Cranko. The film

21 May 2025. Screened at the German Film Festival, Palace Electric Cinemas, Canberra

Cranko is quite a long film, over two hours. But it has such an engrossing narrative, as well as being a superbly realised production, that those two and a bit hours absolutely raced along. The film held one’s attention from beginning to end.

Directed and written by Joachim Lang, Cranko is, to use the media description, a ‘biopic’ of John Cranko, South African-born dancer and choreographer who directed Stuttgart Ballet from 1961 until his premature death in 1973. We are given brief information about his early life and aspects of his pre-Stuttgart dance career in England, but the film centres on his career with Stuttgart Ballet, a career that sees him engage, as both director and choreographer and even friend, with the artists who created for the company, including not just dancers but administrative personnel, designers, composers and others.

The ‘engagement’ was filled with all kinds of behaviour from Cranko. His personality was quite varied: he shouted pretty much at the drop of a hat, for example; he ignored standard procedures like ‘no smoking’ signs; he loved and there were a number of aspects of loving for him; he drank to the extent of being an alcoholic; he was at times overcome by depression and we were made aware of his attempts at suicide; and more. But basically he cared about dance. We see it all and his personality is brilliantly portrayed by Sam Riley, the actor who plays Cranko.

A still from *Cranko* showing Sam Riley as Cranko.

The action largely takes place in the studios of Stuttgart Ballet and its surrounds although we are taken to New York and the Met on a number of occasions when the company had engagements there. The dance component is stunningly danced by artists of the present day Stuttgart Ballet and the dance happens on many occasions and at times in unexpected ways. There are several sections from Romeo and Juliet and Onegin and I was especially delighted to see excerpts, filmed outdoors on a park bench, from The Lady and the Fool, a ballet I haven’t seen for many years. Perhaps most outstanding of the dancers was Elisa Badenes who played the role of Marcia Haydée, a major star of Stuttgart Ballet during the Cranko era and beyond. But the dancing throughout was just superb from the entire dancing cast.

Elisa Badenes and Friedemann Vogel in a moment from *Onegin*. Photo: Roman Novitzky/Stuttgart Ballet.

Cranko’s death on board a plane returning Stuttgart Ballet personnel from the United States to Germany is perhaps the most frustrating part of the film. Cranko takes a sleeping pill but doesn’t wake up and is mourned by those on board and by the people who meet the plane when it lands. But we don’t really get any idea of what happened. Was it that pill?*

But there was a truly moving section at the end as the credits began. The original artists, whose life with Cranko was examined in the film, appeared (where that was possible) alongside the current dancers—Marcia Haydée stood next to Elisa Badenes for example. Just so moving.

Cranko is a spectacular film. I can’t wait to see it again—somehow.

Michelle Potter, 22 May 2025

Featured image: A still from Cranko showing Sam Riley as Cranko

* After a bit of research I found that the plane had been diverted and had landed in Dublin where hospital attempts (unsuccessful) were made to reverse the situation. Later a Dublin-based Coroner made the following statement: ‘Mr. Cranko had taken chloral hydrate, a drug prescribed by his phyiicians, and the amount he took was nowhere near a fatal dose. Death was due to asphyxia by stomach inhalation while under the hypnotic effect of the drug, the coroner said. “This was an accidental death,” he declared.’

Garden. QL2 Dance

2 May 2025. Fitters’ Workshop, Kingston, Canberra

Garden took place in a very different venue from what we are used to for productions by QL2 Dance: the Fitters’ Workshop in the Canberra suburb of Kingston. I was somewhat taken aback when I first heard of this major change from the traditional theatre space in which the annual May production by QL2 has usually taken place. I’d never heard of the Fitters’ Workshop (despite having lived in Canberra for several decades). But, after doing some research into what and where it was, I was more than a little taken aback—it was a space with no stage, no dressing rooms, no seating, nothing of a theatrical nature really. It seemed like nothing more than an empty rectangular space.*

Well I needn’t have worried really as the space had been fitted out by QL2 with a portable stage that covered pretty much the length of the hall. The stage was raised off the floor and I assumed, therefore, that it was a sprung stage. Great! Cross lighting had been installed and three or so rows of tiered seating had been placed along one wall. There was a curtained off area at each end of the stage, one of which was used as a dressing area. Would the dance works be well accommodated in this area I wondered?

