Romeo and Juliet. The Royal Danish Ballet

11 March 2016. The Royal Theatre, Copenhagen

What a pleasure it was to be sitting in the auditorium of Copenhagen’s beautiful, old Royal Theatre waiting for the curtain to go up on a production of Romeo and Juliet—John Neumeier’s version too, which I had never seen: such a sense of anticipation not just because for me it was a different production, but also because it was about ten years since I last saw the Royal Danish Ballet. What a sense of occasion too because just as it was time for curtain up Queen Margrethe II of Denmark, a true balletomane, appeared in the Royal Box and the audience rose as one to welcome her.

But to the show …

The Neumeier Romeo and Juliet is said to have been partly inspired by John Cranko’s production, so well known to Australian audiences during the period of Maina Gielgud’s directorship of the Australian Ballet. And yes, there is a spectre of Cranko somewhere there. But on the other hand, Neumeier’s production is quite distinctive. Choreographically it is absolutely fascinating, especially in the way it contrasts the movements of the elders of the Capulet and Montague families and those of the younger folk across the social strata. Both groups are given what I can only say are beautifully eccentric movements, especially for the arms and upper body. The elders often use a highly formalised vocabulary, while the young people have a freedom that sometimes verges on the wild. Gorgeous. And how beautifully did the dancers of the Royal Danish Ballet respond to this vocabulary!

Ida Praetorius as Juliet was completely entrancing. She showed off a stellar technique—the highlight for me came when she was refusing the attentions of Paris and at one point, in desperation, tossed off an amazing, perfect double turn in arabesque with arms flung upwards and body slightly tilted. But not only did she dance with such perfection, her characterisation of Juliet was brilliant. She played the role as it was written—she was a thirteen year old. She often seemed slightly awkward of limb, she often made her youth clear by seeming not to know how to behave in every situation, and her nervousness and vulnerability were clear, especially when she executed that wonderful stumble on the last few stairs as she entered the ballroom for the Capulet ball. But throughout, her youthful, slightly crazy love for Romeo was always obvious.

Andreas Kaas and Ida Praetorius. The Royal Danish Ballet. Photo: © 2016 Costin Radu — Andreas Kaas and Ida Praetorius in *Romeo and Juliet*. The Royal Danish Ballet. Photo: © 2016 Costin Radu

As Romeo, Andreas Kaas was as ardent and dramatic in love as one could hope. His enthusiasm and desire for Juliet showed in his every movement. He rushed to her. He could scarcely hold back his longing for her. Kaas and Praetorius, together, made the two characters come alive in a way I have never seen before. It seems like a partnership made in heaven from both a dancerly and dramatic point of view.

Another stand-out performance came from Sebastian Haynes as Mercutio, dashing and charismatic as a character, thrilling as a dancer. His death scene was powerfully moving and made more so by the feisty way Romeo took on Tybalt after the stabbing. I also admired Susanne Grinder as Lady Capulet. She moved with such strength and such elegance, sweeping her way through Neumeier’s formal choreography and wearing her bright orange gown with style and aplomb—a true aristocrat. And I have never taken all that much notice of the entourage that enters the square to try to restore some peace to the conflicts between the Capulets and the Montagues. But in this production Poul-Erik Hesselkilde was a towering presence as the Prince of Verona. Mostly he stood still, centre stage, but he was so in command of the role that his power spread across the stage and out into the auditorium.

There were so many magical moments, too, inserted by Neumeier to make more sense of the story. The potion that the friar gives to Juliet, for example, we know is not a deadly poison but Neumeier introduces a group of street performers who, in a commedia dell’arte manner, mime the effect the liquid will have. Juliet and the friar stand motionless, in a kind of freeze frame, in the act of giving and receiving the vial.

As is usual in Royal Danish Ballet performances, the presence of children in the crowd scenes was always noticeable. I loved the way the adult dancers in the corps de ballet interacted with them, shielding them from fight scenes, making sure they hurried off during the more gruesome moments. And as for the corps, I loved that they looked as though dancing was their life and not just their job.

Costumes and sets were by Jürgen Rose, also responsible for the design of the Cranko production. But his work for Neumeier had a very different feel and was often unusual in the way Neumeier’s choreography was unusual. His striking red wedding dress with white turban for Juliet was quite startling, for example, and the church for the wedding, which was created as plain brown flats slid beautifully and noiselessly into place, had all the simplicity of a Cistercian abbey church. Nothing was overdone but everything contributed beautifully and economically to the unfolding story.

