Dance diary. July 2017

Badu Gili (Water Light)

As part of NAIDOC Week 2017, and launched the night before the world premiere of Bangarra Dance Theatre’s latest production Bennelong, the eastern side of the ‘Bennelong Sail’ of the Sydney Opera House was lit at specified times during the evening by a series of stunning projections of indigenous design. Curated by Rhoda Roberts and featuring the work of several indigenous artists, Badu Gili celebrates ancient stories with a loop of constantly changing visual imagery. It was a fitting prelude to Bangarra’s spectacular Bennelong program and in many respects was ‘dancing art’. It will be shown each evening for the next year.

Made on the body. Choreography from the Royal Ballet

As an extra event during the Royal Ballet’s recent program in Brisbane, an exhibition of photographs, video clips and historical information was on show in the Tony Gould Gallery at QPAC. Six photographs by Rick Guest occupied the space just outside the main gallery space.

Photographs by Rick Guest, Made on the Body, QPAC 2017 — Photographs by Rick Guest, *Made on the Body*, QPAC 2017

Inside, the gallery had several large screens (or scrims really) on which footage was projected. The show was lit theatrically so that it occasionally seemed that visitors were onstage themselves.

Made on the body screens, QPAC 2017 — *Made on the body,* QPAC 2017

Other footage, some from archival sources, could be viewed on smaller screens situated on long tables elsewhere in the space. In addition to this footage, several areas in the exhibition space were devoted to the history of British choreography as made for the Royal Ballet, including a special focus on Wayne McGregor and Christopher Wheeldon, whose work we saw in Brisbane. My favourite quotes from Wayne McGregor and Christopher Wheeldon were:

I am designing an EXPERIENCE for the viewer that may stimulate their visual sense, their acoustic sense, their kinaesthetic senses, individually or all at the same time; it may move them emotionally or challenge them intellectually, and all of these are valuable and legitimate layers of meaning, or making sense. (Wayne McGregor)

Often in my own choreographies I have actively conspired to disrupt the space in which the body performs. Each intervention, usually some kind of addition, is an attempt to see the context of the body in a new or alien way. (Christopher Wheeldon)

At the National Portrait Gallery, Canberra

Currently on display, but hidden in a small room at the National Portrait Gallery in Canberra, is a 9 minute video portrait of actor Cate Blanchett, made in 2008 by David Rosetzky. I had not come across it before but it was quite a beautiful shoot with choreography by Lucy Guerin and music by David Franzke.

Guerin’s choreography was quite simple for the feet and legs, but more complex for the hands and arms, which folded themselves into intricate positions. It was very nicely performed by Blanchett who changed clothes often and spoke throughout, largely pondering on who she was, how she thought she connected with people, and so forth. Worth seeing if it comes your way. Below is a video from the National Portrait Gallery featuring Rosetzky discussing the making of this portrait.

Press for July 2016

‘Dance work with a timely message.’ Preview of This Poisoned Sea, Quantum Leap. The Canberra Times, 5 July 2017, p. 18. Online version.

‘Canberrans shortlisted for awards.’ Story on Canberran dance ventures shortlisted for the 2017 Australian Dance Awards, The Canberra Times, 13 July 2017, p. 19. Online version.

A moment from 'Annette' in Great Sport!, the GOLD company, 2016. Photo: © Lorna Sim — A moment from ‘Annette’ in *Great Sport!*, 2016. Photo: © Lorna Sim.

Great Sport! was devised and directed by Liz Lea, who is one on the ACT-based artists nominated for a 2017 Australian Dance Award. See this link for my 2016 review.

