Swan Lake. Royal New Zealand Ballet

1 May 2024 (and following national tour). St James Theatre, Wellington
reviewed by Jennifer Shennan

This pedigree production of Swan Lake by Russell Kerr, the beloved father figure of ballet in New Zealand, was first staged on the company in 1996 and again in 2002, 2007 and 2013. Russell Kerr died in 2022 so this re-staging is the first not under his direction.

It proves a triumph on several levels, and is giving many a balletomane a sense of coming home. To some degree that involves the sumptuous sets and distinctive costumes by designer Kristian Fredrikson, which still carry as well as they did nigh on three decades ago. The cut and the cloth, the colours, weight and scale of all of Fredrikson’s work come from a singular vision.

Mayu Tanigaito as Odette/Odile can trust her formidable technique to release an exquisite interpretation of the dual role. She conveys Odette’s yearning through superb control of port de bras, unfolding arabesques and in the beautifully held balances, which could have lasted even longer, holding her breath and ours. But after a hint of rubato with the masterful conductor Hamish McKeich holding the baton, you have to go where the stunningly beautiful violin solo, played by Donald Armstrong, is leading you. The pathos of doomed love and Odette’s courage to protect both the Prince, and her fellow victims, is rendered with a tenderness that was in splendid contrast with her sparkling duplicity as Odile. Pearl then diamond.

Mayu Tanigaito as Odette and Laurynas Vejalis as Siegfried in *Swan Lake*, Act II. Royal New Zealand Ballet, 2024. Photo: Stephen A’Court

Laurynas Vejalis is a pensive Prince Siegfried, and I appreciate enormously the aesthetic restraint that he brings to his phenomenal technique. As a dancer he can do anything, as Siegfried he holds back, until he sights Odile that is. As the four-act ballet progresses this couple perform some of the finest pas de deux we have seen here in recent years.

The ensemble of swans is impressive, many of them younger dancers who will be performing in their first Swan Lake. They may have missed Russell Kerr but they could not have a better introduction than this beautifully realised production. Character dances in the ballroom scene are very stylishly delivered and help build a rich and royal courtly atmosphere, all the more devastating when it falls out of the vertical and collapses into chaos. Von Rothbart wears the most magnificent cloak in history but I felt the mysterious and evil intent of his complex role could have been more convincingly conveyed.

Catarina Estévez-Collins and Monet Galea-Hewitt, with corps de ballet, as Swans in *Swan Lake* with Royal New Zealand Ballet, 2024. Photo: Stephen A’Court

Kerr’s production lifts Tchaikovsky’s sublime composition off the page and onto the stage, and the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra play superbly, with a number of fine players evident in the solos. The different sections of the orchestra are alive to the drama of lyrical and haunting or tempestuous and extrovert passages. Hamish McKeich holds it all together and the triumph belongs equally to him.

Much credit is due to the Company’s new artistic directorate for appointing Turid Revfeim as regisseur of Russell Kerr’s production. Revfeim is another of the country’s ballet legends—an accomplished dancer, teacher and artistic director of an independent ballet collective, a long-standing professional of great stamina and skilled diplomacy. Having worked with Kerr for years she is the perfect person for the job. The modesty apparent in her curtain-call speaks volumes, but as Edmund Hilary would say she ‘has an awful lot to be modest about’. Her program essay reminisces about Kerr’s inimitable way of working, and the high expectations he had of each dancer.

It is good too to be reminded of Shannon Dawson’s words about Kerr … ‘He is a parent of sorts, a father of dance, teaching the young, guiding the teenager and letting the adult go free, and the only thing expected in return is that you do your best.’

Kerr’s own insightful essay in the printed program proclaims ‘There are no swans in the ballet Swan Lake…’ explaining they are all women…’victims of an evil genius’. His reading offers an ambiguous ending to the ballet, suggesting that von Rothbart as the power of evil has been overcome, but perhaps only temporarily? Swan and Prince are together, but the misogynist magician will be back. He was conquered once, for now, but there may come a need to conquer him again. The resourceful lighting design by Jon Buswell contributes much here.