This Romeo and Juliet was such a striking production, so beautifully danced by the entire company and musically thrilling—it just took my breath away. The evening sped by and it was by far the most exciting and captivating performance I have seen for years, anywhere in the world.

Ida Praetorius and Andreas Kaas. The Royal Danish Ballet. Photo: Costin Radu — Ida Praetorius and Andreas Kaas in *Romeo and Juliet*. The Royal Danish Ballet. Photo: © 2016 Costin Radu

Michelle Potter, 15 March 2016

Christopher Wheeldon triple bill. The Royal Ballet

10 March 2016, Main Stage, Royal Opera House, Covent Garden

In this triple bill of works by Christopher Wheeldon from the Royal Ballet, it was especially pleasing to see the full version of After the rain. Its visually arresting choreography for three couples in the first part, performed to Tabula rasa by Arvo Pärt, shows Wheeldon as his sculptural best as arms and legs swing from pose to pose and dancers move in unison and counterpoint. Dressed in grey practice clothes the six dancers perform in front of a geometric lighting design (59 Productions) consisting of of two squares of light. A central one, blue-ish white in colour, sits inside a larger one of grey-ish blue. Simple but effective, these two squares echo the colours of the costumes and also the formally structured choreography.

The pas de deux that follows, often danced without the opening movement, was a disappointment for me. Perhaps I needed to be sitting closer as I missed the quiet emotion that I have seen in performances by other companies? But then a seat in the theatre shouldn’t affect such things if the work is well performed. Perhaps too the physiques of Zenaida Yanowsky and Reece Clarke, who danced the pas de deux, were not far enough apart from each other to highlight what I think are the qualities of this section, danced again to Pärt, this time to the gently reflective Spiegel im Spiegel? The work was made originally for Wendy Whelan and Jock Soto of New York City Ballet and together, with their very different body shapes, they suggested an entrancing strength and frailty that was not apparent, and that I missed, with Yanowsky and Clarke. In fact I’m not sure what their performance suggested beyond a dance for two.

Wheeldon’s newest work, Strapless, a one act narrative ballet centring on the scandal surrounding the showing of John Singer Sargent’s portrait of Mme Gautreau in Paris at the Salon of 1884, was a mixed blessing. When the curtain went up on an empty picture frame attached to a grey-coloured screen I was consumed by curiosity. How would this work unfold? And the opening moments, as Mme Gautreau took her time choosing her wardrobe for the unveiling of Sargent’s portrait while her husband fussed at her slowness, was very nicely choreographed with movement that defined the two characters. Strapless returned in its closing scene to that opening picture frame, which this time was not empty but contained the finished portrait, although now Mme Gautreau was broken in spirit by the scandal that emerged when the portrait showed that one strap of her black gown had slipped off her shoulder. Without the trappings of her former life, and dressed only in a skin-coloured, body-hugging costume, we watched as she sought to make sense of her situation.

In between the opening and closing scenes, the work felt like a cross between a Broadway musical, with a ‘chorus’ of dancers representing Parisian society performing choreography that seemed like it had come from a Busby Berkeley show; and Agnes de Mille’s Fall River Legend when that same chorus started to look like tight-lipped parishioners. The score from Mark-Anthony Turnage didn’t help either as it hardly sounded like the era of La belle époque.

Lauren Cuthbertson as Mme Gautreau was not having one of her best nights, unfortunately, and was a little unsteady on occasions. And with so many changes of scene in a one act ballet—the work began in 1884, slipped back to 1881, came forward to 1883 and ended where it began in 1884—there was a need for moveable scenery (screens, door frames and the like), Unfortunately again, the scenery was trundled on and off very noisily and so many people (characters and scene changers) constantly slipping on and off stage was decidedly disruptive to the smooth unfolding of the storyline. I also found it hard to follow who was who among the male principals. The printed program, like all Royal Ballet programs I have encountered, was excellent, full of explanatory notes and articles, but any work for the stage needs to be easily understood, I believe, without having to resort to reading a convoluted story in a program.

Circumstances were such that I was unable to stay for the final Wheeldon work, Within the golden hour. But perhaps it was just as well. I am able to retain, as a result, an image of a work I enjoyed immensely on a previous occasion in San Francisco.

