Athol Willoughby (1932–2020)

Athol Willoughby, OAM, professional dancer, dance teacher, educator, examiner, adjudicator, board member and patron of Cecchetti Ballet Australia, has died in Melbourne at the age of 87.

Athol Willoughby was born and educated in Tasmania. His interest in dance began in Hobart when, with a friend, he would go to the movies every Friday night. It was the era of Hollywood musicals and he would watch outstanding male dancers, including Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly, both of whom he greatly admired. But it was not until the Borovansky Ballet toured to Hobart, when Willoughby was aged 14, that he was given an opportunity to take ballet classes with Hobart teacher, Beattie Jordan. He began formal ballet training in 1946.

An early dance portrait of Athol Willoughby, 1940s(?). Courtesy of Anne Butler
An early dance portrait of Athol Willoughby, 1950s (?). Courtesy of Anne Butler

Willoughby’s career began in earnest, however, when the Melbourne-based National Theatre Ballet visited Hobart. Willoughby took some classes with the company and, as a result, Leon Kellaway, the company ballet master, suggested he should move to Melbourne to take classes at the National Theatre Ballet School. In Melbourne, Willoughby was taught by esteemed Cecchetti teacher, Lucie Saronova, whose influence on his future was immense. Remembering Saronova’s classes Willoughby recalled:

I enjoyed Madam’s classes but they lasted exactly an hour and she packed a lot into a class. There was very little correction. It was doing the exercises that was supposed to get you there, not breaking the exercises down, as is the custom today. But a terrifying aspect of Madam’s classes was that she had been a fantastic turner. She always, at the end of every class, gave a series of diagonal turns. And it didn’t matter whether you were male or female you had to do these diagonal turns. Well I hadn’t been brought up to expect anything like this—perhaps a few chaînés, petits tours as Cechetti calls them, or posé turns—but not these complex diagonals. I used to hate it. I used to try to be the last one down the diagonal until I subsequently figured out that if you were first you had the least attention and you were out of the way and forgotten.

Later in the 1950s he gained his own qualifications as a Cecchetti teacher and began working across Melbourne, including for Dame Margaret Scott at her ballet school, which she set up in Toorak in 1955. But his performance career continued in Melbourne and he eventually joined the National Theatre Ballet and performed with them, dancing both the classics and the repertoire of two directors of the company, Walter Gore and Valrene Tweedie. Tweedie, also Cecchetti trained, remained a close colleague until her death in 2008.

Athol Willoughby and Valrene Tweedie in Tweedies’s production of Francesca da Rimini. National Theatre Ballet, 1955. Photo: Walter Stringer. Personal collection of Athol Willoughby

In 1958 Willoughby left for London where he took classes with Anna Northcote and Stanislas Idzikowski. He took on various theatrical and non-theatrical jobs before joining Peter Darrell’s Western Theatre Ballet. But an illness in the family necessitated a return to Australia in 1961. He danced in Tivoli shows during the 1960s, including in a pantomime production of Cinderella in which he played one of the Ugly Sisters. He also continued to teach, travelling across the city and into regional centres before buying the Essendon Academy of Ballet in 1962. He directed the Essendon Academy until 1997 and the students whose careers he nurtured over more than three decades have gone on to dance across the world. Some have become teachers and examiners. But all had their lives enriched by his continued service to dance, in particular to the Cecchetti approach to ballet. But his humility was such that he was able to say, ‘I was just there to try to teach them classical ballet correctly—I like to see it done correctly—and with discipline.’

But before he retired from teaching he twice returned to the stage as a guest artist with the Australian Ballet: in Anne Woolliams’ 1990 revival of Swan Lake in which he took the role of the Hungarian Ambassador, and in Graeme Murphy’s Nutcracker. The Story of Clara in 1992 and 1994 where he played one of Clara the Elder’s émigré friends.

