The Weathering. The Royal Ballet

Via the ROH streaming platform

My attention was first drawn to Kyle Abraham, choreographer of The Weathering (a Royal Ballet commission from 2022), while working in New York from 2006 to 2008, although I didn’t ever manage to see any of his choreography then. Almost two decades later, The Weathering, made on eleven dancers (two female and nine male of various ethnicities) is the first of his works that I have seen.

Media notes tell us that The Weathering ‘explores notions of love, loss and acceptance’ although it is not always easy to see that exploration appear in the choreography. I thought Abraham’s movement was quite repetitious—lots of pirouettes and other turning steps and a particular emphasis on waving arms. There was the occasional czardas-type movement and a few other interesting steps but nothing took away from the feeling I had that the choreography was somewhat repetitious.

The most watchable sections for me were those that featured Fumi Kaneko whether in her solo sections or in pas de deux with William Bracewell. Kaneko’s beautifully flexible body, and the fluidity with which she uses that aspect of her dancing, along with her ability to inject emotion into her performance made watching her a real pleasure.

Fumi Kaneko in *The Weathering*. The Royal Ballet, 2022. Photo: © ROH/Andrej Uspenski

A pas de deux between Calvin Richardson and Joseph Sissens also was satisfying to watch. It was a moment when the attraction between two people was strong.

Calvin Richardson and Joseph Sissens in *The Weathering*. The Royal Ballet, 2022. Photo: © ROH/Andrej Uspenski

The lighting design by Dan Scully consisted of lights enclosed in small rectangular-shaped containers. They were movable items that appeared at times on the floor and at others in various positions across the upper space of the performing area. Their placing and movements were something to watch, although it wasn’t clear if there was, or was not a relationship between them and the expressed themes of love, loss and acceptance.

In the end this review became a very short comment largely because I just kept wondering whether Abraham was simply making an effort to create a work that could be seen as politically or culturally correct given the diversity of the cast he chose and the way that cast members interacted in terms of gender and ethnicity. I am looking forward to seeing some more of Abraham’s work. It might clarify his approach (for me at least).

Michelle Potter, 5 July 2025

Featured image: Joshua Junker in The Weathering. The Royal Ballet 2022. Photo: © ROH/Andrej Uspenski

Triple Bill: Lister/Weir/Horsman. Queensland Ballet

27 June 2025. The Playhouse, Queensland Performing Arts Centre, Brisbane

Queensland Ballet’s Triple Bill left me with mixed feelings. The opening work was Jack Lister’s Gemini, which in program notes is described as ‘A subterranean gathering harnessing both the earthly and the divine. A new world where myth and matter amass.’ To me it was an effort to bring to the fore the procedure of Gesamtkunstwerk where all the various elements that make up a show are given a strong presence and inform each other in some way. Musically we heard Dvorak’s Symphony No. 9 as a reimagined score by Louis Frere-Harvey. Lighting was interesting, although not hugely to my liking as it constantly cut out the movement created by the dancers. But music and lighting certainly had a strong presence.

A moment from Jack Lister’s *Gemini*. Queensland Ballet 2025. Photo: © David Kelly

But for me the choreography was an unimpressive addition to the whole. For some of the time there was no movement, just bodies standing in various groupings. When there was movement it was quite abrupt and geometric in look. At times it looked animalistic and at others it reminded me of a kind of calisthenics. It was all something of a disappointment.

The absolute standout was the second work on the program, Natalie Weir’s 4Seasons, a creation that was filled with fluid movement and curving shapes. There were some truly beautiful pas de deux sections—as we have come to expect from Weir. Some were quite acrobatic but always balletically acrobatic and I loved watching for how the male dancers held the females as they proceeded through the pas de deux. There were some spectacular solos too, especially from Ivan Surodeev as Summer and Joshua Ostermann as Winter (pictured below right).

Scenes from Natalie Weir’s *4Seasons*. Queensland Ballet 2025. Photos: © David Kelly

It was also fulfilling to watch Weir’s use of the performing space throughout 4Seasons. Often a line of dancers across the space, or stretched vertically through the space, would break up with movements that flowed along those lines and seemingly reflected on interconnections between those engaged in a journey through life.

