15 July 2023 (matinee performance). Playhouse, Canberra Theatre Centre
The Canberra season of Lucie in the Sky from the Brisbane-based Australasian Dance Collective (ADC) was performed as part of Uncharted Territory, a new Canberra festival. The festival set out to investigate connections between technology and the arts, and the limitless possibilities of such connections. As an exploration of dance and drones, or dance with drones, and featuring six dancers and five drones, Lucie in the Sky, was perfectly suited to explore this connective idea.
Perhaps the first thing to say is that I was taken by surprise by the size of the drones. They were tiny. We in Canberra have had a certain amount of publicity (not always positive) about drones, the larger kind delivering coffee to people’s yards! The drones that entertained us in Lucie in the Sky were like insects that lit up the space and moved around it, and did so in a variety of often mysterious ways. They had names and personalities and were programmed to engage with the dancers (or vice versa) in different ways. They were ‘indoor drones’.
I especially enjoyed Lilly King whose dancing with a little drone lit blue seemed filled with emotion and care for the connection.
Before the curtain went up Amy Hollingsworth, artistic director of ADC, gave a short introductory talk about the various personalities of the drones and program notes listed the drones by name—one of whom, Lucie, gave her name to the show. But to tell the truth I was never sure which of the five drones was Lucie. I was unable to be accommodated on opening night (for reasons that I found extremely frustrating) so missed what was apparently a post performance discussion with some ADC personnel, which may have made things clearer. Who knows?
From a dance point of view (human dance that is), the standout performer was Harrison Elliott whose technique, including some hugely athletic jumps, was breathtaking. A significant amount of the dancing occurred between individual dancers and individual drones but there were moments of group dancing. I would have liked more.
Lucie in the Sky was performed to a score by Wil Hughes who was also responsible for the sound design. At times the score was very loud and I wondered whether this was in order to cover up the noise of the drones? They seemed to be moving silently across the space. Costumes by Harriet Oxley had, on one level, an overall simplicity—trousers and a top, one colour for all dancers—but they were filled with individual detail that was often surprising and always quite beautiful. Lighting by Alexander Berlage was suitably atmospheric and changeable, although sometimes very dark. While Amy Hollingsworth and the dancers were responsible for the human choreography, the drone choreography was created by the Swiss company, Verity Studios.
Lucie in the Sky was a monumental undertaking and, given the potential for drones to take off on their own pathway (I imagine) despite programming, which didn’t happen (at least not obviously), the show was a highly successful exploration and a fascinating collaboration.
Stars in 3D was yet another innovative program directed by Liz Lea and, as we have come to expect from Lea, it bridged barriers in so many ways. It was performed by Lea’s recently established inclusive dance group, Chamaeleon Collective, and was part of a new Canberra arts and innovation festival, Uncharted Territory. It was made in collaboration with two academics working in the field of Astronomy, Professor Susan Scott and Dr Brad Tucker from the Australian National University, with input from the Australian Research Council’s ASTRO 3D Centre, and supported by Recovery VR and QL2 Dance.
Stars in 3D was preceded by a talk and discussion with Scott and Tucker, which gave us a background to how Lea’s work was constructed and visually presented. Her program notes tell us that it is ‘A celebration of the Universe, from chromosomes to mapping the galaxy.’
The performing space, the QL2 black box area in Gorman Arts Centre, was an immersive space with three walls being used for the projection of images of a variety of matter from space. The images, and they were quite extraordinary shots, surrounded the dancers throughout the evening and often had words of explanation superimposed on them.
The work began with a solo from Jareen Wee who had been brought up from Melbourne as a guest artist with the Collective. With her beautifully fluid technique and expressive body she was the standout dancer of the evening and her opening dance recalled a solo she performed in Lea’s 2021 work The Point.