Branden Reiners as von Rothbart in *Swan Lake.* Royal New Zealand Ballet, 2024. Photo: Stephen A’Court

Jennifer Shennan, 3 May 2024

Featured image: Mayu Tanigaito as Odile and Laurynas Vejalis as Siegfried in Swan Lake, Act III. Royal New Zealand Ballet, 2024. Photo: Stephen A’Court

Co_Lab: 24. Australian Dance Party

Canberra Theatre Centre’s Courtyard Studio is always an interesting venue to visit. One never knows what might happen as far as performance goes, and not even how the venue will be set up. And so it was with the premiere of Co_Lab: 24 —the opening event for Ausdance ACT’s 2024 Australian Dance Week activities.

Co_Lab: 24 was an experimental collaboration using improvisation as a technique. It was performed by Alison Plevey and Sara Black from Australian Dance Party, guest dancer Melanie Lane, musicians Alex Voorhoeve and Sia Ahmad, and visual artist/lighting designer Nicci Haynes. Entering the Courtyard Studio we were greeted with an instruction, ‘Please don’t walk on the black area.’ That black area was a large piece of tarkett spread across the floor space—the dance floor. A single row of chairs pressed against the four walls of the space was the seating for the audience, and at four points on the edges of the tarkett we noticed the two musicians with their instruments, the lighting/visual arts performer with a range of electronic items ready for use, and the photographer for the night, Lorna Sim.

There was no narrative and the show was improvisatory with dancers and musicians always watching each other and moving or playing instruments in a collaborative manner. But there was an inherent plan within which the artists worked, made clear by those moments when a pattern of movement emerged. But there were also many other moments when absolute individuality predominated and the movement belonged specifically to particular dancers, and further moments when the dancers worked together without obvious patterning. All three dancers performed with admirable intensity using all parts of the body, even small parts such as fingers.

A lot of the movement was quite grounded (in true contemporary fashion). But there were also moments when a box became a prop that allowed the movement to reach upwards, and others when Nicci Haynes’ contribution of coloured imagery projected onto a rectangle of light in the centre of the tarkett allowed coloured patterns to appear over the bodies of the dancers.

(left) Sara Black, (reaching upwards) Melanie Lane, (on the floor) Alison Plevey in *Co_Lab: 24*. Australian Dance Party and collaborators. Photo: © Lorna Sim, 2024

Alison Plevey in *Co_Lab: 24*. Australian Dance Party and collaborators. Photo: © Lorna Sim, 2024

Part of the soundscape consisted of whispers, vocal noises, and other somewhat unrecognisable sounds from the equipment being used by Sia Ahmad. It was an unusual combination of sounds and, unfortunately, from where I was sitting it was difficult to follow what exactly was happening and how the sound was being created.

The absolute highlight for me was the finale when Voorhoeve stood up and moved into the centre of the tarkett space carrying his cello (his ‘regular’ one rather than the electric version that he had been playing for most of the performance). There he and Plevey performed a duet that was quite absorbing in the clear and strong interaction that existed between them. As the work came to a close Plevey left the spotlight leaving Voorhoeve alone. He played solo for a short time and then finished the evening by collapsing his body forward over the cello. The show was over.

Alex Voorhoeve in *Co_Lab: 24*. Australian Dance Party and collaborators. Photo: © Lorna Sim, 2024

Michelle Potter, 1 May 2024

Featured image: (l–r) Melanie Lane, Alison Plevey and Sara Black (with Alex Voorhoeve a small figure in the background) in Co_Lab: 24. Australian Dance Party and collaborators. Photo: © Lorna Sim, 2024

Dona Nobis Pacem. The film

John Neumeier choreographer. Hamburg Ballet
reviewed by Jennifer Shennan

John Neumeier has been the artistic director and choreographer of Hamburg Ballet since 1973. His prolific output of numerous full-length ballets over those decades is legendary, and what’s more, all the works have stayed current in the company’s repertoire and are given regular return seasons. That is a phenomenal achievement in world ballet terms.

I was more than fortunate, when on a Goethe Institut study tour to Germany in 2005, to see many of Neumeier’s full-length ballets staged in a breathtaking single week in Hamburg—Romeo & Juliet, Lady of the Camelias, Death in Venice, Midsummer Nights Dream, Odysseus, Mahler Third Symphony. I have simply never recovered from that week and indeed have no intention of ever recovering.

Hamburg Ballet later performed in Brisbane where I saw Nijinsky Gala. Neumeier has long and often cited Vaslav Nijinsky as the formative inspiration for his own life in ballet. On a later visit to Copenhagen I was enormously impressed by the Royal Danish Ballet’s production of The Little Mermaid, which they had commissioned of Neumeier. I visited Hamburg again in 2015, to see his Bach St.Matthew Passion.