4Seasons was danced to Antonio Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons, with some sections recomposed by Max Richter. Its costumes were designed by Bruce McKinven and lighting came from Matthew Marshall.

The evening closed with Greg Horsman’s A Rhapsody in Motion. This is the third time I have watched Horsman’s Rhapsody and every time I have seen something new. On this occasion I was taken aback (pleasantly) by parts of the opening section in which Horsman explores a dancer’s engagement with the barre, that object with which every ballet dancer’s class begins and which Horsman sees ‘a seemingly simple tool that represents years of discipline and dedication’. I loved those moments when the dancers found an occasion to use the barre in ways that don’t usually happen. (I don’t remember a class where I was held upside down at the barre!)

Using the barre in unusual ways in Greg Horsman’s *A Rhapsody in Motion*. Photo: © David Kelly

I also enjoyed immensely the movement from barre to eventual performance complete with changed costumes (Zoe Griffiths) and with some exciting dancing from across the cast. A Rhapsody in Motion is a fast-paced production that opens new areas of interest at each viewing.

Queensland Ballet continues to go from strength to strength with displays of remarkable dancing.

Michelle Potter, 28 June 2025

Featured image: Libby-Rose Niederer in a moment from Greg Horsman’s Rhapsody in Motion. Queensland Ballet, 2025. Photo: © David Kelly

Carmen. The Australian Ballet (2025)

20 June 2025. Canberra Theatre

My 2025 review of Carmen was published by Canberra CityNews online on 21 June 2025. Below is a slightly expanded version of the review. The CityNews review is at this link.

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It was something of a surprise to see, on approaching the Canberra Theatre Centre for the opening night of an Australian Ballet performance of Johan Inger’s Carmen, that the exterior walls of the building were lit red. Red, the colour we perhaps associate with Carmen, the very dramatic leading character in the story who is invariably dressed in red. But it also set up a particular feeling that perhaps this was not going to be the Carmen we might be expecting. And the production, created by Swedish choreographer Johan Inger, was indeed a very different production from other versions of Carmen I have seen.

Inger’s Carmen updates the story in the novella, Carmen, written in 1845 by the French writer Prosper Mérimée. Inger’s ballet, created originally for Compañia Nacional de Danza in Madrid in 2015, looks inside the personalities of the characters, especially the sexual feelings of the three major male characters—Don José (Callum Linnane), Torero (Jake Mangakahia) and Zúñiga (Brett Chynoweth) and their activities with women, especially Carmen (Jill Ogai).

Inger has added some characters. They include a young boy (Lilla Harvey) who begins as an innocent youth dressed in white. We see him playing with a football as the ballet begins. The boy follows the action throughout, but by the end has been shocked by the actions that have taken place and loses that innocence. His white outfit is now a black costume. In addition, there are characters dressed in black and wearing masks. They appear throughout both acts and seem to characterise Fate as they remove dead bodies and interact with other members of the cast.

Lilla Harvey as the boy in *Carmen*. The Australian Ballet, 2025. Photo: © Kate Longley

Choreographically Inger surprises with his fast, complex movements and his expressive choreography for the feet, legs, arms and hands. All recall balletic movements but they push that recall beyond expectations. His choreography also has powerful sexual references, especially from Carmen, who often presents herself in sexually explicit ways to the men with whom she is engaging.

Jill Ogai (centre) and Australian Ballet artists in a scene from *Carmen*. The Australian Ballet, 2024. Photo: © Daniel Boud

Musically the work is exciting to hear. While the composer is credited as Rodin Shchedrin, the score includes music from Georges Bizet’s composition for the opera Carmen with additional music from Marc Alvarez. It was played live by the Canberra Symphony Orchestra conducted by guest artist Jessica Gethin.