Willoughby once described himself as ‘a born collector of books and clothes and bits and pieces’. His home in Carlton North, which he shared with his partner James O’Donnell, was evidence of his collecting obsession, and of his interest in many forms of art. Both Willoughby and O’Donnell would often visit Canberra to take in the latest exhibition at the National Gallery, or National Library. I was fortunate enough to be able to have lunch with them on a number of those visits. Sharing a meal with them was always a very special occasion. Vale Athol.

Portrait of Athol Willoughby. Courtesy of Anne Butler

Athol Willoughby: born Campbell Town, Tasmania, 1 September 1932; died Melbourne, Victoria, 19 July 2020

Read more about Athol Willoughby at these links: Athol Willoughby. Lifetime Achievement Award 2018; Athol Willoughby. An oral history; Dance diary. March 2013 (on Walter Gore’s ballet The Crucifix—scroll down!).
Please note that Athol Willoughby’s oral history interview for the National Library is not at present available online. This reflects certain permissions that Willoughby placed on public use of the material. I hope the situation may be able to be changed. It is a wonderful interview, full of fascinating anecdotes as well as being a good outline of Willoughby’s career.

Michelle Potter, 21 July 2020

Featured image: Portrait of Athol Willoughby, 2018. Photo: © Michela Dent-Causon

Coppélia. The Australian Ballet. Digital Season 2020

The Australian Ballet’s production of Coppélia dates back to 1979—thirty-one years ago—when it was staged by Peggy van Praggh with George Ogilvie as dramaturg. This 2020 digital screening was dedicated to Ogilvie, who died in April of this year. There is little doubt that Ogilvie’s input had a lot to do with the long-lasting success of the ballet and in fact he returned to work with the Australian Ballet for its 2016 production, which is the one we see in this online screening. Of course it can’t be denied that the visual beauty of the production, with sets and costumes by Kristian Fredrikson, added to its success. Fredrikson, who was born in Wellington, New Zealand, admitted that he designed Coppélia as a tribute to van Praagh who, back in the 1960s, gave him the opportunity to work in Australia. He regarded van Praagh as the person who nurtured his early career. It was indeed a lovely tribute from Fredrikson since Coppélia was a work in which van Praagh herself had shone during her own dancing career.

Peggy van Praagh as Swanilda. 'Coppélia', Act 11, 1940s. Photo: Anthony
Peggy van Praagh as”Swanhilda” (i.e. Swanilda) in Coppélia, Act 11, 1940s. Photo: Anthony. National Library of Australia

The dancing in many of the productions of Coppélia I have seen has often been of a rather mixed quality. But not this time. Led by Ako Kondo as Swanilda, Chengwu Guo as Franz and Andrew Killian as Dr Coppélius, with a stunning supporting cast, there was little to complain about, and everything to admire as far as performance goes.

Ako Kondo in the Spanish variation in Coppélia Act II. The Australian Ballet, 2016. Photo: © Jeff Busby

Kondo shone technically and in her acting, as did Guo. I especially loved the moments in Act I where the two of them stood in line to greet the official party arriving in the village square with Kondo declining, in no uncertain terms, to hold Guo’s hand (he had been paying too much attention to the doll on Dr Coppélius’ balcony). I also admired the grand pas de deux in Act III, which unfolded beautifully and was technically spectacular.

Andrew Killian was an interesting Dr Coppélius, not too over the top but very believable as an eccentric man totally absorbed in perfecting his magical powers. There was a lovely, calm rendition of the Prayer solo in Act III from Robyn Hendricks. And the corps de ballet deserves special mention for the vibrantly performed character dances in Act I. The Mazurka had its leading couple, but Guo joined in with a solo that added some spectacular moments in true principal artist fashion—exceptionally controlled turns, magnificent jumps and a truly beautiful showman-style use of head, chest and arms

As has been the case with pretty much every streamed production I have watched recently, it was great to see the occasional close-up shot of an individual dancer to give us a view of facial expressions and, of course, to give insight into the details of costumes.

My review of a 2016 performance, which I saw in Sydney with a quite different cast is at this link.