Michelle Potter, 31 July 2017

Featured image: Sydney Opera House during Badu Gili, 2017. Photo: © Michelle Potter

'This Poiosned Sea.' Quantume Leap, 2017. Photo: Lorna Sim

This Poisoned Sea. Quantum Leap

27 July 2017, Playhouse, Canberra Theatre Centre

This Poisoned Sea, Quantum Leap’s major show for 2017, took as ‘a launchpad’ (as the media says) Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s epic poem The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. Three choreographers, Claudia Alessi, Eliza Sanders and Jack Ziesing, presented separate sections, which were woven together into an evening length production, without interval, by artistic director Ruth Osborne, and with input from dramaturg Pip Buining. It was an ambitious undertaking.

The focus of the evening was largely on contemporary environmental issues, a focus that comes easily to mind given the subtext of the poem (despite that it was written at the end of the eighteenth century). But in the end we saw several different approaches, especially in terms of how references back to the poem were made.

Claudia Alessi’s work ‘My own private albatross’ made the most obvious statement about environmental issues, and perhaps, too, the most obvious reference to the poem when a voice-over clearly recited lines from the Coleridge work. Alessi’s section, which occupied the middle of the program, concerned the amount of plastic waste and other non-recyclable materials in the sea, and the effects that material is having on, for example, sea creatures. It grew out of the shock and concern Alessi felt at the amount of rubbish in the seas off Christmas Island, where she had recently spent time. The dancers used props frequently, including a long string of plastic bags and other detritus, which they dragged across the stage at various intervals.

Choreographically, however, Alessi’s section was the least interesting of the three for me. I found the movement a little too simplistic and it seemed like an addition, rather than an intrinsic part of the section.

Jack Ziesing’s ‘A hellish thing’ was the last section before Osborne’s finale. With its ongoing references to melting icebergs and black oil spills, it took quite a black view of today’s environmental issues. His work seemed the least concerned with the poem itself and more completely with a twenty-first century perspective.

Jack Ziesing's A hellish thing from This Poisoned Sea, Quantum Leap 2017. Photo © Bec Thompson — Scene from Jack Ziesing’s ‘A hellish thing’ from *This Poisoned Sea*, Quantum Leap 2017. Photo: © Bec Thompson

The oil spills, represented by lengths of black cloth, dominated right up to the end of Ziesing’s section. The dancers draped them around their bodies, sometimes covering themselves entirely, until at the end one dancer found herself alone shrouded in black, apparently sheltering under the very material that is degrading the environment. Ziesing’s choreography was quite powerful and the dancers had some strong group sections, which they performed with gusto.

For me the standout section, however, was that choreographed by Eliza Sanders, which she had entitled ‘The poem is within us’. It followed immediately after Ruth Osborne’s introductory passage as the first section made by the commissioned choreographers. ‘The poem within us’ was subtle. It didn’t try to force us into anything, it didn’t try to be didactic, and it didn’t try to cover too many ideas within one short piece. The enduring image was that of an open mouth—’And every tongue through utter drought,/Was withered at the root’ says the poem. Was it a silent scream? Was it making the comment that the destruction of the environment is not being heard? So many thoughts surfaced.

Choreographically, too, ‘The poem is within us’ wasn’t full of forceful movement, but focused on changing patterns and on building groupings of dancers. The one jarring element was the use of live speech. A few lines of the poem were quoted by one of the dancers, but this is a trap for the unwary I think. It is never easy to hear clearly from certain parts of the auditorium and the voice-over recording that Alessi used was by far the better way to go. But that element aside, Sanders takes an unusual approach to her work and I think she is a choreographer to watch.

There was much to admire about This Poisoned Sea in terms of the collaborative elements. Mark Dyson’s lighting was often spectacular, and I especially liked the black and white floor pattern he conjured up at one stage. Cate Clelland’s costumes were also an excellent addition to the overall work. The pants worn by all the dancers were cut in a subtle way so that they made passing reference to costumes from centuries ago, while the addition of extra elements (the black belts in Ziesing’s work for example) distinguished each section from the others.

This Poisoned Sea was an ambitious undertaking. But it remains in my mind as one of the best shows Quantum Leap has presented. The use of a dramaturg gave the work coherence, and the evening was well structured so that the work moved smoothly from the subtlety and beauty of Sanders, to the obvious from Alessi, to a strong contemporary comment from Ziesing.

