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 But I always enjoy the historical references that the dancing at the ball involves, especially the slight backwards tilt of the bodies as the dances proceed.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

Featured image: Scottish Ballet dancers in a moment from Sophie Laplane’s Dextera. Photo: © Andy Ross

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

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

Enigma Variations. The Royal Ballet (2019)

Via the ROH streaming platform

Frederick Ashton choreographed his ballet, Enigma Variations, to the similarly named score by Edward Elgar: Royal Ballet publicity describes the ballet as an ‘ode to the composer Edward Elgar’. The ballet depicts several of Elgar’s friends and family who are seen at Elgar’s home as he ponders the outcome of a request to conductor Hans Richter regarding input into the premiere performance of the Enigma score. Richter eventually sends a telegram to Elgar agreeing to the request to conduct, and Elgar and his friends gather as one to share Elgar’s pleasure (and relief?).

I had never previously seen the ballet, which received its premiere from the Royal Ballet in 1968, and I came to the streaming with pretty much no knowledge of what was happening, not even why the mysterious envelope that arrived at the end of the work caused the thrill that it did for the cast. But even without this knowledge it was a fascinating work choreographically and for the way the collection of people who danced the various and diverse roles were so strong in their characterisations. It is also exceptionally designed as a period piece by Julia Trevalyan Oman. After watching it this first time, my curiosity sent me on a research trip via the internet and via David Vaughan’s engrossing book Frederick Ashton and his Ballets. I watched the stream again.

Christopher Saunders performed the role of Elgar and did so with a strength that drew attention instantly and constantly. The opening moments in which Elgar’s wife, danced by Laura Morera, offered her support for her husband as he struggled to remain unworried by his situation set the scene beautifully. It looked calm and simple in many respects but it was choreographically quite complex especially in relation to the various lifts included.

Christopher Saunders as Elgar and Laura Morera as Elgar’s wife, with Bennet Gartside as music editor A. J. Jaeger, in *Enigma Variation*s. The Royal Ballet. Photo: © ROH/Tristram Kenton

Francesca Hayward gave a memorable performance as Dorabella, a young friend of Elgar. Dorabella suffers from a speech impediment and this aspect of her persona was recognised with fast moving and constantly changing choreography—including fast runs and little hops on pointe. But, in addition to this somewhat remarkable choreographic inclusion, Hayward projected a winning, unforgettable youthfulness.

Francesca Hayward as Dorabella in *Enigma Variation*s. The Royal Ballet. Photo: © ROH/Tristram Kenton

Another standout character was Arthur Troyte Griffith, an architect and a close male friend of Elgar, danced dramatically and exuberantly by Matthew Ball. But the entire cast performed with such skill and dramatic input that it is hard to single out individual performances. One aspect of the choreography that stood out for me was Ashton’s skill in creating movement that never looked as though it was specific to particular parts of the body. Movement just coursed through the entire body.

Matthew Ball as Troyte in *Enigma Variation*s. The Royal Ballet. Photo: © ROH/Tristram Kenton

The ballet is episodic in structure and crosses time. But it is just beautifully structured and performed and will stay in my mind for a long time to come.

Michelle Potter, 20 February 2025

Featured image: Artists of the Royal Ballet in the closing moments of Enigma Variations. The Royal Ballet. Photo: © ROH/Tristram Kenton

Voices of Spring. The Royal Ballet

Via the ROH streaming platform

Frederick Ashton was a choreographer who used classical ballet as his medium, which today it is not such a common method of producing a new work, not even within a ballet company (at least not in my mind). This is not a criticism of ballet today and I clearly recall my former ballet teacher, Valrene Tweedie, saying ‘ballet absorbs everything’! To its credit ballet has moved on and continues to do so. But Ashton was a choreographer whose work is thrilling to watch for the manner in which he uses movement that encompasses aspects of ballet that no longer appear to the same extent in today’s choreography.

A recent addition to the ROH streaming platform has been Ashton’s six-or-so minute pas de deux Voices of Spring. Ashton originally made the work, then called Frulingsstimmen, in 1977 for a New Year’s Eve performance of Die Fledermaus as performed by the Royal Opera. It appeared in a ball scene in Act II of the production along with another Ashton inclusion, Explosions-Polka.