Michelle Potter, 12 March 2016

John Singer Sargent, Study of Mme Gautreau c. 1884 detail — John Singer Sargent, Study of Mme Gautreau c. 1884 (detail)

The image above is a detail of an unfinished version of the Sargent portrait, which I saw in the Tate Britain and which has no strap at all on Mme Gautreau’s right shoulder. In the version that was shown in the Salon of 1884, and which caused the scandal, the right shoulder strap was painted as having fallen off the shoulder. The final version, in which Sargent repainted the fallen strap into its regular position, is in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

CounterMove. Sydney Dance Company

29 February 2016, Rosyln Packer Theatre, Sydney

My review of Sydney Dance Company’s double bill CounterMove, comprising Alexander Ekman’s Cacti and Rafael Bonachela’s Lux Tenebris, has been published on DanceTabs at this link.

Sydney Dance Company in 'Cacti'. Photo: Peter Greig — Sydney Dance Company in *Cacti*, 2016. Photo: © Peter Greig

Cacti is making its second appearance in Australia. It was first seen as part of Sydney Dance Company’s De Novo season in 2013. This year, however, it will be seen in many more venues. Following the Sydney showing, which concludes on 12 March, Cacti will be seen in the following cities/venues, along with Lux Tenebris, as part of the CounterMove season:

Canberra Theatre Centre, 19–21 May
Southbank Theatre, Melbourne, 25 May–4 June

Regional tour 17 June to 27 August
New South Wales
Wollongong, 17–18 June
Orange, 22 June
Newcastle, 25 June
Port Macquarie, 29 June

Queensland
Rockhampton, 2 July
Gladstone, 6 July
Cairns, 9–10 July
Gold Coast, 15–16 July

Northern Territory
Darwin, 29 July

Western Australia
Geraldton, 3 August
Mandurah, 6 August
Albany, 9 August
Bunbury, 13 August

New South Wales
Bathurst, 20 August
Griffith, 24 August
Dubbo, 27 August

Later in the year Lux Tenebris will be set on the Dresden Frankfurt Dance Company, ahead of a premiere European season in September.

Michelle Potter, 4 March 2016

Featured image: (l-r) Nelson Earl, Holly Doyle, Fiona Jopp and David Mack in Lux Tenebris, Sydney Dance Company, 2016. Photo: © Peter Greig

Yolande Brown as Earth Spirit in Spear. Photo Jacob Nash

Spear. A Stephen Page film

17 February 2016, preview screening, Arc Cinema, National Film and Sound Archive, Canberra

No doubt about it, Stephen Page’s Spear is a confronting film, and one in which the director’s approach is absolutely uncompromising. But it is also an incredibly beautiful film from so many points of view.

Spear centres on the spiritual journey of a young man, Djali, played by Hunter Page-Lochard, who seeks to understand what it is to be an Indigenous man suspended between two, often conflicting worlds. As he moves between those two worlds we encounter with him the pressures and problems that surround him, including substance abuse, alcoholism, suicide, and racism.

Hunter Page-Lochard with artists of Bangarra Dance Theatre in 'spear'. Photo Edward Mulvihill — Hunter Page-Lochard with artists of Bangarra Dance Theatre in *Spear*, 2015. Photo: © Edward Mulvihill

Some moments are (deliberately) quite crass—a dance to the 1960s song ‘My Boomerang Won’t Come Back’, for example. Others are immensely powerful—such as a scene where Daniel Riley as ‘Prison Man’ engages with Elma Kris as ‘Old Woman’ who brings the cleansing power of a smoking ceremony into the prison mess hall. And others are breathtaking in their use of landscape as backdrop—the view of Kaine Sultan Babij as ‘Androgynous Man’ stalking through long grass and between trees is striking, as are the scenes in which Yolande Brown as ‘Earth Spirit’ walks along a red dust road.

Elma Kris and Daniel Riley in 'Spear'. Photo Tiffany Parker — Elma Kris as ‘Old Woman’ and Daniel Riley as ‘Prison Man’ in *Spear*, 2015. Photo: © Tiffany Parker

Choreographically Page has delivered some of his best movement, whether in solo work for the main members of the cast, or in group scenes. And so powerful are the performances by the cast that there is absolutely no doubt about the message being put forward. Sound is everywhere too. An original score by David Page is complemented by songs from Djakapurra Munyarryun, although spoken text in English is minimal and is mostly delivered by actor Aaron Pedersen who plays the part of ‘Suicide Man’. And there is a suicide scene, which is very deftly handled. Ochre is everywhere as well, in all its four colours. It seems to permeate the production whether as paint on bodies or dust in the air.