Michelle Potter, 20 July 2020

Featured image: Ako Kondo and Chengwu Guo in the grand pas de deux in Coppélia Act III. The Australian Ballet, 2016. Photo: © Jeff Busby

Postscript: It was extremely annoying that the cast sheet that was available on the Australian Ballet’s website, supposedly to give us information about the cast, was not the correct one. It was dated the evening performance in Sydney of 16 December 2016 but the cast was entirely different from the one we saw, who also, apparently, performed on 16 December. Perhaps there was a matinee performance on 16 December? But at least there were credits at the end of the film, which helped.

Cy-gents. Queensland Ballet, 2020

60 dancers: 60 stories. Queensland Ballet. Week 4

Art must prevail

Very belatedly, here are my thoughts on the fourth and final week of Queensland Ballet’s month of fundraising.

What a treat was the hilarious Cy-gents. And what a wonderful name! The Dance of the Little Swans from Swan Lake Act II has long been used, most often by men dressed in tutus and showing hairy legs, as a caricature of ballet. But QB’s Cy-gents was something else. Dressed in male practice attire, with the addition of a couple of baseball caps worn backwards (sideways perhaps is better), Liam Geck, Ari Thompson, Luke Dimattina and Kohei Iwamato danced to an arrangement by Janette Mulligan of the Petipa choreography for those Little Swans.

Each dancer performed in a different setting but editing of the four individual performances meant that sometimes we saw different arrangements on screen—each of the four dancing separately across the screen, four shots of one dancer, or some variation of that. Choreographically it was close enough to what we know and love but far enough away that it looked (mostly) as if it were made for male dancers. And the ending! I’ve never seen a Swan Lake cygnet fall into the ‘lake’ before. A very special three minutes or so.

I was taken too by Laura Tosar’s Nostalgia, which she said was danced in ‘the living room of her youth’. What an amazing house that was. It had to have been a set-up? But whatever, it was fascinating.

Laura Tosar in Nostalgia. Queensland Ballet, 2020

Queensland Ballet’s initiative in setting up this project, and the input from the dancers, music team and other support staff throughout June was absolutely brilliant. I only managed to mention around one sixth of what was on offer, but every video clip had a special quality. The company deserves every dollar it attracted.

Michelle Potter, 13 July 2020

Featured image: Cy-gents. Queensland Ballet, 2020

Artists of Australian Dance Theatre in ‘The Age of Unbeauty’. Photo: Chris Herzfeld

The Age of Unbeauty. Australian Dance Theatre. ADAPT Season 2020

The Age of Unbeauty goes back to 2002 when, as a work in progress. it was performed at the Adelaide Fringe. After that it played across Australia and around the world and won a number of awards. I am not sure of the date of the performance that was streamed as part of ADAPT, and by the time I thought to try to find out the streaming had closed. I’m not sure that it was ever revealed in the closing credits anyway

I hadn’t seen The Age of Unbeauty before and several words came straight to mind as I watched: violence, hatred, cruelty, intimidation, shame, vulnerability—words like that. It dealt with man’s inhumanity to man and certainly the relationships between the characters were mostly inhumane, and related, or so I understand, to artistic director Garry Stewart’s thoughts on the horrific treatment of refugees. Choreographic violence was clear. The dropping of pants was a constant image. There were references to medical issues, to imprisonment, to abuse. And there was a heart-stopping moment when two naked figures were visible behind a glass door unable to get out.

The Age of Unbeauty. Australian Dance Theatre. Photo:Chris Herzfeld
The Age of Unbeauty. Australian Dance Theatre. Photo: © Chris Herzfeld Camlight Productions

As we have come to expect from Australian Dance Theatre under Stewart’s direction, the performers were astonishing. Their gymnastic skills seem to know no bounds. They threw themselves through the air. They tumbled and turned. They balanced in positions that defy belief. But despite their incredible physical skills, somehow they are beginning to remind me of circus performers rather than dancers. It was, thus, with a sense of pleasure that I watched a quite beautiful video clip, the work of David Evans, towards the end of the work. In black and white, it consisted of individual headshots of men and women making simple, calm, unhurried moves. They turned their heads, or moved their gaze, nothing much more. Humanity at its most moving. Relief!