I’d have to say deep and lasting gratitude was the word for all these choreographic riches, but you can’t have too much of a good thing so when recently I noticed Dona Nobis Pacem, to JS Bach’s B Minor Mass, was to be Neumeier’s prayer for peace in the world and his swan song choreography as he prepares to retire from Hamburg Ballet, I was tempted to treat myself to a final trip to Europe. Would I, wouldn’t I get there?

Measure my delight then to notice that the local Arts TV channel was about to screen film of Dona Nobis Pacem right here in my front room! So I didn’t have to fly to Europe after all but just to cancel all commitments for a day and a night and sit glued to the screen for two airings of the work that proves among the of most poignant, exquisite, sad and uplifting of ballets ever made.

Do check Youtube for a 5 minute excerpt of the work. There you will see the superb ensemble dancing of the blessed spirits, as well as of the shell-shocked soldier-victims of war. The lead performer, Spanish born dancer Aleix Martinez, brilliantly portrays the central role of—shall we call him the Unknown Soldier, or Everyman. He would and should outdance warmongers everywhere—but that’s not the way the world works of course.

One of several excerpts from Dona Nobis Pacem available on YouTube

A few days later the same Arts Channel broadcast the documentary—The Life and Work of John Neumeier. All manner of insights are offered, as to how the boy from Milwaukee ended up as arguably Europe’s finest ballet choreographer who rates the music he selects as highly as the dances he sets to them. You don’t work with French pianist David Fray unless you mean business. Clearly these films exist somewhere in the world. Please hunt them down and watch them, then tell your grandchildren what you saw.

If we had to pick our three favourite choreographers in the whole world, and thank goodness we don’t, my votes would go to John Neumeier, and to New Zealand’s Gray Veredon (more on him later), and the remarkable Douglas Wright. Both Neumeier and Wright shared the magnetic inspiration of Nijinsky, of dancer and of choreographer in their own calling, and I was more than once made mindful of Wright by this choreography of Neumeier and by the performance of Martinez, which is about the finest compliment I can offer to them all.

Jennifer Shennan, 29 April 2024

Featured image: DVD cover, Dona Nobis Pacem

Carmen. The Australian Ballet

17 April 2024 (matinee). Joan Sutherland Theatre, Sydney Opera House

Changes to artistic directorship in any dance company invariably bring changes to repertoire and this current production of Carmen is quite unlike the Carmen many older dance-goers may remember—Roland Petit’s Carmen first performed by the Australian Ballet in 1973. The current production, created in 2015 by Swedish choreographer Johan Inger, follows the love life of Carmen as told originally in Prosper Mérimée’s 1845 novella. But Inger has recontextualised the story, giving it something of a focus on the relationships, often violent and aggressive, between men and women.

But wider than repertoire, new directors usually have a personal vision for a company. Two comments from audience members in relation to Inger’s Carmen, had me thinking about Hallberg’s vision for the Australian Ballet. One person was moved to say, ‘The choreography was magnificent’ but I heard another say as she left, ‘Well I won’t be coming to see that again!’.

Choreographically this Carmen is indeed magnificent, and it was danced magnificently by the artists of the company. It is balletic in a sense, especially in regard to the arms, which are often curved up and over the head in a fourth or fifth position of sorts, and also in the spatial patterns that are formed when a group of dancers moves across the stage space as one.

Jill Ogai (centre) and Australian Ballet artists in a scene from *Carmen*. The Australian Ballet, 2024. Photo: © Daniel Boud

But there is a very contemporary feel and look to the choreography for much of the time. The feet aren’t pointed to any great extent and, in fact, the heel is often emphasised over the balletic style of the pointed toe, and there is a lot that seems grounded and attached to the floor in some way. In addition the dancers scream and shout about various events that occur, and they do it loudly. It is an unexpected addition but adds an effect that is highly theatrical.

Callum Linnane in a scene from Johan Inger’s *Carmen*. The Australian Ballet, 2024. Photo: © Daniel Boud

But whatever the choreography, every single person in the cast, led by Jill Ogai as Carmen, Callum Linnane as Don José, Marcus Morelli as Torero, and Brett Chynoweth as Zuñiga, enters into the spirit of the work, and into their individual roles, with gusto. In addition to the principals, special mention goes to Larissa Kiyoto Ward as Manuela, who has an explosive fight with Carmen at one stage, and Lilla Harvey as an addition to the story as the Boy who watches on throughout.