Michelle Potter, 30 July 2017

Featured image: Scene from Eliza Sander’s ‘The poem is within us’ from This Poisoned Sea. Quantum Leap, 2017. Photo: © Lorna Sim

Set for Act II, 'The Winter's Tale' the Royal Ballet Photo : Johan Persson / ROH

The Winter’s Tale. The Royal Ballet in Australia

6 July 2017 (matinee and evening), Lyric Theatre, Queensland Performing Arts Centre, Brisbane

There is much to admire about The Winter’s Tale, Christopher Wheeldon’s balletic translation of William Shakespeare’s play of the same name. For a start, the mood is often absolutely gripping—often in an ‘edge of the seat’ manner. It is also just brilliantly performed by artists of the Royal Ballet in both a technical sense, and in terms of the emotional involvement of everyone on stage. In addition, the visual effects, especially the use of designer Basil Twist’s painted silks that dropped down to indicate the sea or to allow for a change of place, were captivating, as was the use of film footage throughout.

It is a complex story about the relations between the Kings of Sicilia and Bohemia, the breakdown of their friendship and the final reconciliation, along with all the intrigue and jealousy, the sea journeys, and the chance occurrences that attend the breakdown. But the clarity with which the story unfolded was outstanding. That the story was so easily understood was partly as a result of the choreography and partly as a result of how Wheeldon had selected events from the play and added links between them. It was exhilarating to see, for example, how Wheeldon handled the passage of time before the events he had chosen to focus on had taken place. In the opening prologue we watched as two young princes, initially playing together, were replaced by two grown men. It was a simple ploy but so effective in showing, in addition to the passage of time, that the friendship between the two kings had developed since childhood, which is why we encounter them together in Act I in the palace of Leontes, King of Sicilia, initially enjoying each other’s company.

Act I was the strongest of the three acts and a clear highlight was the choreography for Leontes (Bennet Gartside, matinee and evening). When he began to suspect that the baby being carried by his pregnant wife, Hermione (Marianela Nuñez, matinee and evening), was not his but that of Polixenes, his friend and King of Bohemia, his rage and jealousy were expressed through angular movements, clenched hands, slinking movements, and depraved twists of the body.

Laura Morera (evening) gave a strong performance as Paulina, head of Hermione’s household, especially in her attack on Leontes as he banished Hermione, and when he could not bear to look at the newly born child, Perdita. Nuñez as Hermione danced with refinement and accepted her banishment with the grace and strength of a queen. I admired, too, the motherly affection she showed to her son Mamillius in the early stages of Act I.

But for me the standout performance in Act I came from Ryoichi Hirano (evening) as Polixenes. He held my attention from the moment he came on stage and I loved the way he executed the choreography, highlighting as he did the rather more eccentric choreography he was given as the King of Bohemia. In fact, his emphasis on those choreographic elements that seemed more folkloric than those given to the residents of Sicilia foreshadowed what was to take place in Act II, which was set in Bohemia. In addition, his duet with Hermione, as Leontes lurked in the background or peered from behind statues, was passionately danced and had sexual overtones to the extent that it made Leontes’ jealousy seem to have some basis in truth. Such movement by Hirano highlighted Gartside’s unsavoury loiterings and suggested what was going through Leontes’ mind.

In Act II the dancing didn’t falter. Beatriz Stix-Brunell (evening) as Perdita and Vadim Muntagirov (evening) as Florizel danced sumptuously, with Muntagirov soaring across the stage and sweeping Stix-Brunell off her feet (literally as well as figuratively). But again my attention was drawn to Hirano who made me smile as he attempted to disguise himself in shepherd’s clothing to spy on his son Florizel who was courting Perdita. That hat didn’t seem to fit his kingly head and he seemed a little bamboozled by it all.

