Coppélia comes to life

Gene Kelly is standing in the wardrobe department of The Australian Ballet Centre. So are Isadora, Juliet and Princess Buttercup. They’re all mannequin dummies named by the chortling group of seamstresses. Each is adorned with one of the exquisite costumes Kristian Fredrikson designed for George Ogilvie’s 1979 production of Coppélia. It is an important historical production for The Australian Ballet; Ogilvie’s insights combined with Dame Peggy Van Praagh’s choreography and Fredrikson’s genius result in a superlative production of the ballet. This year, The Australian Ballet will try Coppélia on for size once again, first with a season in Sydney in May, then Melbourne in June.

The stuffy hot air outside the Arts Centre one January morning is thick with the smell of approaching rain, and Melbourne is a swamp of sweaty businessmen and clammy café workers.  But inside The Primrose Potter Australian Ballet Centre, a cool and collected Michael Williams, head of the Wardrobe Department, takes me through the hundreds of Coppélia costumes being picked, tucked and stitched. There is barely a moment to waste as the department works frantically on preparing not only Coppélia, but also the equally mammoth The Silver Rose.  It quickly becomes apparent that Gene Kelly and Princess Buttercup are here to keep the smiles coming and frowns at bay.

Fredrikson’s Coppélia costumes were created over 30 years ago in a canvas goods factory off Racecourse Road. Today they are undergoing an extensive restoration process. Layers of silk, lace, tulle and taffeta are flopped over chairs and big worktables. It’s a scene with all the flurry and adornment of a Parisian atelier. Many of the costumes are being remade or restored. Rotting silk on jackets must be replaced then dyed to match the older, harder-wearing silks. Saggy tutu skirts need a lift, and Swanhilda receives a new Act 3 Wedding tutu that looks like it’s been plucked straight from a Christian Lacroix runway show. The ‘Reaper Boys’ trousers require a total remake. With the original fabric no longer stocked, wardrobe has found a remarkable look-alike solution: cotton waffle-weave blankets. There is no waste as each unused costume is pillaged for its healthy trimmings, which are then used on new costumes. The wardrobe department looks like a beautiful and fantastical hospital. Costumes on the brink of death are brought back to life with a lot of  care and a lot of thread.

It’s not just decaying and torn fabrics that need a touch up. The variation in size between company members compared to the dancers of the late 70s has warranted, in some cases, total remakes. This is time-consuming work, especially when replicating Fredrikson’s designs. The simplest-looking of his garments can have up to four layers, each with its own detail and specificity. Sitting in a room next to Michael’s office is a model set of Act 3 Coppélia, which Fredrikson created and painted. It is extremely intricate – painted with a two-hair squirrel artist’s brush. It is a testament to Fredrikson’s eye for detail. For Coppélia, Fredrikson turned to close friend and milliner Marjorie Head to create a number of the headdresses. Williams shows me two of particular beauty. The ‘School Mistress’ hat, covered in dozens of handmade orange and brown pom-poms, and the ‘Dawn’ headdress, a tiara adorned in fine wiring and feathers that, from afar, resembles a tropical sunrise and perfectly mirrors the delicate backdrop.

Lynn Munro, in charge of the restoration of the Coppélia costumes, is busy in the dyeing room. Amongst the big cauldrons of dye are piles of unfinished ‘Hours’ tutus. Fabrics of voluptuous aquamarine and husky midnight blues are strewn over the table as she fingers through the ‘recipe’ book for each dye formula. For the wardrobe staff, the legacy of this ballet elicits tender care and respect for every fold of fabric.  Within the pages of the Coppélia design book, Fredrikson’s delicate drawings are in shades of ripe apricot and mellow olive green – a palette of autumnal and tawny hues. The most impressive thing about Fredrikson’s distinctive drawings is the way each is traced with theatricality. Not only are the costumes rendered with enchanting detail, each character is drawn with personality and movement.  Michael Williams tells me that this was typical of the astute Fredrikson. His vision of the complete character was always very clear in his mind.

As Williams walks me through the many racks of costumes, my eye is drawn to Dr. Coppelius’s cloak, which he dons when practising the occult in Act 2. The cloak is covered in painted eyes that seem to follow you, each one bleeding deep crimson, trickling blood down the folds of the cape. It is fitting, as Coppélia was originally titled The Girl With the Enamel Eyes. Close by are the equally harrowing ‘dolls’. Aside from the mandatory Spanish, Chinese and Scottish dolls, Fredrikson designed dolls he might have desired as a young boy; a headless monster, an unfinished ragdoll, a disembodied clown which assists Dr. Coppelius in creating his deadly concoctions. Act 2, the dark chocolate centre of the ballet, raises moral and spiritual issues that are often overlooked amidst the mayhem and mischief of Act 1 and the Harvest and Wedding dances of Act 3.

Kristian Fredrikson, Michael tells me smiling, was ‘The Sara-Lee designer’, a reference to the iconic Australian layered ice cream cake. Peel back the top and one finds layer upon layer of unassuming brilliance.

Coppélia plays in Sydney from 4 – 22 May and Melbourne from 10 – 22 June
Sydney tickets are now on sale; Melbourne tickets on sale from 11 March