As for the second comment—’Well I won’t be coming to see that again!’—Inger’s Carmen is certainly not for the faint-hearted. It pulls no punches about sexuality, the often violent interaction of men and women, various traumatic and often abusive moments in life, and the like. But to counter this, there are content warnings given such as, ‘Carmen contains mature adult themes including sexual content and depictions of violence that some people may find disturbing’. It’s probably not a work that one would take children to see but, nevertheless, with input from a dramaturg (Gregor Acuña-Pohl), there is a clarity in the way the narrative unfolds that is absorbing and it would be well worth seeing more than once.

There is a certain simplicity to the design elements of the work including lighting by Tom Visser, costumes by David Delfin and a set of moving rectangular structures by Curt Allen Wilmer and Leticia Gañán. The music from Rodion Shchedrin after Georges Bizet with some additional music from Marc Alvarez was thrilling to the ear.

So what to conclude regarding repertoire and the vision of David Hallberg? Let’s hope he continues to give us outstanding contemporary dance works from across the world (like the Inger Carmen), while not forgetting the occasional item that has something pure and classical about it, and material from Australian choreographers.

Michelle Potter, 18 April 2024

Featured image: Jill Ogai as Carmen and Callum Linnane as Don José in Johan Inger’s Carmen. The Australian Ballet, 2024. Photo: © Daniel Boud

A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Queensland Ballet (2024)

12 April 2024. Lyric Theatre, Queensland Performing Arts Centre, Brisbane

This is not the first time I have seen and reviewed Liam Scarlett’s magnificent version of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. And there have also been reviews on this website from Jennifer Shennan given that the work was originally a joint production between Queensland Ballet and Royal New Zealand Ballet. Its world premiere was in New Zealand in Wellington in August 2015 and it was first seen in Australia in Brisbane in April 2016. For me it is a production that benefits from being seen over and over and with new casts. There always seem to be new aspects of the production that I haven’t noticed to the same extent on previous occasions. It is a credit to Scarlett that he embedded so many layers of meaning across the work.

The opening scene, in which fairies set the night time scene for us in a clearing in a forest, is always a treat to observe. The multi-level setting from Tracy Grant Lord, along with her glorious costumes, and the spectacular lighting from Kendall Smith, take us instantly into a different world where we feel unexpected moments may well occur. And they do! In overall approach, Scarlett has kept the Shakespearean storyline of Titania and Oberon and their disagreement over a Changeling child, and kept intact Oberon’s activities to take revenge on Titania. But the storyline has been altered somewhat to add what is perhaps a more humorous aspect to some scenes, or perhaps to modernise some elements.

But those elements aside, Lucy Green as Titania, and Joel Woellner as Oberon were outstanding, both in their characterisation of their roles and in their dancing. Woellner’s first solo, as he pondered how to take his revenge against Titania after she had swept him aside and taken charge of the Changeling, was filled with beautifully fluid movement and fast, perfectly executed turns that allowed Tracy Grant Lord’s Act I costume, with its flowing coat panels, to be an intrinsic part of the action.

There were some brilliant moments too from Green when, thanks to the actions of Puck (Kohei Iwamoto), she had fallen in love with Bottom (Rian Thompson). The physicality of Bottom’s name was played on in a masterly manner.

Titania and Bottom. *A Midsummer Night’s Dream*, Queensland Ballet, 2024

But perhaps the most exceptional work from Woellner and Green came in their last pas de deux when the issues between Titania and Oberon had been resolved. It was truly a choreographic delight to see such beautiful partnering so attuned choreographically to the music (with the usual, very special input from conductor and arranger Nigel Gaynor and Camerata—Queensland’s Chamber Orchestra). Along with the incredible lifts and the pushing of technical boundaries, that pas de deux was gently calming and demonstrative of a resolution to the extent that tears came close to my eyes. It seemed to link up thematically with the charming nature of the fairies in the opening scene.

Titania and Oberon in the final pas de deux. . *A Midsummer Night’s Dream*, Queensland Ballet, 2024

Kohei Iwamoto has been playing Puck since the work’s Wellington premiere but never once does he seem to be replaying anything. His performance on this occasion was as fresh as ever and one can’t help but be stunned by his great elevation and awareness of moving through space, as well as the way he plays up to the audience at times while always remaining aware of his place in the storyline.