I am also assuming this set up was not permanent because the Fitters’ Workshop seems to be available for hire for other activities (at least it was, and perhaps still is?). Will QL2 continue to perform in this building?

Garden opened with Bloom choreographed by James Batchelor to a score by Batchelor’s frequent collaborator, Morgan Hickinbotham. Bloom continued Batchelor’s ongoing interest in the lineage of Ausdruckstanz, the expressive dance movement that had its beginnings with choreographers working in the early twentieth century in Germany and Austria. It began with a certain degree of simplicity in movement and groupings but slowly became more complex and developed greater connections between dancers when some duets as well as some solo work were introduced. There was an emphasis throughout on curved arm movements and ongoing fluidity. Every moment was beautifully performed by all the dancers whatever their age.

The shape of the performing space was wide rather than deep and Batchelor’s choreography seemed to take advantage of this with a constant and engrossing crossing of the wide area available. The idea behind Bloom was to indicate intergenerational connections and the growth of artists across time. It worked well.

Duet from Bloom. QL2 Dance, 2025. Photo: © Olivia Wikner, O&J Wikner Photography

The second work on the program was the beginning is the end is the beginning with choreography by Alice Lee Holland and performed to sound by STREAMS, a ‘convergence’, as program notes tell us, between Malcolm McDowell and Stevie Smiles. In many respects the work seemed somewhat similar in choreographic content to Bloom especially in the continued emphasis on arms, the way in which the wide stage space was used, and in the juxtaposition of group and solo work. I wondered whether there had perhaps been too much emphasis on input from the dancers rather than from the choreographer?

The beginning is the end is the beginning was distinguished in my eyes, however, by the way the younger dancers performed. While all performers danced strikingly, with passion and commitment, the young dancers performed with a technique that defied their age. The work continued the overall theme of the program, that of artistic growth across time.

Costumes for both works were by Andrew Treloar, whose experience is broad-ranging across art forms and companies. They were quite loose fitting and thus eminently danceable costumes. They looked great too.

As a final comment, the Fitters’ Workshop worked quite well as a venue for this show, although I still wonder whether or not the young dancers are missing out on the experience of working in a traditional theatre space. A regular theatre is a somewhat different experience and is a space that many of them will find themselves working in should they go on to a professional career. Having said that, I have to say that the standard of the dancing in both works was a credit to all.

Michelle Potter, 7 May 2025

Featured image: Scene from Alice Lee Holland’s the beginning is the end is the beginning. QL2 Dance, 2025. Photo: © Olivia Wikner, O&J Wikner Photography

*The current Fitters’ Workshop website gives the following historical information: ‘The Fitters’ Workshop is a heritage listed building and part of the Kingston Power House historic precinct. Constructed in 1916-1917 and designed by John Smith Murdoch, the Fitters’ Workshop formed a key part of a wider industrial complex that enabled maintenance of government plant and equipment, and construction work.’

A Book of Hours. Rubiks Collective

3 May 2025. National Film and Sound Archive, Canberra International Music Festival

My review of A Book of Hours was published by CityNews online on 4 May. Below is a slightly altered version of the review. For those of my readers who may not know the ‘bonang’, which is mentioned in the text, I have added some images at the end of this post. The review as in CityNews is at this link.

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The production A Book of Hours gives our ears a classical-contemporary score by Kate Neal, created with the concept of the medieval Book of Hours and its divisions of time as its focus. But the score is more a reimagining of those ideas and asks us look at how time is spent in the present day. The performance in Canberra was part of the Canberra International Music Festival and the score was played by the Rubiks Collective.

The Collective consists of four musicians performing on flute (of which there was more than one) played by Tamara Kohler, on keyboard with Jacob Abela, on cello from Gemma Kneale and on percussion by Kaylie Melville. The score had, to my ears, a strongly percussive overall sound. It made for interesting listening.

Our eyes were given much to take in. The music was played in front of video footage in various formats projected on to a screen at the back of the performing space. Those formats included various kinds of animation from visual artist Sal Cooper, as well as examples of human movement from choreographer Gerard van Dyck, who also performed the movement on film. It was often a fascinating watch especially those moments when van Dyck appeared to be continually falling from the sky.

In addition, much movement was generated onstage by the musicians. They interrupted moments of playing with various personal actions such as cleaning their teeth, combing their hair, adding underarm deodorant, and with various movements of the hands unrelated to the playing of an instrument.