Frulingsstimmen was first performed as a dance piece, independent of the opera, in September 1978 under the name Voices of Spring, the English translation of its German title, Frühlingsstimmen. Since then the pas de deux has been part of the Royal Ballet’s repertoire (although it seems to have been performed somewhat infrequently).

The version the company has added to its streaming platform is a performance from 2013 danced by Yuhui Choe and Alexander Campbell. Technically they make Ashton’s demanding choreography look just breathtaking (including his ‘signature’ walking through the air moments). Impressive from both dancers is the line of the body, the fluidity of the arms and indeed the fluidity of the entire body throughout the piece, along with the use of a beautifully stretched neck, especially from Choe, with the head balanced so impressively at the top of the spine.

But more than technical matters, the connection between the two dancers had been exceptionally thought through. Campbell presented Choe to the audience in true balletic tradition, while never forgetting that he was an individual as well. Then there was the absolute joy that coursed through the pas de deux and that reflected so beautifully the music, the Frulingsstimmen waltz from Johann Strauss II.

This pas de deux has been danced by others over the years, all well-known artists. But, from the excerpts available on YouTube,* no one else seems to have captured the nature of the work as Choe and Campbell have done, especially the exceptional fluidity and the inherent joy seen throughout the performance. I was blown away.

Michelle Potter, 9 February 2025

* The YouTube footage available does not include the Choe/Campbell performance, which is only available online via the ROH streaming platform

Featured image: Yuhui Choe and Alexander Campbell in Voices of Spring. The Royal Ballet, 2013. Photo: © Tristram Kenton

All In. Dance Makers Collective

22 January 2025, Parramatta Town Hall, Western Sydney

It is not easy to review All In. To tell the truth, in many decades of performing, teaching, reviewing and writing about dance, I have never really seen anything like it. Not only that, Dance Makers Collective (DMC) is a new organisation for me (even though it is more than 10 years old apparently). Based on Dharug country (Western Sydney), it is a collective-led dance company with a mission to build dance communities and it works with, and between, dance theatre, contemporary dance and social dance. It aims to connect and move people and to destigmatise dance.

Its co-director, Miranda Wheen, is well known in Canberra having performed, with exceptional results, for various Canberra-based groups, including those directed by Elizabeth Dalman and by Liz Lea. My interest in Wheen’s work is what encouraged me to accept the generous invitation to review the latest DMC show.

The show took place in a hall with an unraked floor with two rows of seats around the edges of the space. It began with an Indigenous section led by a remarkable performer singing and using a version of clapsticks (they were quite long) to develop the rhythm of the section. The Indigenous element moved into a second section, which began with a series of connections between the Indigenous dancers and dancers performing Western-style contemporary dance.

The Western section eventually took on a life of its own and, while I found this section somewhat lengthy, the choreography was fast-paced, varied in the groupings that formed and dissolved, and nicely danced by all.

What was for me the most interesting of the following sections began as a Spanish/Flamenco flavoured performance led by a committed artist (Pepa Molina?), whose flamenco skills were clearly exceptional, and who was accompanied by a small number of other dancers also demonstrating Spanish movement. A few minutes into this section, however, the Spanish dancers were joined by a young man dressed all in white, who at first seemed also to be performing Spanish-style movement. But it didn’t take long to realise that he was in fact a proponent of Indian movement. What was totally fascinating was the way he moved his fingers. While they were clearly Indian-style, and exceptionally clear, somehow they blended beautifully with the the leading Spanish dancer whose fingers moved as if playing castanets. Here was a terrific example of the joyous connections between dance forms.

But the culmination of the show really brought home the concept of ‘all in’. The show moved quite suddenly into its finale when the audience (and not just one or two audience members but pretty much the entire audience) rose from their seats and joined the dancers on the floor. Young and old, experienced and not so experienced, all were present moving together. There were some instructions on a screen at the end of the space ‘Go left’, Go right’, ‘Make a circle’, ‘Dance with the person next to you’, and so on. And they did!