Michelle Potter, 13 July 2020

Featured image: Artists of Australian Dance Theatre in The Age of Unbeauty. Photo: © Alex Makayev

Artists of Australian Dance Theatre in ‘The Age of Unbeauty’. Photo: Alex Makayev
Madeleine Eastoe and Kevin Jackson in 'Giselle'. The Australian Ballet, 2015. Photo: © Jeff Busby

Dance diary. June 2020

  • On streaming

The current corona virus situation has given us many opportunities to see streamed productions from many of the world’s best companies. Some have been thrilling, and have been works, or have involved casts, that I am unlikely to see outside this streaming arrangement. One or two, however, have left me wondering.

The Australian Ballet’s decision to stream its 1986 production of Giselle was an odd one I thought. In the thirty-four years since 1986 much has changed in terms of filming techniques and in what we expect from dancers. I was underwhelmed in particular by the poor quality of the footage and I was not a fan of the characterisations of the leading characters, except perhaps by that of Paul de Masson as Hilarion. Techniques are stronger now as well.

It was also touted as Maina Gielgud’s production, which it no doubt was even it was staged by Colin Peasley. But Gielgud had been director of the company for just a few years in 1986 and, having seen more recent productions that have involved her input, most recently in 2018 but also in 2015, her production has grown in so many ways. Could we not have had something closer to 2020? The 1986 recording was a poor choice.

Then there was Smuin Ballet’s staging of Stanton Welch’s Indigo. I have often wondered about Indigo made originally for Houston Ballet in 1999. Its title seemed curious: how do you make a ballet about a colour? Well of course the title referred to the colour of the costumes, although that is also something of a curiosity to my mind. That aside, I was really disappointed by Welch’s choreography. It was filled with jerky staccato movements and I longed for a bit of lyrical relief. It also seemed to sit awkwardly, I thought, on the physiques of the Smuin dancers. But at least now I have seen it and needn’t muse about the title any more.

  • Australian activity in New Zealand

It is interesting to note that two Australian choreographers are to have their work performed in the coming months by Royal New Zealand Ballet, which will shortly return to full-scale performing. Alice Topp’s Aurum will be part of a mixed bill program called Venus Rising. The program is due to take place in August/September and will also feature works by Twyla Tharp, Andrea Schermoly, and Sarah Foster-Sproull.

See these links for my reviews of Aurum: Melbourne (2018), Sydney (2019). In both cases Aurum was part of a triple bill called Verve.

Andrew Killian and Dimity Azoury in Alice Topp's 'Aurum'. The Australian Ballet, 2019. Photo: © Daniel Boud
Andrew Killian and Dimity Azoury in Alice Topp’s Aurum. The Australian Ballet, 2019. Photo: © Daniel Boud

Later, in October through to December, Danielle Rowe, former principal with the Australian Ballet and now making a name for herself as a choreographer, will present her new Sleeping Beauty, also for Royal New Zealand Ballet.

  • Australian Dance Awards

The closing date for nominations for the 2019 and 2020 Australian Dance Awards has been extended. These two sets of awards cover work presented in 2018 and 2019. The closing date is now 20 July. For further information and to nominate follow this link.

Michelle Potter, 30 June 2020

Featured image: Madeleine Eastoe and Kevin Jackson in Giselle. The Australian Ballet, 2015. Photo: © Jeff Busby

Madeleine Eastoe and Kevin Jackson in 'Giselle'. The Australian Ballet, 2015. Photo: © Jeff Busby

60 dancers: 60 stories. Queensland Ballet. Week 3

Art must prevail

The standout performance for me in the third week of Queensland Ballet’s fundraising project was A Day at the Theatre. Choreographed and performed by Company Artists Alyssa Kelty and D’Arcy Brazier, it was a jazzy danced tour around QPAC from the stage door to the stage itself and around the parkland areas outside the QPAC buildings. I especially loved the way Kelty and Brazier paused next to a poster in the tunnel/walkway just past the stage door, which showed a quote from actor/writer Tim Minchin: ‘Define yourself by what you love.’ And the equally jazzy music the dancers used was an original piece composed and performed by Brett Sturdy from QB’s great music team.