But listening to the score and watching the playing of it, I was surprised to see the percussion section included an instrument that I thought was an Indonesian bonang, the well-known instrument that includes a collection of gongs on a wooden platform. The trouble is that in this case the gongs were of an assortment of different sizes and scattered randomly across the platform. Who knows what an Indonesian would think of it? I disliked the mess that was there given that the instrument is actually a beautifully arranged series of gongs in horizontal lines. Although I guess the mess fitted with the idea of the reimagining around which the overall work was made.

So, what of the hours themselves? They were represented on screen by a huge variety of images of clock faces, some even created from a circle of decorative biscuits. In addition to the biscuits there were speaking clocks, small and large images of all kinds of clocks, as well as digital expressions of time passing. Although it seemed at times that the clocks would never go away as there were so many of them coming and going, in many respects the variety of clocks shown on the screen was the most interesting aspect of the whole show.

A Book of Hours was, to my mind, a multi-media novelty item. Sometimes it was funny, sometimes interesting to hear and watch. But it was also sometimes over the top and do we listen or watch? It was hard to decide. I’d rather listen OR watch rather than being presented with the impossible decision the production asked us to make.

Michelle Potter, 5 May 2025

Featured image: A scene from A Book of Hours in Canberra showing an episode of tooth cleaning on the screen behind the musicians. Photo: © Peter Hislop

(left) A bonang from the Musical Instruments Museum in Phoenix, Arizona. Photo: ksblack99; (right) A section of a bonang (in the foreground)—Embassy of the Republic of Indonesia, Canberra, open day 2019. Photo: © Neville Potter

Limen. The Royal Ballet

Via the ROH streaming platform

Wayne McGregor made Limen as an exploration of the concept of liminality. The word liminality is not all that easy to define, and to tell the truth I spent a bit of time looking at how it is defined in different settings, including as an anthropological concept. In the end I settled for the fact that the word ‘limen’ in Latin means ‘threshold’ and I watched the ballet with that in my mind.

The ballet as streamed is from 2009, the year of its premiere. It opens in a darkish-blue environment with set and video design by Tatsuo Miyajima, along with a lighting design by Lucy Carter.

A moment from the opening of *Limen*. The Royal Ballet, 2011. Photo: © Tristram Kenton

In this environment dancers come and go as numbers and letters flash into the space and then, like the dancers, disappear. As we watch we can’t help but notice the astonishing manner in which McGregor pushes his choreographic movements into scarcely believable shapes, poses and connections without destroying completely the intrinsic characteristics of ballet. There are some intriguing moments between Steven McRae and Leanne Benjamin before she moves off leaving him alone.

Leanne Benjamin and Steven McRae in *Limen*. The Royal Ballet, 2011. Photo: © Tristram Kenton

The environment then changes with brighter lighting and with lines of coloured light creating a rectangular shape, or later stripes in parallel lines, on the stage floor on which the dancers continue their performance. McRae shines again, in particular with his triple pirouettes. But every dancer, dressed mostly in brightly coloured tops over mostly light, flesh coloured briefs, attacked McGregor’s demanding choreography with gusto.

But without a doubt the highlight of the work was an absolutely stunning pas de deux coming towards the end of the work and danced by Sarah Lamb (on pointe) and Eric Underwood. Lamb scarcely looked into the eyes of Underwood but the connection between them was intense. The fluidity as they moved together was engrossing and they seemed like just one person. Breathtaking!

As the pas de deux came to its end the stage blackened and the performing space lit up with tiny blue dots, numbers in various sizes, and letters all positioned seemingly randomly. Shadowy dancers appeared wearing simple costumes in skin coloured fabric. They danced together before Lamb and Underwood returned. But they too slipped away and were followed by a single dancer. But he too disappeared, as did the blue dots leaving nothing but a blackened space as the finale.

Limen is danced to a cello concerto by Finnish composer Kaija Saariaho, Notes on Light, which, as the Wayne McGregor website notes, was inspired by the idea of a solar eclipse. Although there were many moments that seemed to show the dancers on the threshold of beginning (or ending) a connection with others—thus reflecting the notion of liminality—Limen seemed to me to be more rewardingly seen as an abstract ballet demonstrating McGregor’s choreographic style. Like all of McGregor’s ballets, Limen is a masterly collaboration that leaves us both emotionally drained and filled with thoughts.

