I haven't seen the production and cannot comment on it. For 20 years, the Bournonville repertory has been in the hands of people who turned the ballets into cartoons, and I'm glad that era is over. I don't have a problem with updating, in general. Some works can stand a change in setting, and finding new things of interest in a work is part of theater tradition.
I do believe that a fresh look at a production must retain the main philosophy and aesthetics of the work (or call the ballet something else), and these comments are on the libretto of this "Napoli," as portrayed in the reviews. Say an actor is staging "Hamlet." He's always found Hamlet a tiresome character -- elitist snob! what does he think he is, a prince or something? All those long speeches about existence and the nature of man. Like, get a life! Kill the king already and get it on with Ophelia. We need more sex in it to bring in the young people. When we're done, let's take that hideously offensive Christian holiday, Christmas, out of "A Christmas Carol" and the French Revolution out of "A Tale of Two Cities." The world would be a far, far better place.
I wrote something about "Napoli" a few years ago that I'll quote here.
QUOTE
A storm comes up; Teresina is swept overboard. She’s rescued by two naiads and carried to the Blue Grotto, home of Golfo, a sea demon. Golfo bewitches her (originally, he actually restored her to life) and changes her into a naiad in one of the great transformation scenes in ballet. Gennaro, inspired by the local friar and his own faith, comes in search of her and, when he finds her, coaxes her back to human form. He first attempts to do this through emotion (reminding her of his love), then intelligence (appealing to her memory and logic) and finally succeeds through the power of faith: he shows her a blessed medallion and, as a Catholic hymn swells out of the score, Teresina is transformed, in a second stroke of theatrical genius, back to human form. The power of faith conquers the pagan god, and the two sweethearts row off and live happily ever after—but not until they’ve silenced the local gossips once and for all, and danced a suite of brilliant classical dances (the solos were added by Hans Beck, the first great post-Bournonville director/stager) crowned by a tarantella and finale in which most of the town seems to take part.
Emotion, reason and faith were the three stages of existence in Kierkegaard's "Fear and Trembling" (Kierkegaard and Bournonville were contemporaries): The Aesthetic, The Ethical, and The Religious. The Grotto scene is the point of the ballet.
It has seemed to me that many Danish writers -- and dancers -- have little real respect for Bournonville, or at least, some of his ballets. They trivialize him and see him as, at best, a charming, sentimental fellow who made a few good roles, but mostly as a moralistic prig who's their "luggage" and worth keeping only for that. (Luggage in the sense of a burden and also their calling card because, as one dancer once told me, "without him we'd be just another mediocre ballet company.") Some also seem to have trouble distinguishing between themselves and their beliefs, Bournonville and his beliefs, and the beliefs of the characters in the ballets. All of the people in "La Sylphide" would have believed in sylphs. Doesn't matter whether the dancer does, or the audience does. We know THEY do. And all of the people in "Napoli" are Catholics. That was part of the point, of the local color of the piece.
Which brings me to a final point, that some do not seem to understand that there are two strands in Romantic ballet: the supernatural and the "local color." There can be elements of both in a ballet, but each had its own character. There is one school of thought that's been put forth incessantly in Denmark for the past 50 years that "Napoli" is a wimpy -- oops, deeply flawed -- ballet because there's no sex -- oops, romantic danger -- in it. (The same problem plagues "A Folk Tale." Oh, what a tragedy to be saddled with such an insipid choreographer all these years.) The idea that Bournonville could convey in one three-minute scene what Kierkegaard took a book to do does not seem to have crossed their minds. The idea that Bournonville, in 1842, is dealing with a central existential quesiton -- Who are we? What can make us stray from our nature? What can make us return?-- has been missed as well. Teresina did not fall in love with Golfo. Golfo was a monster. I've seen film of him back in the late 1950s, and there's nothing appealing about him at all (and I was told that the Golfos 30 years before that were even more monstrous). He's there as a counterpoiint to faith. Not Bournonville's faith, but Napoli's.