But I also loved Awakening Passion choreographed by Jette Parker Young Artist Lachlan Mair who just recently joined Queensland Ballet from the Australian Ballet School. Mair says his contribution ‘explores [his] journey of discovery for [his] love for this art form’. He has managed to encapsulate so much within his short piece, which takes us from tentative steps at the barre to a a final reverence. I look forward to following Mair’s ongoing journey. His ability to extend and use every part of his body as he moves promises much.

Lachlan Mair in a moment from Awakening Passion

And as I post this, Queensland Ballet has just passed its goal of raising $1,000,000 to keep its artists and staff employed and to ‘keep the magic alive’. Exceptional!

Michelle Potter, 28 June 2020

Featured image: Alyssa Kelty and D’Arcy Brazier in a moment from A Day at the Theatre

HELD. Australian Dance Theatre. ADAPT Season 2020

I have been a fan of Lois Greenfield’s dance photography for some years now. As a matter of fact, three of her images hang in my study and I also had the pleasure of visiting her in her New York studio and buying a small selection of her work for the Jerome Robbins Dance Division when I was working there. One of my favourite shots is of former Australian Ballet dancer Annabel Bronner Reid caught by Greenfield amidst a sweeping length of fabric while executing a quite breathtaking grand jeté. So HELD, in which Lois Greenfield takes an integral role, holds a special place in my thoughts.

HELD, in a recording dating from the work’s premiere in Adelaide in 2004, was streamed for 48 hours in June as part of Australian Dance Theatre’s streaming initiative, ADAPT. In essence it examines dance and live photography for what together they might tell us about time and perception, for example, or motion and stillness. Greenfield is onstage for most of the hour-long performance, and captures on camera what she sees in front of her. Her images are shot at the astonishing speed of 1/2000 second and are projected within seconds onto onstage screens—usually two, one on either side of the stage space.

Stewart’s choreography is ideally suited to this kind of process. His dancers move at speed and in an explosive fashion. They put themselves into shapes that not many other dancers do. So what we see captured by Greenfield’s camera is startling. In fact we see dancers making unexpected shapes, taking twisted poses, showing intertwined bodies, which all add to a vision, a still image that would be unknown to us without Greenfield. Time passes, dance is ephemeral, and movements between movements are often unseen by the human eye, or not extracted by us from the vision ongoing movement. Greenfield gives us something of that ephemerality, and a lot of what we never perceive.

Beyond the astonishing mid-air moves that the dancers are so adept at performing, and that Greenfield captures so well, there are other sections that are also startling for their apparent lack of physical virtuosity. One section consists of groups of dancers posing almost motionless while a video plays on a screen placed centre stage. The video shows mostly close-up views of dancers’ faces. Emotional moments perhaps? Another fascinating section shows Greenfield’s ability to engage in a series of very fast takes so that a single resulting image transforms the dancer into a Shiva-like figure with multiple arms radiating from the torso.

It was a real treat to see HELD and to recall the talent of Greenfield as a dance photographer; the ADT dancers for their absolutely ballistic movement; and Stewart as a choreographer dealing with conceptual issues, and one who is also able to introduce diversity in both movement and concept. It sent me back to my photographs and the enjoyment they give.

A glimpse of my study in 2008 shortly after arriving home from New York, hence the sparseness of the surroundings. It is now jam-packed (and messy) with books, photos, essential devices and other such items, as well as the Greenfield photos

Michelle Potter, 27 June 2020

Featured image: A moment from HELD, Australian Dance Theatre, 2004. Photo: © Lois Greenfield

Chiara Gonzalez in 'Self Portrait'. Queensland Ballet's '60 dancers: 60 stories', 2020.