The Rustics, with their very down-to-earth choreography and their absolute enjoyment of what they were doing, and the four Explorers (and lovers) all held their own. I was especially taken by a pas de deux performed by Hermia (Chiara Gonzalez) and Lysander (Alexander Idaszak), which, apart from being danced beautifully, was like the final pas de deux between Titania and Lysander—perfectly in harmony with the music.

There were just a couple of disappointments for me. One was that the Changeling, such a beautiful addition to the work, seemed not to have been coached to the same extent, or in the same manner, as on previous occasions. I was blown away the first time I saw this Dream with the way in which the Changeling was such an endearing character with such obvious human characteristics. This time he seemed a somewhat static addition, an afterthought even, and perhaps it was not so much to do with the dancer but with the interpretation that had been suggested he take on. A changeling, it seems, can have a number of characteristics, but the approach I saw that first time was such a delight and added such a recognisably human element to the story, which I’m sure Scarlett would have loved.

The other disappointment came with the final pas de deux between Oberon and Titania. In my first viewing of this production I loved the sexiness that was part of the reconciliation. I wrote, ‘…. there was a gorgeous moment in the pas de deux of reconciliation between Oberon and Titania where he ran his hand along her extended leg and she followed that movement with a little shake of the lower part of the leg. A frisson of excitement.’ The ‘frisson’ was missing this time!

But disappointments aside, Liam Scarlett’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream is a sensational work that never ceases to bring joy, surprise and admiration at every viewing. Queensland Ballet always shows its standout qualities.

Michelle Potter, 14 April 2024

Read my review of the first Australian performance at this link and listen below to Jennifer Shennan’s review of the world premiere, as recorded by Radio NZ.

Featured image (cropped): Three Fairies with the Changeling in the bottom right-hand corner. A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Queensland Ballet, 2024

All photos: © David Kelly. Found on Queensland Ballet’s Facebook page and uploaded by Kelly.

Woman Life Freedom. Crows Feet Dance Collective

24 March 2024. Hannah Playhouse, Wellington
reviewed by Jennifer Shennan

This dance work is choreographed by Jan Bolwell and performed by 35 members of Crows Feet Dance Collective, an ensemble of mature dancers, marking 25 years since the formation of the group in 1999.

‘Anyone can join Crows Feet—you just have to be a woman over 35. There are no auditions’ reads the program note. It’s a courageous undertaking to put trained former dancers together with others who have never performed professionally—never mind mid-30s, some are in their 70s and 80s. In today’s dance culture, which typically favours technical virtuosity and the prowess of youth, it is refreshing to see this dignified and measured yet impassioned meditation on the roles and rights of women in several parts of the world, focussing principally on Iranian and Kurdish societies.

Anna Groves in two moments from Woman Life Freedom, 2024. Photos: © Rob Edwards

The hour-long dance work is a vigil, a witnessing, a lament, a letter to the world. It plays against Gorecki’s Symphony of Sorrowful Songs, and incorporates text from a number of sources, including the utterly wonderful poem by Maya Angelou—A Brave and Startling Truth. There’s not meant to be a star in a show of this nature but, since her words address all of humankind, Angelou (who was herself a dancer of some note) is that star—or do I mean that Annie Ruth delivers her text with an empathy and luminous vocal quality that binds the performance together. The poem Home, by Warsan Shire, is equally memorably spoken.

Gorecki had Poland’s tragedies in mind—Angelou knew too well the violent savagery meted out to Black Americans—Shire is British-Somali—so the show’s telling of Iranian women’s struggles and resilience finds echo in many other times and places in the world. Processions resemble mediaeval basses danses, tableaux and groupings use lengths of cloth to double as hijab or the shrouded bodies of dead babies, a serpentine farandole of grief acts as a poroporoaki to farewell family and friends.

It’s sad and sobering, but finds a way to end with resilience and hope—which are words you can equally apply to Jan Bolwell herself, both in her life and her work. It’s a yes from me.

Jennifer Shennan, 29 March 2024

Featured image: Anna Groves in a moment from Woman Life Freedom, 2024. Photo: © Bob Zuur

Awkward. Catapult Dance Choreographic Hub

27 March 2024. The B, Queanbeyan Arts Centre

Below is a slightly expanded version of my review of Awkward published online by Canberra City News on 28 March 2024.