Media for the show, which was part of the 2025 Sydney Festival, stated: ‘Dance exists on stages, at weddings, in clubs and at cultural gatherings. Why is it so universal? What are the boundaries between ballet and backyard parties? Can dance build bridges and ignite collective joy?’ Well All In certainly built bridges of various kinds, including between dance styles and between performers and audiences. And seeing the thrills and excitement that permeated the finale, dance clearly can ignite collective joy.

So, apart from the thrill of watching a performance that was mostly an outstanding show in terms of dance technique, what All In showed us is that dance is for everyone and that it exists beyond what might be called a mainstage show. It needs to tour. I can think of a number of Canberra venues in which All In might be presented, notably in Canberra Theatre Centre’s Courtyard Studio Theatre and in Gorman Arts Centre’s Main Hall. Let’s hope!

Michelle Potter, 24 January 2025

As I am not familiar with the company and didn’t really know the names of the various dancers, below is the list of creatives from the online program:
Director & Choreographer Miranda Wheen
Assistant / Rehearsal Director Marnie Palomares
Producer Carl Sciberras
Composer Fiona Hill
Designer Anya McKee
Lighting Designer Benjamin Brockman
Creative Collaborators Vishnu Arunasalam, Azzam Mohamed, Pepa Molina, Peta Strachan
Co-Choreographers & Performers Samuel Beazley, Mitchell Christie, Eliza Cooper, Emma Harrison, Katina Olsen, Melanie Palomares, Emma Riches, Ella Watson-Heath
Co-Choreographers Jana Castillo, Tra Mi Dinh, Sophia Ndaba
Featuring Cameo Performances from Jannawi Dance Clan, Future Makers, Riddim Nation, Las Flamenkas, Pepa Molina, Vishnu Arunasalam, and Majdy and Seraj Jildah
Indian Percussion Pirashanna Thevarajah
DJ Krystel Diola
Music Mix Bob Scott
Additional Choreography (Jannawi Dance Clan) Peta Strachan
Additional Music (Jannawi Dance Clan) Steve Francis (Composer) and Matthew Doyle (Vocals)
Additional Choreography (Las Flamenkas) Pepa Molina
Additional Music (Las Flamenkas) Manuel Barco
Stage Managers Tom Kelly and William Phillips

Yugen. The Royal Ballet

Via the ROH streaming platform

I was really surprised to discover (belatedly) that the Royal Ballet’s repertoire included a work called Yugen, choreographed by Wayne McGregor and presented in 2018. Australians of a certain age will remember Robert Helpmann’s narrative ballet Yugen, which he created for the Australian Ballet in 1965. Helpmann’s Yugen was freely adapted from the Japanese Noh play Hageromo. It told the story of Tsukiyomo the Moon Goddess and, in essence, focused on the outcome of an event one night when Tsukiyomo came down to earth to bathe in a lagoon but had her wings stolen by a local fisherman, Hakuryo, who believed they were rare shells.

Alan Alder as Hakuyro the Fisherman in Robert Helpmann’s *Yugen*. The Australian Ballet, 1965. Photo: © National Library of Australia/Walter Stringer

‘Yugen’ is a Zen Buddhist term and was defined by Helpmann in program notes to his ballet as ‘the most gracefully refined expression of beauty; beauty which is felt—as the shadow of a cloud momentarily before the moon’.

McGregor’s Yugen couldn’t be more different. His interpretation of the word ‘yugen’ is of course similar to that of Helpmann. In an ‘extra’ to the ROH stream, McGregor says the word means ‘mysterious or profound grace, something that has a mercurial beauty’. But there is no specific narrative line in McGregor’s production, although when watching it one is tempted to create a story in one’s mind as the work progresses. This is especially so with the relationship that seems to evolve between and beyond the leading dancers, Calvin Richardson, Sarah Lamb and Federico Bonelli, along with Joseph Sissens who takes a significant role as the work moves to an end. And also in that ‘extra’ to the stream, McGregor mentions that in his Yugen there is no obvious storyline, but goes on to say that he believes there is no such thing as a non-narrative ballet as audiences tend to imagine their own story (as indeed I did).

Choreographically, whether we see/imagine a narrative or not, McGregor’s work for eleven dancers is quite stunning. Danced to Leonard Bernstein’s Chichester Psalms and presented as part of Bernstein’s centenary celebrations, the work begins dramatically in front of Edmund de Waal’s set of rectangular structures of different heights and depths.