Carmen looked fabulous on the Canberra Theatre stage. It is a stage that has, over the years, been much maligned by certain influential staff of the Australian Ballet. They have consistently refused to bring the company to Canberra with a major, but not sole reason being that the stage was unsuitable. But for Carmen the stage space had been stripped back and set up as a kind of ‘black box’ site, which suited the quite minimal but beautifully expressive set (Curt Allen Wilmer and Leticia Ganán).

Callum Linnane as Don José in front of one view of the set arrangement. The Australian Ballet, 2024. Photo: © Daniel Boud

The set consisted of several large pillars with different surfaces depending on which side was facing the audience. The pillars could be, and were moved into a variety of positions and combinations to suggest the various settings in which the action took place. Those settings included an arrangement that seemed like a maze through which Don José rushed while calling out for Carmen. The oblong shape of the performing space also suited the spatial aspects of Inger’s choreography, especially for his groupings of dancers, which were often in horizontally arranged lines.

The Australian Ballet really needs to reconsider its attitude to Canberra. ‘We are CBR’ says the city’s slogan with the letters C, B and R not just being an abbreviation for the name of the city but also standing for Confident, Bold and Ready. Carmen is a brilliant production, exceptionally choreographed, beautifully produced and so well danced by artists of the Australian Ballet. It so suits those who are confident, bold and ready. Don’t miss it!

Michelle Potter, 22 June 2025

Featured image: Jill Ogai as Carmen and Callum Linnane as Don José. The Australian Ballet, 2025. Photo: © Kate Longley

Requiem. The Royal Ballet (2024)

Via the ROH streaming platform

After watching, and being blown away by the film Cranko, I was inspired to look further in an effort to expand my understanding of the background to John Cranko’s career with Stuttgart Ballet. I found on the Royal Opera House streaming platform a 2024 production of Requiem, a ballet created for Stuttgart Ballet in 1976 as ‘a portrait of a ballet company coming to terms with the loss of its beloved leader’. That leader was, of course, John Cranko and the work, which first reached the stage three years after Cranko’s death in 1973, was choreographed by Kenneth MacMillan and set to Gabriel Fauré’s choral work Requiem.

The work has an interesting early history. MacMillan intended it for the Royal Ballet but his choice of music was vetoed by the Royal Opera House board of governors. Some board members did not approve of the use of the Fauré’s music, There was a feeling that its use might offend the religious sensibilities of some patrons. Marcia Haydée, then artistic director of Stuttgart Ballet, had no issues with MacMillan’s choice of music and the work was created in Stuttgart. It eventually entered the repertoire of the Royal Ballet in 1983.

I was incredibly moved by the opening moments when the cast entered from upstage, Prompt side, as a tightly knit group, moving with tiny steps while clenching their hands in what appeared to be frustration then opening their hands and arms expansively, while at the same time opening their mouths as if screaming. There before us was a group represented as one but with each and every person uttering their sorrow.

Then followed several separate sections according to the various movements of the Fauré composition, which Fauré himself described (apparently) as ‘dominated from beginning to end by a very human feeling of faith in eternal rest’. The choral input to the production came from the Royal Opera Extra Chorus. Other creative input included design from Yolanda Sonnabend (with later input from Peter Farley) and lighting by John B. Read.

Groupings of dancers featured throughout and, media tells us, many of the images created were inspired by the art work of William Blake.

An image from the sixth movement of *Requiem*. Image from the ROH stream page. Photographer not identified (a still?)

But beyond the stunning group work there were sections where the soloists on this occasion— Sarah Lamb, Melissa Hamilton, William Bracewell, Josef Sissens and Lukas Brændsrød—performed alone or together in pas de deux and other small combinations. Exceptionally enthralling was a solo by a sparingly costumed William Bracewell in the second movement. It was pretty much a perfect display both of his amazing technical skill and his ability to project emotion through that technique. It also showed just beautifully MacMillan’s choreographic emphasis on filling the space around the body.

William Bracewell in *Requiem*. From a Facebook page.