60 dancers: 60 stories. Queensland Ballet. Week 2

Art must prevail

In the second week of offerings in Queensland Ballet’s 60 dancers: 60 stories, what is there not to like about ‘Self Portrait’ by Chiara Gonzalez—seen above in the featured image? As for the floor cloth by the time she had finished dancing—well, eat your heart out Jackson Pollock! And I loved that her take on the theme of love—her deep love for art, including its creation—was somewhat different from most of the other approaches.

But then there’s Victor Estévez in the male solo from Act I of Swan Lake, including a brief appearance by Mia Heathcote as Odette. Only in Australia could there be a Hills Hoist in the setting! Even the escape to the park, so there was space to execute a series of grands jetés, had a very Australian bandstand in view. Oh, and Estévez danced beautifully of course.

Victor Estévez in the male solo from Swan Lake Act I. Queensland Ballet’s 60 dancers: 60 stories, 2020.

As with week 1, I loved the changing backgrounds: the sea, the sky, the lakes, the parks, the backyards, the interiors and so forth. Neneka Yoshida almost made me cry when I read her note about looking up at the sky, and I loved the reflections in Lina Kim’s beautiful dance through the landscape in her ‘Come with’. But then I couldn’t help laughing at the fun that Patricio Revé, Oscar Delbao and Charlie Slater were having in ‘Comrades’. Some great unison dancing there as well.

Neneka Yoshida in ‘After Glow of a Nocturne’. Queensland Ballet’s 60 dancers: 60 stories, 2020.

Musically too the series is a treat with such beautiful playing by the members of Queensland Ballet’s music team who have not only played accompaniments but even, in some cases, offered their own original creations for use in the project.

Again my comments are very personal and I have mentioned just a few from week 2. Take a look. It’s worth it. 60 dancers: 60 stories

Michelle Potter, 16 June 2020

Featured image: Chiara Gonzalez in ‘Self Portrait’. Queensland Ballet’s 60 dancers: 60 stories, 2020.

Neneka Yoshida in 'After Glow of a Nocturne'. Queensland Ballet's 60 dancers: 60 stories, 2020.

La Fille mal gardée. The Royal Ballet. Digital Season 2020 (and some memories)

I had the pleasure recently of watching, via its digital streaming season, a performance by the Royal Ballet of Frederick Ashton’s La Fille mal gardée. It featured Marianela Nuñez as Lise and Carlos Acosta as Colas and dates back to 2005. The partnership between Nuñez and Acosta was technically outstanding and delightful from the point of view of the interactions between the two dancers. Ashton’s choreography, of course, was full of beautiful and often unexpected movements, including his constant use of epaulement; and scenes that I relished seeing again—the storm scene for example, with the cast rushing hither and thither was quite absorbing.

Below is a link to the Act I Pas de ruban.

But the production also brought back memories of some other productions I had seen, and some wider contextual issues that have arisen over the years.

Memories of Fille

  • Paris Opera Ballet

Perhaps the most memorable production I have seen was a performance by the Paris Opera Ballet in 2009. It happened on 14 July, the French national day, so there were one or two moments before and during that performance where that significance of that day was not forgotten. Here is a link to the review I wrote.

  • A thoughtful young man

On a contextual issue, I am curious about the image below from an Australian Ballet performance of Fille during the 1970s. Who is the young man standing there looking thoughtful? I have my suspicions! The image was taken by Walter Stringer and is part of his collection held in the National Library in Canberra. Sadly, the colour is fading, or changing, and I have had to put a filter on it so that the face of the dancer is a little clearer.

Dancers in a 1970s Australian Ballet production of La Fille mal gardée. Photo: Walter Stringer. National Library of Australia

(Update on the photograph above: Confirming my suspicion, those who know suggest the thoughtful young man is Graeme Murphy).

  • Alan Alder

And on another contextual issue, I recently made a timed summary of an oral history interview I did with Alan Alder back in 1999. The interview and its summary will shortly go online. In the meantime, below I have posted a short (1 min 12 secs) excerpt from the interview.