Michelle Potter, 26 April 2025

Featured image: Sarah Lamb and Eric Underwood in a pas de deux from Limen. Photo: © Bill Cooper

Nijinsky. The Australian Ballet (2025)

16 April 2025 (matinee), Joan Sutherland Theatre, Sydney Opera House

John Neumeier’s Nijinsky is a spectacular and highly complex work. I have had the good fortune of seeing it several times (twice by Hamburg Ballet, the company for which the work was made in 2000). In terms of the nature of the work and its relationship to the dramatic life of Vaslav Nijinsky, I can’t do any better than provide a link to the time Hamburg Ballet presented it in Brisbane in 2012 (now unbelievably over 10 years ago). Here is the link to that review.

Nevertheless, each time I see Neumeier’s Nijinsky I notice something a little more clearly than I did on previous viewings. It’s that kind of work. It opens up further with each viewing. I was staggered this time by Neumeier’s choreography as it was so clear that his choice of movement was just brilliant in the sense that it captured the intrinsic nature of the characters represented. Perhaps my awareness of the power of Neumeier’s choreography was heightened as a result of seeing (and disliking) Schachmatt (Checkmate in English translation) from Spanish/international choreographer Cayetano Soto with its dismantling of the balletic vocabulary. Neumeier also dismantled the vocabulary to a certain extent but those splayed fingers, flat palms of the hand, bent elbows, twisted bodies and the like were so much part of the erratic and obsessive behaviour that marked the last years of Nijinsky’s life. They had a meaning that was absolutely within the narrative. (Not so with Schachmatt.)

Of the cast I saw on this occasion, a mid-season matinee, I was impressed in particular with Mia Heathcote as Romola Nijinska, especially in her short scenes with the Doctor, danced by Jarryd Madden, who was treating Nijinsky for a range of issues. Nijinska’s infidelity was very clear. I also was impressed by Luke Marchant who danced the role of Nijinsky as Petrushka, especially in Act II when his dramatic solo was strongly presented.

In general the Australian Ballet dancers performed reasonably well with Elijah Trevitt in the lead role of Nijinsky. But I guess I longed for something that approached the absolute power of other occasions that I have been lucky enough to have seen.

Michelle Potter, 18 April 2025

Featured image: the opening scene (with Kylie Foster at the piano) of Nijinsky showing the ballroom of Suvretta House, St Moritz, where Nijinsky gave his last performance. Photo: © Michelle Potter

Swan Lake. Victorian State Ballet

My review of Swan Lake from Victorian State Ballet was published online on 5 April 2025 by CBR CityNews. Read it at this link. Below is a slightly enlarged version of the review.

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4 April 2025. Canberra Theatre

The dance world has seen a wealth of versions of the ballet Swan Lake since its first performance in Moscow in 1877. Many choreographers have taken up the story of Odette, the Swan Queen, and the supporting characters, including of course Prince Siegfried, whose activities have impacted her life. Some choreographers have made changes to the storyline and created new, highly personalised choreography for their creations. Others have attempted to recreate the original work, as far as that is possible.

The production presented by Victorian State Ballet was choreographed and co-directed by Michelle Sierra. It followed to a large extent the traditional narrative of Odette, who has been turned into a swan by the evil von Rothbart. Her return to human form is only possible by a declaration of love from a human being.

We saw most of the familiar and most celebrated aspects of the traditional story: in Act 1 the birthday celebrations of Prince Siegfried; the dance of the four little swans in Act II; the thirty-two fouettés from Odile (who is impersonating Odette) in Act III; the character dances from across the world, also in Act III; the several pas de deux between the Prince and the Swan Queen across the work; and the impressive groupings of swans in Acts II and IV.

The four little swans. *Swan Lake* Act II. Victorian State Ballet, 2025. Photo: © Ashley Lean

But there is an astonishing ending to the final act of Victorian State Ballet’s production. The finale to Swan Lake has seen various changes over the years, but I have never seen anything like the ending devised by Michelle Sierra.

In Act II, Siegfried, while out hunting following his birthday celebrations, has fallen in love with Odette, the leader of a group of swans. But in Act III, at a ball in his palace, he is deceived by declaring his love for an uninvited guest, Odile, having been persuaded with the help of von Rothbart (disguised as a magician) that she is Odette.

In Act IV Siegfried returns to the lakeside where he first encountered Odette. Both are in despair over what has happened and declare their love for each other. This declaration destroys the curse of von Rothbart who dies dramatically onstage. But even more dramatic is the return to human form by Odette and the totally unexpected transformation of Siegfried into a swan. He has taken his place in the flock of swans from which Odette has been saved. A staggering change to the story!