In just one performance in The B, a former Bicentennial Hall renovated to become a theatre space, the Newcastle-based Catapult Dance Choreographic Hub presented Awkward, a work with a focus on ‘The wit and wisdom of the socially awkward.’

In essence Awkward set out to be a multi-disciplinary work with a strong dance component but centering on a spoken narrative about an event to which six young people, unknown at first to each other, arrived to party together. Some were shy, others weren’t. Some made an effort to connect, others didn’t. A kind of compere, the seventh person in the story, explained to the arrivals how they should behave at such an event, what to do with the eyes when talking to someone new, for example. We watched as the young people slowly began to interact with each other. Sometimes the effort to interact worked, sometimes it didn’t, so there was much changing of relationships.

One performer tries (unsuccessfully) to connect with another in *Awkward*. Photo: © Ashley de Prazer, ca. 2023

Interaction was most often expressed through dancing, which was performed to popular songs from around the 1980s and 1990s. The songs and the narrative were often closely connected in theme and the choreography, by Cadi McCarthy, a co-director of the Catapult company, was distinguished by some eye-catching lifts and partnering, and tumbles and turns in a grounded contemporary style. The performers, Jordan Bretherton, Cassidy Clarke, Alexandra Ford, Nicola Ford, Romain Hassanin, Remy Rochester, and Anna McCulla, all danced well and performed with strong stage presence. It was extremely frustrating, however, that. without a program or any images on show in the lobby of the theatre, it was not easy to identify which dancer was playing which role. The strongest dancer amongst the seven, at least for me, was the performer in the tartan costume in the left-front position in the featured image. Who is she? No idea. But I really enjoyed her dancing. She also appears in the image below standing across the two bars that make up part of the set.

The B provided an interesting space for the work. Two levels were used—a relatively small, raised stage became a living area on which the dancers engaged with each other, on and around several lounge chairs, while in front of the stage at ground level was the bar area and the dance floor. Steps on either side of the ground level space led up to the raised area and the dancers used both spaces equally and effectively. I wondered whether or not the Catapult group had used this kind of double performing space when performing this work in other venues? The company certainly looked very comfortable moving up and down, back and forth.

It was a shame, however, that the performance was as long as it was—it lasted around 75 minutes. After a while the choreography started to look repetitive and Awkward could have been 15 or 20 minutes shorter and saved itself from losing its power. The multi-disciplinary nature of the work was somewhat problematic too. While the ‘compere’ took a significant role in the early part of Awkward, the narrative disappeared somewhat as the work progressed and dance took over. I preferred the dance component to the narrative element, which often seemed not so much funny (although much of the audience laughed and laughed) as a little pathetic. But, more importantly, the loss, or lessening of the narrative meant that the intrinsic nature of the work as established at the beginning was lost.

Awkward began as a kind of ‘total work of art’ (Gesamtkunstwerk to use the early name for that idea). But slowly Awkward lost that quality, or the idea of totality was significantly lessened. As a result, and unfortunately the work was uneven in the way it was presented. And, again unfortunately, Awkward was too long. A shortened work and a more consistent approach would have added an ongoing strength to the work.

Michelle Potter, 28 March 2024

The version published by Canberra City News is at this link.

Featured image: The five female performers from Awkward with the ‘compere’ in the central position. Photo: © Ashley de Prazer, ca. 2023

Paradise Rumour. Black Grace

22 March 2024. St James Theatre, Wellington
reviewed by Jennifer Shennan

Paradise Rumour, commissioned by Sharjah Festival in UAE (now that’s different), has toured in USA, and also performed in Auckland and Christchurch. This single performance in Wellington marks the end of its current season though further performances in Australia and the Pacific—Noumea? Suva? Honolulu? would make a lot of sense.

The Black Grace team is on top of their game—producing a printed program which contains Ieremia’s fine poem by way of libretto for the work, all the production info you need, and also folds out as a striking poster (see featured image above). It costs $3 and I shouldn’t think there’d be many copies headed for recycling any time soon.

This is dark and courageous choreography from Neil Ieremia in which he calls out the controlling power that missionaries historically claimed in 19th century Pacific, and Samoa in particular. Its message is one of resilience.

The work is strikingly staged with copious tropical vegetation on both sides of the stage, and lighting that follows sunrise through to dark night. This very effectively creates a Pacific Island locality, though be sure this is not anything to do with the Paradise of contemporary tourist attraction. Instead the work runs deep the into the complexity of interactions that missionaries historically required of their original converts, willing or otherwise, and the subsequent generations of migrants.

