About this Piece

The urgent appeal of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet seems to have no limits. Acted, sung, conceived instrumentally, danced; in the flesh, on the screen, in print; played traditionally, interpreted broadly; in authentic costume, in contemporary dress; scholarly and archaic, relevantly mod—no amount of repetition in seemingly endless guise threatens to dim its luster or weaken its impact.

Among these interpretations, Sergei Prokofiev’s ballet score stands alone. Nothing is lost in the translation. Prokofiev captured the essence of the tale in music in a way that is not only nonintimidating but eminently accessible, and many choreographers have been stirred to extraordinary achievement by it. Prokofiev composed the score in 1935 for the Leningrad Theater of Opera and Ballet, but the music became known through concert performances well before the first staging in Russia by the Kirov Ballet, which, with choreography by Leonid Lavrovsky, occurred in 1940. In 1946, the Bolshoi Ballet introduced its dramatically enriched Lavrovsky production, and then there followed, among others, the Frederick Ashton version for the Royal Danish Ballet in 1955, John Cranko’s for the Stuttgart Ballet in 1962, and Kenneth MacMillan’s for Britain’s Royal Ballet in 1965.

Indeed, the score is little short of miraculous. With impressive economy of means, without ever resorting to inflated emotionalism, Prokofiev conjured in sound every circumstance, character, and mood. The musical pictorialism is endlessly intriguing; the musical footprints are clearly recognizable. The simplest melody is quickened and colored by sudden, fresh twists of harmony; large melodic leaps invest the themes with unblushing piquancy or virile strength; driving rhythms and harmonic clashes provide satire and/or exhilarating vigor; the orchestration is lucid, always masterful, and never given to overstatement. Prokofiev served the spirit of Shakespeare in an entirely honest, original way. Because of its superb quality, the music for Romeo and Juliet is as trenchant and valid in concert performance as it is in the theater.

The Montagues and the Capulets: An angry dissonance suggests the eventual tragedy. The arrogance of the feuding families is pictured in the long striding steps of the string theme and the horns’ haughty countertheme. A contrasting middle section has the colorful shadings of harp, triangle, tambourine, snare drums, and glissando violas accompanying the sinuous flutes. To this arrangement violins and celesta add their countermelody. The return of the striding melody is initiated by the saxophone, and the families are in full animosity again.

Juliet the Maiden: A skittish, capricious theme, divided ingeniously between strings and winds, depicts the child-woman as more the former than the latter; two breathless, piquant melodies, the first in clarinet, the second in flute, suggest an awakening maturity.

Friar Laurence: The cleric is represented by a pair of themes, one in bassoons, tuba and harp, the other in divided cellos.

Dance: Harp, piano, side drum, and pizzicato strings provide the rhythmic energy for this dance that is part of the opening scene of the second act. First an oboe, then a flute, pipe the jaunty main tune. Later the violins inject an insinuating, sensuous melody into the proceedings.

The Parting of Romeo and Juliet: This impassioned, highly developed section is built on the theme of Romeo’s love. The soaring music is shot through with intimations of impending tragedy.

Dance of the Antillean Maidens: This is a purely ornamental dance not, intrinsic to the action. To the accompaniment of maracas and tambourine, violin and woodwind solos define the dance performed when Paris presents a gift of pearls to Juliet.

Romeo at the Tomb of Juliet: The love theme points up the tragedy with overwhelming poignance. At the very end, a contrabassoon speaks as from the depths of the tomb but is silenced by soft shimmering strings above which a piccolo intones a single high note while cellos and bass clarinet throb as in deep sorrow.

—Orrin Howard