A highlight was the duet between Lea herself and Katie Senior, a dancer living with Down Syndrome, in which Senior’s thoughts on her life and activities were discussed through dance, communication, and film. This duet also looked back, this time to a work Lea and Senior made together in 2017 called That extra ‘some. It did, however, take on a new perspective within the context of Stars in 3D and had been extended, I think, with some extra film (there was film there that I don’t remember from the 2017 performance!). Perhaps I am wrong on that point but it was a special, and different experience to see it this time.
Surrounding the Katie Senior/Liz Lea duet there was a variety of dancing from the Collective, with dancers dressed sometimes in appropriately starry, glittering costumes as they promoted and simulated the astronomical discoveries that we heard about in the pre-show lecture.
In a brief interlude towards the end of the evening, Lea explained to us how to use the VR glasses we were given at the start of the show. For those who were able to get the glasses working using links on their mobile phone, some films in 3D were available to watch. (Don’t ask!)
All in all Stars in 3D was an unusual night, full of new experiences complemented by a diverse range of dancing, and filled with incredible images of a world beyond what we know well. Dance and science—a long-standing theme for Lea since she arrived in Canberra.
On a concluding note, for some time I wondered why the name of the group was Chamaeleon Collective, with that second ‘a’ in the spelling of the word. I was used to the word chameleon, the name of a lizard family known for its range of colours and ability to change colour and brightness. So why was there an extra ‘a’ in the name of the group? Eventually I asked Google and it turns out that Chamaeleon is the name of a small constellation in the deep southern sky named after the lizard family. The lizard family is sometimes spelled with that ‘a’ in there and its scientific name has the ‘a’ as well. So things became a little clearer and, all things considered, the spelling Lea uses is especially appropriate in the context of Stars in 3D given its connection with investigations into the nature of the universe.
Digital screening, July 2023 (filmed on 6 July during the Melbourne season of Jewels)
Given my reaction, or lack of a reaction for the most part, to the live performance of Jewels I saw in Sydney, I paid my subscription to watch the work streamed during a performance in the Melbourne follow-up season. I was hoping of course to feel differently. But I was again disappointed, not by the dancing—the Australian Ballet is in great form—but by the gushing praise and exaggerated enthusiasm for what seems to me to be a work that is showing its age in so many instances. I continue to think, as I did on my previous viewing in Sydney, that the way Balanchine groups the corps de ballet, at least in Jewels, has had its day. We have moved on in terms of grouping dancers on stage in the way that Balanchine admired, which is often somewhat statically or in an obvious geometric and stage-centred fashion.
But also I think that Jewels presents stereotypical views of French, American and Russian dance and society. Again we have moved on and there is more to France and its culture than perfume, haute couture, romance and other such items mentioned in discussions of ‘Emeralds’ for example. Then, I don’t really like dance being used to tell me that Americans are sassy, brash and cocky when not everyone is like that. It all reminds me a bit of the much-discussed way other cultures were used in some still-performed 19th century ballets. There is nothing of the racist or other unpleasant aspects of stereotyping in the case of Jewels, but we have just moved on. ‘Diamonds’ is more interesting in many respects because no one seems to relate it to characteristics of the Russian people and their culture but to how ballet developed in Russia. So there seems to be a difference in how we are meant to see the three sections, which adds to my problems with the work.
Quite honestly, I wish that various outlets would desist from raving on about Jewels rather than seeing it as a moment in a wider Balanchine repertoire. Some of the choreography is startling and more than interesting to see, but do we really need to call it a masterpiece? In my opinion, it is better seen as an historic work from the 1960s.
Despite the above, I did admire some particular dancers whom I didn’t see in Sydney. In ‘Rubies’ Isobelle Dashwood as the solo dancer was stunning. What a great dancer’s body she has—slender, tall and long-limbed, she is actually a perfect Balanchine dancer. What was so impressive though was the charisma she exuded at every moment. And she didn’t overplay the sassy bit but rather just danced the choreography and presented it beautifully to the audience. Someone to watch for sure.