Alder was well-known for his portrayal of Alain, Lise’s rich but slightly unusual suitor in Fille, both during his time with the Royal Ballet and later with the Australian Ballet. The role was created by Ashton on Alexander Grant, and later the role was taken on by Donald Britton. But due to circumstances, which Alder explains in the interview, while with the Royal Ballet’s touring company Alder took over the role from Britton. On one occasion, when the touring company was in Edinburgh, Ashton decided to take a trip from London to see how Alder was handling the role. In the brief extract below Alder speak of Ashton’s reaction.

  • David Vaughan

The production by the Royal also brought back memories of my late colleague David Vaughan, former archivist for the Merce Cunningham company and author of Frederick Ashton and his Ballets. Cunningham and Ashton were the two choreographers Vaughan admired most of all (although some correspondence I had with him shortly before he died suggests that, had he lived on, he would have added Alexei Ratmansky to that list). But I often wondered what he considered were the characteristics of Cunningham and Ashton that drew him towards these two choreographers. Did he see similarities in their approaches to choreography? Sadly, I never asked and now I will never know.

Michelle Potter, 16 June 2020

Featured image: Marianela Nuñez and Carlos Acosta in La Fille mal gardée. The Royal Ballet, 2005. Photo: © Bill Cooper/ROH

Dancers of Australian Dance Theatre in 'Devolution', 2006. Photo: © Chris Herzfeld/Camlight Productions

Devolution. Australian Dance Theatre. ADAPT Season 2020

The first thing I did after watching Garry Stewart’s Devolution (created in 2006) was go to the dictionary to check exactly what ‘devolution’ meant. In its most straight forward meaning, the dictionary (The Macquarie Dictionary is my go-to hard copy source) says ‘the transfer or delegation of power or authority’. But it appears to have a biological meaning, that is ‘degeneration, retrograde evolution’. Both are interesting, or perhaps relevant, with regard to Devolution. Looking on the list of credits, too, Stewart lists Steve Griffiths as ‘Biology Consultant’.

Looking at the work, however, it is impossible not to be instantly overwhelmed by the huge mechanical devices that populate the stage space—robotic structures created by Louis-Philippe Demers. They lurch forward and backward, up and down, and often dominate the choreography (or the choreography for humans that is). Some smaller structures take over the humans somewhat and become prosthetic appendages, although that they need to be attached to a cable hooked up to something backstage limits the dancing possibilities and detracts from the overall image they generate when attached to a dancer.

Tim Ohl in Devolution. Australian Dance Theatre, 2006. Photo: © Chris Herzfeld/Camlight Productions

As for performances by the human dancers, it is in the mode we have come to expect from Stewart. The dancers have no fear (or so it seems) as they throw themselves through the air and fall the the floor, only to get up again and continue their adventurous foray through space. Daring physicality is the hallmark of the dancing. We also see headstands held for a long time, and an incredible solo that is a series of variations while in a backbend. It’s extreme movement to put it mildly.

Costumes by Georg Meyer-Wiel someteimes had the dancers looking like insects given that the material was layered, shell-like and protective, although they also revealed the dancers’ backsides. No protection there.

But what of the connections between people and robots? What of devolution? Who is delegating power to whom? What is the biological process? Are the humans falling into some kind of degenerative state as the robotic structures march forward? I didn’t see Devolution during its premiere season so it was an experience to see it during this streaming season. But it isn’t my favourite piece by Stewart.

The most gentle aspect of Devolution came from video artist Gina Czarnecki with her beautiful images that floated through the space at the beginning and end of the work. They looked initially to me like abstractions of dancers’ limbs, but later they seemed more like the insects that were suggested by the dancers’ costumes. Whatever, they had a calming effect.

I watched Devolution between streamings of Giselle from the Australian Ballet and La Fille mal gardée by the Royal Ballet. Such different ends of the dance spectrum!

Michelle Potter, 13 June 2020

Featured image: Dancers of Australian Dance Theatre in Devolution, 2006. Photo: © Chris Herzfeld/Camlight Productions