Scene from *Yugen* showing Edmund de Waal’s set. Photo: © ROH/Andrej Uspenski

From there the work proceeds through duets, solos and other combinations of dancers. A highlight is a solo from Richardson in which he seems to puzzle over his existence or state of being. Sarah Lamb performs McGregor’s demanding movements calmly and with amazing skill and it is such a pleasure seeing her look into the face of Bonelli who partners her through the work. They are clearly connected, emotionally or otherwise.

McGregor’s choreography is filled with exceptionally lyrical movements of the arms and upper body. And, as ever, he uses the space of the stage in unusual and thought-provoking ways. Watching is a moving and often surprising experience. It’s a waiting game too as one waits to see what will happen next in terms of how the body can move. Costumes by Shirin Guild allow McGregor’s diverse and fluid movements to be seen at their best

But perhaps the most deeply involving moments come as the work concludes. In a duet, with no one else on stage, and with the lighting (from Lucy Carter) progressively darkening, Sissens leads Richardson into the blackness. Is it to his death?

Calvin Richardson and Joseph Sissens in a moment from *Yugen*. Photo: © ROH/Andrej Uspenski

I probably need to relate the choreography of McGregor’s work more closely to the various psalms that are sung during the work. Perhaps another viewing? On this first viewing I am simply enjoying the fascination of two productions called Yugen—both so different in approach to the word, or aesthetic concept, that gave birth to them. And of course I enjoyed the spectacular dancing of the eleven Royal Ballet dancers who performed this second (for me) Yugen.

Michelle Potter, 5 January 2025

Postscript: McGregor’s Yugen was a co-production with the Dutch National Ballet.

The Lady of the Camellias. Shanghai Ballet

5 December 2024. Lyric Theatre, Queensland Performing Arts Centre, Brisbane

I have had the good fortune over the years of seeing two spectacular productions with choreography by Derek Deane—Strictly Gershwin in two presentations from Queensland Ballet, one in 2016 and the second in 2023; and an English National Ballet production of Deane’s Swan Lake in 2011. Both left me staggered and wanting more. I wish I could say the same about The Lady of the Camellias danced by Shanghai Ballet and presented in a Brisbane exclusive by Queensland Ballet.

On a positive note, the design of both costumes and sets from Adam Nee was exceptional—a real visual treat. There was one scene in Act I that took place in a theatre and the curtained backcloth was just stunning and made this particular aspect of the narrative not only obvious but breathtaking. Then there were the several backcloths showing slightly abstract floral designs (camellias?), which also attracted one’s attention. In addition, the dancing was outstanding from all the Shanghai dancers. It was a thrill to watch their lyricism, especially in the beautiful use of the arms and upper body, the elevation of both men and women, and the perfection in the execution of the choreography. Unfortunately, however, even though the physicality was there, I didn’t always feel a strong emotional involvement between the dancers in what is a very emotional story.

With one or two exceptions, in particular a lovely pas de deux between the two main characters, Marguerite and Armand, while on holidays beachside, I found Deane’s choreography on this occasion somewhat unimaginative—it reminded me of the 1950s or 60s. Such a shame given that we have been used to seeing some quite outstanding contemporary ballet here recently from choreographers such as Christopher Wheeldon with Oscar for the Australian Ballet and, for Queensland Ballet, Coco Chanel, from Annabelle Lopez Ochoa. And this is not to mention recent work from Alice Topp, Loughlan Prior and others.

Wu Husheng as Armand Duval and Qi Bingxue as Marguerite Gautier in *The Lady of the Camellias*, Shanghai Ballet, 2024.

Then there is the storytelling aspect of The Lady of the Camellias. The Deane production looked at the society in which the story unfolded as well as the connections between the main characters. But there were times when it was not easy to tell who was who and what exactly the relationships between the various characters were as more and more people filled the stage. Perhaps, in order to be swept away by the Deane production, we are (or I am) too used to Frederick Ashton’s Marguerite and Armand, with the story stripped back to its basic elements, which thus more easily exposes a deep emotional content.

For me The Lady of the Camellias was something of a disappointment.