Sarah Lamb and Melissa Hamilton had some engrossing solos in the fourth and fifth movements and it was moving to watch the choreography so often changing from tightly held, almost crumpled poses to expansive movements. Thus did MacMillan’s choreography show changing emotions from despair to acceptance. The finale was yet another moving part of the work with the stage space showing a circle of light mid stage with the dancers moving into the light and showing some kind of acceptance, perhaps of a new stage in their and Cranko’s existence.

A masterly production from Macmillan and so beautifully performed by the Royal Ballet.

Michelle Potter, 10 June 2025

Featured image: An image from the ROH stream webpage for Requiem. Photographer not identified (a still?)

Illume. Bangarra Dance Theatre

4 June 2025. Joan Sutherland Theatre, Sydney Opera House

Bangarra’s latest production is nothing short of a visual feast with its lighting design from Damien Cooper standing out in an exceptional way. In particular, the starry opening scene, which extended from the stage up and out to the ceiling and walls of the Joan Sutherland Theatre, and the closing scenes where the colour scheme became more varied, stood out.

A moment towards the end of *Illume*. Bangarra Dance Theatre, 2025. Photo: © Daniel Boud

What also stood out was that Illume seemed more abstract than most of Bangarra’s previous productions. Although Frances Rings, in her onstage welcome speech before the curtain went up, gave us some clues as to content, it was not always easy to situate the work within a storyline. While a storyline is not necessarily needed, the production was advertised as referring to aspects of the history and nature of a particular First Nations group from the Dampier Peninsula in Western Australia, which I mentioned in my Dance Diary post for May. (In which I also mention the role of Darrell Sibosado as artistic and cultural collaborator).

In addition to the opening speech from Rings, reading through the program for Illume some visual aspects of the production made more sense in that writing than was clear simply from their onstage appearance. The red glove that unexpectedly appeared on some dancers’ arms at various time referred, I assumed, to the ‘deep red of the pindan soil’ of the area, as did other red elements that appeared on and off, including as part of the lighting design. Perhaps? And similarly, the structures that made up the basis of Charles Davis’ set perhaps referred to the manawan trees with their blackened trunks, mentioned by Rings and in the program.

Courtney Radford (centre) and Bangarra Dancers in *Illume*. Bangarra Dance Theatre, 2025. Photo: © Daniel Boud

As part of the lighting design, and appearing in unexpected places, there were also words arranged in geometric-styles, which I didn’t quite understand. Were they some kind of totemic aspect of the culture perhaps? It would have been advantageous if cultural aspects that were part of the concept behind the show were easier to identify from the production itself rather than largely from the spoken or written word. Or not at all.

Geometric patterns in Illume. Bangarra Dance Theatre, 2025. Photo: © Daniel Boud

Choreographically, Rings as usual used groupings of dancers to particular effect and the dancers, many of whom are relative newcomers to the company, performed with extraordinary skill.

A grouping of dancers in *Illume*. Bangarra Dance Theatre, 2025. Photo: © Daniel Boud

Another highlight was the way in which the work was a multi-media production in which choreography and design worked smoothly together (even if I didn’t always understand what concepts were being presented).

Costumes from Elizabeth Gadsby were varied, sometimes plain in design and colour, sometimes more intricate, but always arresting. Music was composed by Brendon Boney.

Courtney Radford in a moment from *Illume*. Bangarra Dance Theatre, 2025. Photo: © Daniel Boud

There are many other aspects of Illume that I haven’t mentioned but which also caused queries to keep surfacing. Those red boxes that the dancers manipulated at one stage. And other things … I would have loved to have left the theatre with a clearer idea of what was happening. But what a thrill it always is to see dancers performing with the skill and commitment of those who make up Bangarra Dance Theatre.

Michelle Potter, 5 June 2025

Featured image: A moment from Illume showing a little of the starry element of Damien Cooper’s lighting design. Bangarra Dance Theatre, 2025. Photo: © Daniel Boud

As a postscript I have to say that Daniel Boud’s images are spectacular given the speed and changing nature of the choreography and the variety of multi-media inclusions.

Daniel Mateo in a moment from *Illume*. Bangarra Dance Theatre, 2025. Photo: © Daniel Boud

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

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