Wheeldon’s choreography for the groups of shepherds and shepherdesses in this act was pleasant enough and certainly was in folkloric mode. But after such a powerful Act I, it seemed all too much like a traditional three-act ballet where at some stage everyone has to have a jolly good time.

Back in Sicilia in Act III, conflicts and concerns are resolved and there is eventually a marriage (I think—everyone was dressed in white) between Perdita and Florizel. But the most interesting part of this act concerned the return of Hermione, disguised at first as a statue. It made for an engaging re-connection between Hermione and Leontes, gently manouevered by Paulina. In fact there was a curious connection between Paulina and Leontes who seemed to lean on her (in fact choreographically he did lean on her) for support at the beginning of the act. But his contrition was made clear and he danced with Hermione in a final pas de deux.

As in Act II, the dancing in Act III was pretty much faultless and a pleasure to watch. But again it was Hirado as Polixenes who attracted my attention. I admired the way he stormed in looking for Florizel in order to drag him back to Bohemia and declined at first Leontes’ attempts at reconciliation, but then mellowed when he realised that Perdita had royal blood. It was a powerful performance from him from start to finish.

The Royal Ballet’s touring program presented audiences with an interesting juxtaposition of ballets. Both Woolf Works and The Winter’s Tale are contemporary (that is of today) productions but The Winter’s Tale remains within a certain traditional mode—a three-act narrative, moving along logically, and having some balletic predictability about its structure. On the other hand Woolf Works pushes boundaries and makes demands of us. We have to suspend many preconceived ideas about how to see and think about ballet. Both modes of presentation have a place but, while I sat transfixed by The Winter’s Tale, twice, what Wayne McGregor presented in Woolf Works is how I want dance to move ahead.

Michelle Potter, 9 July 2017

Featured image: Set for Act II, The Winter’s Tale. The Royal Ballet. Photo: © ROH/Johan Persson

Bryan Lawrence (1936–2017)

Bryan Lawrence, who has died in his 81st year, was born Brian Lawrence Palethorpe in Birmingham, England. He began his dance training at an early age in regional schools in England and then trained, on scholarship, at the Sadler’s Wells Ballet School (later the Royal Ballet School) from the age of thirteen. After moving into the senior school he began performing in walk-on parts with the Sadler’s Wells Opera and Ballet. He never legally changed his name but used ‘Bryan Lawrence’ throughout his professional career.

Lawrence joined Sadler’s Wells Theatre Ballet in 1954 and was promoted to soloist in 1955. His first professional dancing part, undertaken while still a student at the Sadler’s Wells School, was in the corps de ballet of The Firebird, as staged by Lubov Tchernicheva and Sergei Grigoriev for Sadler’s Wells Ballet in 1954. Lawrence joined the company a little later and toured with them to regional venues in England until 1957.

Following a period of national service with the RAF he joined the Royal Ballet in 1959 and became a soloist in 1961. In 1964 he moved to Australia at the invitation of Peggy van Praagh and joined the Australian Ballet as a principal dancer.

BryanLawrence in 'Le Conservatoire'. The Australian Ballet, 1965. Photo: Ken Byron, Australian News and Information Bureau — Bryan Lawrence in *Le Conservatoire.* The Australian Ballet, 1965. Photo: Ken Byron, Australian News and Information Bureau

While with the Australian Ballet, Lawrence partnered all the leading dancers in the company, including Elaine Fifield, Marilyn Jones and Kathleen Gorham. He toured with the company on their early overseas engagements, including to the Commonwealth Arts Festival and various cities in Europe, 1965–1966, and on a major tour to Montreal, Canada, for Expo ’67 with subsequent engagements in South America and elsewhere. In an article for The Canberra Times in 1968 he recalled some of the memorable off-stage experiences during the early part of the 1965 tour:

I recall riding a camel across the desert at 4 am to see the Pyramids after a long overnight flight from Perth to Cairo, and doing a class in the temple ruins at Baalbeck at seven o’clock in the morning when the sun became so hot we were unable to continue.