Also in ‘Rubies’ I enjoyed the work of Brett Chynoweth as the leading male dancer, joining Ako Kondo in the pas de deux sections. Chynoweth threw himself into the choreography with gusto. Every gesture, every step was exciting to watch in its attention to shape and detail.
It was a pleasure too to see Sharni Spencer and Callum Linnane as the leading dancers in ‘Emeralds’. I admired their dancing in Sydney as the leading dancers in ‘Diamonds’ and the same beautiful connection between them was on show in ‘Emeralds’. Perhaps especially noticeable in ‘Emeralds’ was the detail, so in tune with the music, that they brought to every single movement. A terrific partnership again.
Another highlight was Duncan Salton’s rendition of the piano sections of the music to which ‘Rubies’ was danced, Stravinsky’s Capriccio for Piano and Orchestra. Exciting listening.
Below is a link to a paper I gave on 8 July 2023 as part of a symposium organised under the auspices of the Stout Research Centre and held at Victoria University of Wellington’s Pipitea campus. The symposium, Katherine Mansfield: Last Things & Legacies, took place to mark the centenary of the death of Katherine Mansfield, New Zealand’s most celebrated short story writer.
My paper was inspired by Mansfield’s varied interest in dance as it appeared in her writing and life, in particular by a ballet focusing on that interest: Bliss choreographed by Patricia Rianne and first staged in 1986. The work of choreographers Margaret Barr and Loughlan Prior, who were also inspired by Mansfield’s interests, is also mentioned.
Featured image: (left) Anneliese Gilberd as Pearl and (right) Kerry-Anne Gilberd as Bertha in Patricia Rianne’s Bliss, Royal New Zealand Ballet, 1986. Photographer not identified
Darpana is a retrospective program of excerpts from the past three decades of seasons choreographed by Vivek Kinra for his company, Mudra. It’s a garden of earthly delights with celestial resonance, story-telling laced with joyous cavorting. There are sudden flashes of fury whenever forces of evil are encountered. Furious stamping, piercing glares and dismissive gestures will rid us of them. Only the good survive, only the safe are free.
This vividly expressive form of Indian dance, Bharata Natyam, runs the gamut of human emotions and motives, portraying figures from the parallel realm of deities whose examples are to be followed. It’s an art form in which singing, instrumental music (mridangam drum, violin, flute) and visual rhythm (dance)—in dramatic, poetic, and abstract patterned aspects—all find equal share in the performers’ finely-tuned detail and precise geometry of the body. And then there’s the dress-ups, further feast for the eyes, with carefully gradated lighting effects from full colour to serene silhouettes, from dawn to day to dusk.
After weeks of balmy mid-winter weather, the afternoon suddenly drops 10o, feels like zero, and icy rain drenches us on the way to the theatre. Never mind, Lower Hutt is closer than India so it’s a small price to pay for the transport of joy awaiting us. Every season of Mudra since the mid 90s has revived memories of my visit to India for dance studies in the previous decade. O India, the country with the world’s richest of dance traditions. Time flies, time stands still, to be here is to be there.
Mudra’s troupe of eight senior performers are all in full flower—joined by 15 junior dancers in bud—(one of them already on the way to stardom, but steady on, no sensible dance teacher wants a prodigy, a meteor that falls and burns out, better a star to last forever. I’ve had my eye on this youngster for 7 or so years now, and she is doing exactly as her teacher and I predicted she would).
Kinra was trained at Kalakshetra, the epicentre of Bharata Natyam teaching, near Chennai. The founder of the school, Rukmini Devi, envisaged a centre of arts and related crafts to thrive alongside community education initiatives. As a theosophist Devi visited New Zealand to connect with the Theosophical Society here, and also devoted time to animal rights’ causes. As a young dancer she had met Anna Pavlova who was touring with her company to India in 1922. Pavlova encouraged Devi in a revitalisation of Bharata Natyam away from the temple, towards the theatre. Her contemporary, Balasaraswati, was the legendary dancer who toured the world’s capitals and showed what heights a solo performer could reach, even towards the age of 70. They say Martha Graham sat in the audience and wept, and she was not alone. (If you don’t believe me, watch Bala, the film about her made by Satyajit Ray. It’s on Youtube). A century later, many cities of the world offer training in Bharata Natyam India’s gift to the world—which takes on intriguing differences depending on each locale.