Some other noticeable changes were choreographic. I especially enjoyed the character dances in Act III which had a stronger than usual balletic component to them. I was also impressed by the way in which von Rothbart, danced by Tristan Gross, appeared to have a greater role in the work than is usual. He often only appears briefly and is sometimes only seen from a distance. In this production he interacted closely with the swans, including Odette, in Act II and there was no doubt as to his importance. But I wish his acting had been a little more dramatic. Perhaps his costume and make-up needed to be a little more impressive? His evil character just didn’t seem clear or strong enough.

The dual role of Odette/Odile was well danced by Elise Jacques and that of Siegfried by Benjamin Harris. Especially strong performances also came from the two leading swans, Maggie de Koning and Alexia Simpson, who worked well together given their similar performing style and that they were of a similar height.

My big gripe, however, concerns the overall technical standard of the dancing. The dancers in this company use their arms, and upper body in general, with beautiful fluidity and sense of shape. But I so wish they (and I mean all of them including the principals) put the same effort into their feet. Well pointed feet make a huge difference to the quality of ballet dancing and poor use of the feet prevented this Swan Lake from being as strong as it might have been.

Michelle Potter, 5 April 2025

Featured image: Scene from Swan Lake. Victorian State Ballet, 2025. Photo: © Ashley Lean

Romeo and Juliet. Queensland Ballet (2025)

21 March 2025. Lyric Theatre, Queensland Performing Arts Centre, Brisbane

Kenneth MacMillan’s Romeo and Juliet is a long ballet—almost three hours (if we include the two intervals between acts). But it is such a strong work by MacMillan, and so magnificently performed by Queensland Ballet in this 2025 presentation, that those three hours just flew by.

The relationship between Romeo (Patricio Revé) and Juliet (Chiara Gonzalez), critical to the success of the work, was carefully developed throughout, whether at their first meeting, or during the now-famous balcony scene, or when engaging in a clandestine marriage, or right at the end when Juliet wakes in the family crypt and discovers that Romeo is dead on the floor beside her bed.

Much of their dancing took the form of pas de deux, a typical MacMillan approach, and MacMillan’s choreographic approach to every pas de deux was thrilling to watch. In particular I loved the detailed movement of the feet and the fluidity of the lifts that often had the bodies leaning in unusual ways.

The moments shared by the three friends, Romeo, Mercutio (Kohei Iwamato) and Benvolio (Joshua Ostermann), was also a highlight, whether joyous moments of friendship: or dramatic occasions involving sword fights; or attempts by Mercutio and Benvolio to keep Romeo’s behaviour safe and sensible. The three harlots, Georgia Swan, Laura Tosar and Vanessa Morelli also danced brilliantly as they engaged with the three friends, as well as with others in the market place. And Vito Bernasconi gave a powerful performance as Tybalt, cousin of Juliet. Such was his acting, as well as his technical performance, that I was involved enough to dislike him (as a character) for getting in the way of the relationship developing between Romeo and Juliet.

I missed a little the powerful input from the Capulet family that usually characterises the ball scene, although it was a pleasure to see Lisa Pavane making a return to the stage as Lady Capulet. But the ball scene lacked, I thought, the drama that I recall from a variety of other performances I have seen, including the 2019 production by Queensland Ballet. But I always enjoy the historical references that the dancing at the ball involves, especially the slight backwards tilt of the bodies as the dances proceed.

My one regret is that the design of the work from Paul Andrews seemed heavy and somewhat cumbersome. The scenes in the market place, a setting that figures prominently through the early part of the work, did not look as though the activities were actually happening in a market place but simply in front of a residence. The building that made up the background was very Italian-looking with its columned passage ways and its long flight of steps leading to the upper areas of the building. But it was darkly coloured and somehow gloomy, and the restricted space it created for dancing, and even the capacity for characters to move around in the upper passageways, was not conducive to interesting activity.

It is, however, pretty much impossible not to be carried along by this MacMillan masterpiece, especially when Queensland Ballet continues to dance so well, and when Nigel Gaynor continues to conduct the Queensland Symphony Orchestra so magnificently.