In his career with the Australian Ballet he is especially remembered for his role in The Display, in which he played the role of the Leader. Of his work on that ballet with its choreographer Robert Helpmann he remarked, in an oral history interview for the National Library of Australia in 1986:

It was interesting working with Bobby. I did, I think, most of the choreography for my bits myself. Bobby was inclined to do that. He worked out, obviously, the general thing, the story, but I can remember him saying before lunch one day, ‘Well, you know, think about something to do there.’ And I just worked something out myself and it was accepted.

(left) Bryan Lawrence and Kathleen Gorham in *The Display*. The Australian Ballet, 1964; (right) Bryan Lawrence and Elaine Fifield in *Les Sylphides*. The Australian Ballet, 1964. Photos: Walter Stringer. Courtesy National Library of Australia.

Lawrence resigned from the Australian Ballet at the end of 1967 and in 1968, along with fellow Australian Ballet principal, Janet Karin, founded the Bryan Lawrence School of Ballet in Canberra. Together, Lawrence and Karin trained many fine artists, including Ross Stretton, Joanne Michel and Adam Marchant, all of whom rose through the ranks of the Australian Ballet to dance principal roles before going on to expand their careers in other significant directions.

The school’s performance group, the Bryan Lawrence Performing Group, presented its first classical production, excerpts from Coppélia, to Canberra audiences in 1970, and its first full-length ballet, Giselle, in 1974. Lawrence appeared in the school’s productions on occasions and was especially admired for his performances as Captain Belaye in Pineapple Poll, Albrecht in Giselle, and Dr Coppélius in Coppélia. He also occasionally choreographed short works for the school’s annual performances.

Lawrence left Canberra for Sydney in 1986. In Sydney he undertook a variety of jobs including a brief period of work as a teacher at the McDonald College. Lawrence remarried in Sydney and lived towards the end of his life in Victoria Falls in the Blue Mountains west of Sydney. He was an accomplished pianist and in his retirement enjoyed composing original, short works for piano.

After he left Canberra, the Bryan Lawrence School of Ballet was renamed the National Capital Ballet School in 1987 and the associated performing company became the National Capital Dancers.

Bryan Lawrence is survived by his first wife, Janet Karin, with whom he had two children, a son Nicholas and a daughter Isobel (deceased). He spent many happy years with his second wife, Lyn Palethorpe.

Brian Lawrence Palethorpe: born 4 September 1936, Birmingham, England; died Katoomba, New South Wales, 8 July 2017.

Michelle Potter, 9 July 2017

Featured image: Bryan Lawrence in Les Sylphides. The Australian Ballet, 1964. Photo: Walter Stringer

Beatriz Stix-Brunell, Alessandra Ferri and Francesca Hayward in 'Woolf Works' Act I. The Royal Ballet, Brisbane 2017. Photo: © Darren Thomas

Woolf Works. The Royal Ballet in Australia

30 June 2017, Lyric Theatre, Queensland Performing Arts Centre, Brisbane

What a pleasure it was to see Wayne McGregor’s Woolf Works again, and to have one’s first impression strengthened. Woolf Works remains for me one of those exceptional works that reveals new insights with every new viewing. In Brisbane, as part of the program by the Royal Ballet on its visit to Australia, it was performed with all the panache and brilliance I have come to expect from this absolutely world class company.

Casting for the Brisbane opening was, with the major exception of Sarah Lamb who did not appear due to injury, largely the same as that which British audiences would know as ‘first cast’ with Alessandra Ferri in the lead as Clarissa Dalloway. Looking back at my review from earlier this year, at this link, I stand by what I wrote then. But below are some aspects of the work that I loved this time, which I didn’t notice to the same extent earlier.