Paradise Rumour is layered, complex, enigmatic and elliptical, poignant and provocative. There are intriguing sculptural images of costumes or props that change before our eyes in a range of lighting variations. Quite often lately we have seen big shows where, although billed as dance, there’s a much reduced role for dancers to play as high tech audio-visuals move in to play the lead roles. Here there’s miles and miles of intrepid dancing, in fresh and unpredictable rhythms within a stunning score.

There are contrasting movement qualities among the six performers. Fuaao Tutulu Faith-Schuster, Demi-Jo Manaio, Rodney Tyrell—a lyrical woman, a female pocket rocket, a strong graceful male—are dancers who establish the emotional experiences. Three actor-musicians—Vincent Farane, Sione Fataua and Leki Jackson-Bourke—carry the story of the conflicted missionary forward. The rich soundscape by Faiumu Matthew Salapu underpins the whole show.

Fuaao Tutulu Faith-Schuster and Rodney Tyrell in Neil Ieremia’s *Paradise Rumour*. Black Grace, 2024. Photo: © Duncan Cole

The dancers are running—and my, how they are running! Is that to get to somewhere or away from somewhere? The answer is yes, because they are running on the spot. Alchemy turns this dance show into powerful theatre which is more than the sum of its parts. Such qualities rank Black Grace with Bangarra Dance Theatre’s explorations of Australian indigenous experience, and that’s high praise from me.

The capacity audience left buzzing and smiling—not that the show was cheerful exactly, but because it’s about something, it’s a stunning achievement from every angle, and because its stamina is infectious. Folks on the bus home were still talking animatedly about it. That doesn’t happen often.

Jennifer Shennan, 24 March 2024

Featured image: Poster image for Paradise Rumour. Photo: Duncan Cole/Toaki Okano

Belle—A Performance of Air. Movement of the Human

14 March 2024. St James Theatre, Wellington
reviewed by Jennifer Shennan

Belle—A Performance of Air is a theatrical event of monumental proportions.

The stage is mostly a launching pad for take-off from gravity, with high-flying spinning aerialists and moving sculptures that evoke time past and time future in a range of astonishing ways.

There’s a striking opening image—backlit figures wired into a ground control centre, they’re there then they’re not—what’s real and what’s virtual? what’s human and what’s AI? who are you and who are you sitting next to?

Five ‘movement and dance specialists’ Brydie Colquhoun, Anu Khapung, Jemima Smith, Aleeya McFadyen-Rew and Nadiyah Akbar, perform dance sequences (still on the ground) of electric staccato movement, as though thoughts are being cancelled before they can be completed, lending urgency and frustration. The ‘aerialist specialists’ are Imogen Stone, Katelyn Reed, Rosita Hendry and Ellyce Bisson. A human standing inside a circle always evokes Leonardo da Vinci’s Vetruvian Man, one of my favourite images of all time. Here that’s a Woman, and her airborne spinning dance within the hoop is something to behold. An impressive singing violinist, Anita Clark, is live and also reflected onto high angled screens that shape-shift before our eyes.

Stunning lighting design offers many a trompe l’oeil that spills the work up into the flies, into the auditorium and the royal boxes, then searches out the audience with waves of blinding light. The stage becomes a sea of mist in which the performers hide, and finally disappear in a devastatingly uncompromising finale.

The work lasts less than a hour, and is described as ‘a meditation on what lies beyond’. It’s the work of Malia Johnston as director/producer, Rowan Pierce as stage and lighting director, Jenny Ritchie as aerial choreographer and costume designer, and composition by Eden Mulholland. You could have called it millennial twenty-five years ago, let’s call it apocalyptic now. Over and again I found echoes from Major Tom—Take your protein pills and put your helmet on … Commencing countdown, engines on … Check ignition and may God’s love be with you … Now it’s time to leave the capsule if you dare … I’m stepping through the door And I’m floating in a most peculiar way … And the stars look very different today … Though I’m past one hundred thousand miles … I’m feeling very still … And I think my spaceship knows which way to go… Tell my wife I love her very much she knows Your circuit’s dead, there’s something wrong. Far above the Moon Planet Earth is blue And there’s nothing I can do.

I then thought of Yuri Gagarin, who after he returned to the ship, albeit late, from the first ever space walk , said ‘I felt as though I had been dancing’.