Michelle Potter, 23 March 2025

Postscript: An interesting discussion of the MacMillan Romeo and Juliet can be found in Jan Parry’s biography of MacMillan, Different Drummer (London: Faber and Faber, 2009) pp. 274 ff. Also interesting to watch via the ROH streaming platform (it needs a subscription) is Romeo and Juliet. The Royal Ballet in Rehearsal. It contains Royal Ballet rehearsal footage and a conversation with Deborah MacMillan, Donald MacLeary, Laura Morera and others regarding aspects of the ballet. It is especially interesting as Laura Morera has been the principal coach for the Queensland Ballet presentation.

Featured image: (l-r) Kohei Iwamoto as Mercutio, Patricio Revé as Romeo, and Joshua Ostermann as Benvolio (with Janette Mulligan as the Nurse). Queensland Ballet, 2025. Photo: © David Kelly

Royal New Zealand Ballet with Scottish Ballet

14 March 2025. St James Theatre, Wellington

What is ballet?

In what was a joint program of four works, two from Royal New Zealand Ballet (RNZB) and two from Scottish Ballet, I imagined there would be some curiosity from audience members (or some people anyway) about the nature of ballet. I certainly was curious. Both companies have the word ‘ballet’ in their name for a start, but the details of the program sounded unusual.

Opening the program was Schachmatt (Checkmate in English translation) from Spanish/international choreographer Cayetano Soto, who was also responsible for the set, costumes and lighting. The work was based, notes tell us, on Soto’s admiration for and interest in the songs of people such as Joan Rivers as well as the choreography of Bob Fosse.

There was an exceptional, short and shadowy opening sequence. It was attention-grabbing and at first some of the dancers towards the back of the group looked almost like shadows rather than people.

Scottish Ballet dancers in the opening section of Cayetano Soto’s *Schachmatt*. Photo: © Andy Ross

But as the lighting became less shadowy, we could see the cast dressed in light blue-grey costumes, wearing black stockings that at first looked like knee-high boots, and with black caps as head gear. They danced often with the pelvis pushed back so the spine never looked straight; with arms often making geometric shapes; and with emphasis on hands often stretched flat; and with fingers twisted and curled. The dancers’ movements were fast and furious and bodies were bent and twisted. It made me think how different the movement was from the technique we assume is balletic. It seemed like a quirky novelty rather than a ballet. In fact the whole thing looked anti-balletic to me, although nothing could take away from a powerful performance from every dancer.

Scottish Ballet dancers in Cayetano Soto’s *Schachmatt.* Photo: © Andy Ross

Schachmatt, which received an exceptional audience response at its conclusion, was a short piece, just 20 or so minutes, and was followed by a brief, spoken introduction from the stage by RNZB’s Artistic Director, Ty King-Wall, who was accompanied onstage by Director of Scottish Ballet, Christopher Hampson, dressed in a Scottish-style kilted outfit.

After thinking constantly during the unfolding of Schachmatt, especially about choreographic expression and its relationship to balletic concepts, it was an exceptional experience to watch the second item on the program, Prismatic from RNZB Choreographer in Residence, Shaun James Kelly. Kelly played with movement without removing so many balletic essentials as seemed to happen in Schachmatt. Kelly’s choreography showed fluidity; detailed interaction between dancers without that interaction being frenzied; smooth and curving shapes from the arms; lifts that were quite spectacular and that demonstrated a remarkable manner of moving through space; and a great use of the stage area, often in unexpected ways.

We were watching a particular choreographic voice, but one that was not removing what makes dance balletic. Prismatic gave me goose bumps and it was a pleasure to watch the dancers performing to an audience, to us. That’s a personalised approach and was not something I got from the first item. To me Prismatic was theatre.

Soloist Kirby Selchow, Artist Ema Takahashi, Principal Ana Gallardo Lobaina, Soloist Jemima Scott in *Prismatic*. Royal New Zealand Ballet, 2025. Photo: © Stephen A’Court

After interval we watched another short work, Limerence, this time from Annaliese Macdonald, former dancer with RNZB, now freelancing. Performed to music by Franz Schubert, it was made for four dancers who interacted with each other, displaying different emotions at different times.

The leading role was danced strongly by Joshua Guillemot-Rodgerson but we were never completely sure of exactly where his emotions were directed. What was he thinking? What were the others thinking as well, especially when they were trying to guide him through an event? In fact, a quote from Austrian poet Rainer Maria Rilke was written in the program notes: ‘Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final.’ That quote gave a strong indication of the nature of Limerence.