Kinra’s students are drawn from all the states of India, whether born there and migrated here, or born here. Others are of Sri Lankan or Malaysian Tamil, or maybe Fiji-Indian descent. But wait, there’s a Pakeha of Anglo/Irish line among them—though you only know that from the program note, her dancing is up there with the best of the rest.
Read the BBC news item from a few days ago, a lengthy and fascinating report of the ancient and mysterious folk ritual, Theyyam practised in Kerala—where members of Dalit, the lowest caste, perform in an ancient dance-drama. High caste members are required to attend and revere them. Think about that.
Here with Mudra we watch the daughters of Brahmin neurosurgeons or scientists (so long as under-resourcing of health or academic budgets has not closed down their work places) or of the local corner dairy (so long as ram raiders or armed invaders have not knifed them to death). Many of these dancers hold professional careers in law, education, science, technology, commerce—yet their radiant performances would have you believe they are full-time professional artists.
Each of the nine works is choreographed from the subtle tension between tradition and individual dancers’ personalities, all of whom deserve praise. One dancer leaps high and sideways, lands in ‘first position’ on the half foot, slowly continues down to a deep full plie, leans sideways then slips onto her knee and hip while sliding over the floor, then she comes back into the vertical and slowly returns to standing, all the while smiling. (Don’t try this at home. Well, the smile maybe, but for the rest you’ll need to be in training for years).
Varshini Suresh makes a stunning position flow to the next with great grace and it’s hard to take your eyes off that as she invests her dancing with expressive joy. Banu Siva has a wonderful poetic and rhythmic clarity in every aspect of her movement. Shrinidhi Bharadwaj is the dramatic force who propels the power of story-telling to great effect. The treasured Zeenat Vintiner is most welcome back as she rejoins Mudra after several years break. Her personal life reads like something from the Mahabharata, and echoes the story of the Polish refugee children who were given haven in New Zealand 80 years ago. Her own experience is a triumph for her, her family and her teacher.
My grandchildren were agog at the stamina demanded of these performers—loved the contrasting qualities between them—and were greatly taken with the calm way the dancers managed the tiniest little ‘things’ that happened: a tiny bell from an anklet falls off onto the stage—we can see it glinting and hope that the other dancers can too because you would not want to leap and land on that piece of metal. One dancer’s long black braid plaited with flowers comes loose from the belt which holds it in place as she twirls at speed. With great aplomb she continues dancing but ensures by various miniature twists that it not fly out and hit her fellow dancer in the face. (This is like a pilot realising that one engine is malfunctioning. Nought to do but keep calm, switch it off and use the other engine to make a faultless landing). Another dancer leaps high into a very narrow space between two others and knows her foot might catch in the swathe of silk that she’s wearing—so mid-air she leaps even higher and ever so slightly changes course. Stunning. My grandkids say ‘We love watching how these little things are managed—it makes the dancers seem more human and a little bit like all of us.’
They are equally pleased by the refreshments at intermission — the best samosa and ladoo in town—and a program note that the catering is by Awhina, the impressive New Zealand enterprise that fundraises to help women widowed by war in Sri Lanka, in a range of small scale development projects. I thank the young woman for my spicy masala tea, tell her how well the performance is going and hope she gets to glimpse some of it herself. ‘Oh I was dancing in last night’s cast—I’m just helping out front tonight.’ she smiles.
Poul Gnatt founded our New Zealand Ballet on ingenuity like that, 70 years ago. He’d have loved this performance as much as I did.