Michelle Potter, 7 December 2024

Featured image: Dancers of Shanghai Ballet in a scene from The Lady of the Camellias, 2024

New Zealand School of Dance performance season, 2024

20 November 2024. Te Whaea theatre, Wellington
Season runs until 30 November

reviewed by Jennifer Shennan

This end-of-year performance season is dedicated to the memory of New Zealand’s celebrated ballet dancer Rowena Jackson, who died earlier this year aged 99. Rowena was Director of New Zealand School of Dance (then National School of Ballet) in the 1970s when her husband Philip Chatfield was artistic director of (later the Royal) New Zealand Ballet. That partnership ensured a close rapport between School and Company, echoed later in 1980s when Anne Rowse and Harry Haythorne were respective directors. After some years it is heartening that Garry Trinder, director of the School, is again renewing that rapport with the Company’s artistic director, Ty King-Wall. Artists, teachers, students and audiences are all going to benefit from that mutual trust as it develops even closer.

This season includes three premieres, and alternates classical and contemporary works, which gives a welcome opportunity to see the strengths of the School’s two parallel programs. It opens with a piece to the Waltz from The Sleeping Beauty. The cast of 15 dancers, drawn from all three years’ classes, dance with enthusiasm and commitment.

Showpony! by Matte Roffe, an alumnus of NZSD, begins with a fancy-dress comic line-up of characters with voice-over, that then segues into energised abstract dance. “Using the ‘show pony’ metaphor, the work questions if the cost of constantly chasing approval is worth it, urging the audience to reflect on the toll this pursuit takes on authenticity and wellbeing.”

Gabriella Arnold in *Showpony!* Photo: © Stephen A’Court

(S)even, by the late Jenna Lavin, to a piano sonata by Franz Schubert, was staged by Tara Mora—and brings a fresh clean style of classical alignment especially in port de bras. [The School employs three of the best dance accompanists in town, so how wonderful it would be to have at least one work danced to live accompaniment?]

Taane Mete, a graduate from NZSD in 1980s, choreographed All Eyes Open, to commissioned music by Eden Mulholland, a highly experienced composer for dance. It proved the masterpiece of the evening in its maturity of concept, contemporary relevance, construction, staging, style, dedication and performance. I’d have thought the work could go straight into RNZB repertoire, as in every way it evokes the works from José Limon and Doris Humphrey company legacy (which used to be an intrinsic part of NZSD curriculum and repertoire.) Clearly in Taane’s case that early inspiration, since his days at the School in 1980s, has proved lifelong.

A moment from *All Eyes Open*. Photo: © Stephen A’Court

His program note, a model of clarity, reads: This work is a humanitarian response to the occupation in Gaza. The all-female cast morph and oscillate in solidarity in a confined area. The work explores each individual pathway in relation to the ensemble group moving en masse like a hypnotic force. I couldn’t have reviewed it better myself. If ever the NZSD Board can see ahead to forming a touring company, giving graduates a year of performance experience, they would have in All Eyes Open a timeless work, and a premiere ready to go.

It’s Not Me, It’s Me, by Zoë Dunwoodie to music by David Jones, is a lively work suiting the young dancers searching their identity. It is inspired by a painting by Dutch artist Jan Toorop who is known for Javanese themes throughout his works, though this dance takes a different path. It extends the dancers’ movement range in many new directions.

Aylish Marshall and dancers in *It’s Not Me, It’s Me*. Photo: © Stephen A’Court

The final work Forte, by Tim Podesta, premiered earlier this year in Wellington. It is a sophisticated classical work, albeit in flat shoes, and the cast of five dancers deliver performances of electric quality throughout. Three students are from the First Year class so it is clear they have reached the school already highly trained and skilled performers. There are four separate pieces of music, with applause from audience following each section. If it were possible perhaps to connect each section with a minimal choreographic thread, that would allow the work to build the full momentum and denoument it certainly deserves.

Hui Yo-Hin, Liezel Herrera, Lin Yi-Xuan in *Forte*. Photo: © Stephen A’Court

We assume it is the Third Year students who are graduating, and we wish them all a fruitful and rewarding lifetime in dance.

Jennifer Shennan, 22 November 2024