Act I: ‘I now/I then’ (based on Mrs Dalloway)

Sitting much closer to the action on this occasion, I admired the complexity of Wayne McGregor’s choreography. There were fascinating small movements of the hands and fingers, for example, and the dancers showed every tiny movement with great clarity and with a real sense of pleasure in performing them.
Truly satisfying was the way in which the ending of this first act returned to, but reversed the sequence of and brought new understanding to the opening moments. As ‘I now/I then’ begins Clarissa Dalloway stands on stage, a solitary, reflective figure. She is then joined by the main characters we will see interacting with her throughout the act, in particular the young Clarissa (Beatriz Stix-Brunell) and a close friend (Francesca Hayward), and her two male love interests (Federico Bonelli and Gary Avis). They all dance with a carefree demeanour, and engage in a youthful manner with each other. But as we approach the end of this act, those characters return and dance together in a kind of pas de cinq, weaving in and out amongst each other, joining hands at times, seemingly more closely connected to each other than in the opening moments. Then, one by one they leave the stage and Clarissa is left alone, still reflective, still solitary. But we now understand her thoughts.

Act II: Becomings (based on Orlando)

While I was previously full of admiration for the dancing of Steven McRae, this time I was overwhelmed by his astounding abilities. Again there were some small choreographic complexities that I didn’t notice before, the suggestion of shaking legs was one, and McRae made those movements very clear. But this time I especially admired his spectacularly fluid upper body, his exceptionally flexible limbs, and the way he powered down the stage at one point to begin the next section. And his first pas de deux with Natalia Osipova was a sensational performance (from both of them).

Steven McRae in Woolf Works Act II. The Royal Ballet, Brisbane 2017. Photo Darren Thomas — Steven McRae in *Woolf Works* Act II (*Becomings*). The Royal Ballet, Brisbane 2017. Photo: © Darren Thomas

I was struck this time too by the way in which the passing of time—the novel Orlando moves across some five centuries—was handled in the ballet. Time moved along as a result of Lucy Carter’s spectacular lighting design, but also in part with costuming. When the curtain went up all characters were wearing Elizabethan costume, but as the act developed elements of the Elizabethan attire were progressively lost. Slowly a more contemporary look became obvious. But it was a beautifully slow and changing progression so that even at the end there were still small traces of earlier times—the hint of a ruff at the neckline for example. Some things never change.
In a similar vein, I was surprised by the way the gender changes that Orlando undergoes in the novel were addressed in the ballet. They were suggested again by costuming when small black tutu-like additions to plain contemporary costumes were worn by both male and female dancers, for example. But most startling for me was the fact that there were moments when Steven McRae seemed to take on a female role in a pas de deux. His partner was male but McRae was lifted as he had previously lifted Osipova. It was simply spectacular dancing from McRae, but my mind kept turning back to Osipova’s movements. It was a brilliant moment in the choreography.

ACT III: ‘Tuesday’ (based on The Waves)

Again with ‘Tuesday’ I saw much more in the choreography than I had previously. This time I especially loved the opening pas de deux between Ferri and Bonelli. I watched with pleasure as he held her in his outstretched arms, carried her on his back and supported her as she lay along the side of his body. Then, in the same pas de deux, there were those captivating variations on what we have come to regard as the end pose of a regular fish dive. McGregor seems to have a mind that never sees a pose as final: there are always variations to be had.

Woolf Works is a breathtaking work of art, fabulously danced by a great company. I hope I get to see it again because I know I will continue to find more and more to ponder over, wonder at, and be moved by.

Alessandra Ferri and artists of the Royal Ballet in 'Woolf Works' Act III. Brisbane 2017. Photo: © Darren Thomas — Alessandra Ferri and artists of the Royal Ballet in *Woolf Work*s Act III (*Tuesday*). Brisbane 2017. Photo: © Darren Thomas

Michelle Potter, 2 July 2017

Featured image: Beatriz Stix-Brunell, Alessandra Ferri and Francesca Hayward in Woolf Works Act I (I now/I then). The Royal Ballet, Brisbane 2017. Photo: © Darren Thomas