Principal, Joshua Guillemot-Rodgerson and Soloist, Katherine Minor in a moment from *Limerence*. Royal New Zealand Ballet, 2025. Photo: © Stephen A’Court

Choreographically Limerence had a beautifully strong contemporary feel but it was clearly based on an understanding of balletic technique. The bodies of all four dancers were used as expressive tools to transmit emotions.

The final work Dextera (a play on the word ‘dexterous’) came from Franco-British choreographer Sophie Laplane. It was danced by a large cast to excerpts from various compositions by Mozart. Laplane mentions in program notes that she was interested in ‘portraying the complexity of human nature through dance’ and complexity of movement (large and small, individual and group) was clearly on display.

Red gloves were a feature. In the beginning one fell through the air from the flies. Then dancers entered, all wearing red gloves. Sometimes one set of dancers ripped the gloves away from the group wearing them. The gloves were then ripped back. In the final moments a swathe of gloves fell again from the flies. I am assuming that the gloves referred to the fact that dexterity usually indicates skill involving the hands.

Scottish Ballet dancers in in Sophie Laplane’s *Dextera*. Photo: © Andy Ross

Another feature of Dextera was that red ‘handles’ had been added to some costumes and dancers (mostly the women) were picked up, (mostly by the men) using the handles, and the bodies manipulated in some way.

Choreographically Dextera teetered towards seeming suitable for inclusion in a program by a company with the word ‘ballet’ in its name. It was clearly pushing movement boundaries but, at least to me, the dancers looked like human beings and the choreography looked as though there was a balletic background that was being used in the ‘pushing’. But the work seemed so long, which was not made to feel shorter when many sections of the work appeared not to relate to each other. I was relieved when the work eventually concluded.

The outstanding feature of the program, over all four works, was the strength of the dancing. Whatever movement ideas the choreographers chose to investigate, the dancers rose to the challenge and performed with gusto. And all my congratulations to the staff of both companies for creating a program that put forward a challenge. In fact, as I left the theatre I had the feeling that it would be hard to find a performance that could give rise to so many varying thoughts about the nature of ballet.

.Michelle Potter, 16 March 2025

UPDATE: This post has been the subject of a series of scam messages and comments have, therefore, been closed.

The Night has a Thousand Eyes. Borderline Arts Ensemble

6 March 2025. Te Auaha, Wellington Fringe Festival

Director, choreographer, performer: Lucy Marinkovich
Composer, pianist: Lucien Johnson
Co-choreographer, performer: Michael Parmenter
Lighting: Martyn Roberts

reviewed by Jennifer Shennan

The Night has a Thousand Eyes is an hour-long work described as a ‘nocturnal dreamscape of movement and mystery’. The first image is of a vast suspended square tent of white muslin, evoking the cloth draped over a baby’s cradle, lit from within, but empty yet. Piano music is gentle, lullaby-like. Soon the dancer moves in amniotic shadow inside the tent, we glimpse a limb, the edge of her torso, her arm gesturing up, then around, and down, the palms of her hands coming forward into focus. There’s a quiet mood of questioning and waiting as the work awakens to this exploration of space and place, and the piano carries us through.

This is Lucy Marinkovich in the first in a series of vignettes shared with Michael Parmenter, mostly solos, occasionally duets, that play with shadows and silhouettes from the dark and into the light that is sourced from side or back or front, with the two dancers’ bodies, especially arms and hands, striking 1, 000 shapes that hint, suggest, tease, whisper and play in the night.

Lucy Marinkovich in a scene from *The Night has a Thousand Eyes*. Borderline Arts Ensemble, 2025. Photo: © Lucien Johnson

Impressions are suggested—to wonder at the beauty of an arm outstretched then curved then dissolved—to hold and embrace an infant, perhaps—keeping silent reverie alone beneath a dark sky that shimmers with 1,000 stars, in no specific place but here. Nights are long but the piano, in Lucien Johnson’s driving score, carries us through.

Parmenter dances alternate sections, he too is a silhouette, then moving and flowing, then held in chiselled positions. He will later be the insomniac out in the night streets of Paris, marking out fragments of old tap dance routines, or flashing a thousand tiny lights onto a dark wall, imagining he’s alone but we are watching. These are film-like dream-like sequences, and still the piano carries us through.