You can probably tell that the various sensory stimuli of the show, the stunning ‘smoke and mirrors’ that worked without a hitch, invite a high kinaesthetic response in us. We have been warned several times of the haze, strobe, and bright light spill, and such goods were delivered in no small measure. The trouble with that is—as with the road sign ‘Beware of falling rocks’—there’s not a lot you can do about it once you’re on the road. You can always stay home of course—but I wouldn’t have missed the show for the world.

I just close my eyes during strobes, and hold up the programme sheet to block out painfully bright lights (as do a number of the audience around me, even though none of us wants to miss the rest of the imagery). Those breaks in turn mean we are made aware of ourselves watching the show, rather than being totally transported by it, even though we are that too.

You get the feeling there will be more shows from this talented team. I challenge them to find a way of lighting the show to ilIuminate their ideas without trapping us in the headlights. They’ve proved they can do almost anything, so of course they can do this too.

Jennifer Shennan, 15 March 2024

Stunt Double. The Farm

14 March 2024. The Playhouse, Canberra Theatre Centre

Stunt Double is a jaw-dropping immersive theatre experience bringing audiences inside the filming of a 1970s Aussie action flick.

So goes one encouragement to attend a performance of Stunt Double, the latest production from the Gold Coast based dance-theatre company The Farm. The work of The Farm, going by the previous productions I have seen to date, pushes dance into highly physical areas and uses the theatre aspect of a production as a means to comment on aspects society and social behaviour in an outrageously flamboyant and conspicuous manner. OTT perhaps? Stunt Double was no exception.

The title Stunt Double does not relate to the narrative behind the work (if the work’s ‘storyline’ can be called a narrative), which is a reflection on filmmaking within the time frame of the 1970s—think (I am told) Wake in Fright, Razorback and BMX Bandits. The phrase ‘Stunt Double’ refers to the fact that the main characters in the story have a double who is able to perform the exceptional flips, falls and flights of the body while the main characters get on with the acting and dialogue. There are several separate scenes relating in some way, I guess, to one or other of the 1970 movies, while also looking at the production of these scenes in a way that suggests that those who push the production along often have little regard for the actors. There is much so-called ‘coarse language’ throughout, the atmosphere is loud and the scenes for the most part brightly lit.

But what about the dancing and the physical movement, although the work does bring up the question of how we define dancing!? According to my feelings about what is dancing, the highlight in Stunt Double was a section in which two women dressed in long red outfits perform a duet that has them working sometimes closely together and sometimes side by side mirroring each other’s movements. I have no idea who the dancers were as there was no easily accessible indication of who was who and who played which role. So, it was a bit hard to locate this scene within the overall context of the work. Perhaps it was in place of interval as there was no regular interval break in the 90 minute show?

As for the stunts, which to me represented the physical movement side of things, they were brilliantly performed. In one spectacular scene, a cricketer, after being part of a winning team, bashed up one of the performers (although actually I’m not sure why?). This section was distinguished by the dramatic sound of those hits (sound design by Luke Smiles), the involvement of the cricketer (who was he?) through his use of the body, and the stunt man who took the hits, flew about and fell to the ground on numerous occasions in such an exceptional manner.

Perhaps the most mind-blowing section, however, was towards the end when a yellow car arrived onstage. It stayed on the spot, but with its wheels turning simulated movement. It became the focus of attention as the performers variously interacted with it, simulating being hit by the car. They threw themselves in the air, landing on the car at times, with one amazing moment when one stunt man threw himself onto the bonnet of the car, slid across the bonnet towards the front window and burst through the window into the interior. (The glass on the front window had been removed I might add!)

But despite some spectacular tricks and a few beautiful moments of dancing (according to my definition of the word), I was not a huge fan of the overall production, although there were plenty in the audience who were. I admire the way The Farm takes on its criticism of society in a unique manner, and the way it focuses on spectacular movement. But Stunt Double seemed somewhat episodic, continually coarse and mostly quite loud. Sometimes a bit of subtlety goes a long way in getting an idea across the footlights. It would have been useful too had there been some king of program material available. Was this kind material available in other venues, I wondered? Or was it Canberra missing out, which sometimes happens?

The Farm is co-directed by Grayson Millwood and Gavin Webber both of whom were performers in Stunt Double. The script was written by Webber and the idea for the show was conceived by Millwood, Webber, Kate Harman and Chloe Ogilvie.

Michelle Potter, 15 March 2024