dazzling display of tartarian pyrotechnics. His soaring leaps were so high and so fast that you could hear the audience taking in its collective breath. The dancing lasted 10 minutes. The applause went on for 20 minutes. The pas de deux is regularly revived on its own; the full ballet rarely so. English National Ballet is the first British company to stage Le Corsaire and their version has been completely re-imagined by Anna-Maria Holmes
The very word pirate conjures up images of Long John Silver, Captain Hook, and especially Douglas Fairbanks, Errol Flynn and Johnny Depp, all swashbuckling away. The best comic stage pirate I have ever seen was Tim Curry in Gilbert and Sullivan’s HMS Pinafore. Audiences however, expecting exotic sensuality and wild savagery will be very disappointed. ENB’s Le Corsaire is empty spectacle, merely a showcase for the dancers. But “ballet (to quote Anna-Maria Holmes) is never ‘just steps’. It all has to mean something to the dancers and the audience otherwise it is pointless.”
There is no story. There is no characterisation. There is nothing sexy going on between Alina Cojocaru and the tall, elegant, light of foot Vadim Muntagirov. She is hardly a harem girl and he is hardly a dashing pirate. Yonah Acosta and Junior Souza are much more believable in their respective roles of leaping baddie and gentle slave boy. The music by nine (sic) composers is poor. The shipwreck is tame. The bearded pirates have bare midriffs but no hairy chests. The production lacks humour. The lecherous pasha is dire unfunny pantomime. What is needed is somebody like Matthew Bourne to get hold of Le Corsaire and to give the Oriental kitsch a witty send-up.