Lucy Marinkovich and Michael Parmenter in a scene from *The Night has a Thousand Eyes*. Borderline Arts Ensemble, 2025. Photo: © Lucien Johnson

The performers are not connected as characters, nor is any specific thematic narrative developed. They move in alternate sequences that build a sympathy and empathy between them as they share the thoughts and things that arrive in the nights—both theirs and ours. A scene comes to seem like a poem, each separate yet belonging together in a selected collection.

The hub of the work is the mesmerising Serpentine Dance reconstructed by Marinkovich after Loie Fuller moving in the earliest stagings of electric light on stage over 100 years ago. Vast swathes of white silk are held aloft with poles to extend the wings into a celestial realm. The carefully chosen moves and curves and swoops bring the silk into its own life, making invisible air now visible, eventually enveloping the dancer, and still the piano carries us through.

So the two dancers, but also the lighting design that in turn brings textiles to life, effectively make a cast of four performers. We cannot take our eyes off any of them.

My wish, although maybe not practical, would have been to see the pianist in low light side-stage, visually holding these vignettes together as indeed the music did throughout.

Jennifer Shennan, 7 March 2025

Featured image: Lucy Marinkovich in a reference to Loie Fuller’s Serpentine Dance. The Night has a Thousand Eyes, Borderline Arts Ensemble, 2025. Photo: © Lucien Johnson

Essor. Yolanda Lowatta

My review of Essor a solo performance from Yolanda Lowatta was published online on 02 March 2025 by CBR CityNews. Read it at this link.. Below is a slightly enlarged version of the review.

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01 March 2025. Gordon Darling Hall, National Portrait Gallery, Canberra

There is much to admire about Essor, a 20-minute solo performance choreographed and danced at the National Portrait Gallery (NPG) by Indigenous performer, Yolanda Lowatta. Lowatta is a member of Canberra’s Australian Dance Party and the Party’s leaders, Alison Plevey and Sara Black, produced Essor, which was commissioned by the NPG.

As has been the case whenever a dance performance has been commissioned by the NPG (and there have been quite a few such commissions over the past several years), Essor was created in response to photographic material currently on display in the Gallery—in this case to Some Lads, a series of portraits by renowned Australian photographer, Tracey Moffatt. The images are of dancers connected with the Aboriginal and Islander Dance Development Centre who had influenced Lowatta in some way and include Russell Page, Graham Blanco, Matthew Doyle, and Gary Lang. The name of the work, Essor, is an Indigenous word meaning ‘thank you’ and the work is Lowatta’s recognition of the impact those lads have had on her.

It was a real pleasure to watch Lowatta’s sense of movement as displayed in her choreography. There was a beautiful overall fluidity in her manner of moving, especially in the arms and upper body. But within this fluidity there were many moments of detail especially in the fingers and in the positions taken by the feet. There were moments, too, when a smile crossed her face suggesting that she was recalling a particular moment in relation to one of her mentors.

Yolanda Lowatta in the Gordon Darling Hall, 2025. Photo: © Creswick Collective

But what was remarkable was the way in which Lowatta referenced different styles of dance, all of which must have influenced her current, personal movement style. Some movements seemed to come straight from the dance style seen in clan performances from Indigenous women; some referenced Western contemporary dance, especially those grounded movements that were interspersed throughout; some, such as the leaps with a leg held in arabesque, were quite balletic.

This stylistic diversity, which never looked jarring or lacking in harmony, was reflected in an exceptional soundscape from Indigenous multi-artist Bindimu. It contained sounds of water; the playing of Indigenous instruments; sounds from nature, including bird calls; human voices; and a range of other audio items. Just as Lowatta’s choreography referenced different dance styles, Bindimu’s soundscape took us, potentially, from venue to venue, that is to a selection of places where dance might been seen.

Bindimu was also responsible for Lowatta’s costume—a dark purple ‘grass’ skirt and top worn over a Western style close fitting pair of black shorts with a separate top. Again, there was a strong reference to more than one aspect of Lowatta’s career.

The work was structured around a circle of audience members, seated on the floor in the centre of the Gordon Darling Hall, with a few regular seats, placed outside the circle, for older people. Lowatta moved this way and that and often traversed the circular space occupied by the seated audience. But as the soundscape came to an end, Lowatta led the audience from the Hall to the Gallery where the Moffatt portraits were hanging. She left us there, after well-deserved and loudly expressed applause, to admire the photographs and, as a result, to reflect further on Essor.

Michelle Potter, 02 March 2025