What makes this tough, fearless, uncompromising film so quietly beautiful? Visually it is stunning. Director of photography Bonnie Elliott has delivered some amazing shots of an incredible landscape from outback to rugged coastline, and some of the camera angles and close-up shots are just breathtaking. Even her takes on run-down interiors, under-ground spaces and alley ways are moving. And Jacob Nash’s work as production designer gives the film a particular strength. As in his sets for Bangarra’s live shows, Nash has brought to the film an understanding of the power of minimalism in design. But perhaps more than anything it is Stephen Page’s ability to deliver the ultimate message of hope that stands out. The closing scene is a ‘punch the sky’ moment. Simple, direct and moving.

Spear is Stephen Page’s debut as director of a feature-length film. It is a remarkable film. Go see it.

Detail of the costume for Earth Spirit in 'Spear'. — A close-up view of the ‘Earth Spirit’ costume, the work of Jennifer Irwin.

Michelle Potter, 19 February 2016

Coppélia. Australian Conservatoire of Ballet

18 December 2015 (evening), Hamer Hall, Victorian Arts Centre, Melbourne

What a wonderful surprise this performance was! The venue was interesting—Hamer Hall is basically a venue for concerts and so the performance space is without a proscenium arch. But the unusual space was used thoughtfully and little of the theatricality that is achieved with a proscenium-style theatre was lost.

This Coppélia was staged by Maina Gielgud especially for the Australian Conservatoire of Ballet, a training establishment led by former Australian Ballet dancers Christine Walsh and Ricardo Ella. Gielgud had added some choreography and had made some changes in order to accommodate her cast, including giving Swanilda (Swanhilda in this production) a little sister called Elysia, adding two extra friends for Swanilda and, with fewer male dancers than might be available in a company, rearranging some dances slightly. Gielgud also re-imagined somewhat the character of Dr Coppélius having him make two swans, a spider, a caterpillar and other creatures, which we saw in his workshop in Act II, in addition to his ultimate creation, the doll Coppélia. Otherwise the ballet ran as we have come to expect.

Coppelia's friends in rehearsal, Australian Conservatoire of Ballet, 2015 — Coppélia’s friends in rehearsal, Australian Conservatoire of Ballet, 2015

But this was no ordinary school production. The dancers had been beautifully trained, thoroughly rehearsed and looked like professionals. It was a thrill to see such a sense of engagement among the cast throughout the show, which of course transfers across into the auditorium and gives the audience a sense of engagement as well. And this theatricality began early with a wonderful performance of the Act I Mazurka. This was not one of those staid renditions that we often see. This was real character dancing with bodies bending, faces beaming with pleasure, and steps being performed strongly. And the same can be said of the Czardas that followed later in the act

Two guest artists from Tokyo Ballet, Maria Kawantani and Arata Miyagawa, took the leading roles. Both were beautiful dancers but, in particular, Miyagawa as Franz was technically superb. Everything was so cleanly executed. His double tours were done with such perfection in the body and feet (and amazing landings in a perfectly placed demi-plié), but they also soared upwards in a way that made me gasp. Then there were the manèges of various steps, the pirouettes, his partnering—he was just brilliant. But more than that, he too had that sense of engagement with everything and everyone on stage. I just loved the way he blew kisses across the stage to Swanilda as she was about to start a variation in Act III.

Another standout performer was the young girl, Hana Glasgow-Palmer, who played Swanilda’s little sister. Too young yet to be part of the Conservatoire’s professional training program, she nevertheless gave the role real character. Her outstanding stage presence and, again, that ability to engage, augurs well for her future. I also especially enjoyed Prayer, danced calmly and serenely by Victoria Norris. But every dancer contributed beautifully to this performance and, quite honestly, in a number of ways it outshone many a professional show I have seen.

The music was played by the Australian Conservatoire of Ballet Orchestra, with some musicians seated on a dais upstage, others above the stage space. The orchestra was led by conductor Peter Tandy and there were times when the music gave me goose bumps, again something I don’t normally feel when listening to orchestral accompaniments at the ballet.

This Coppélia was a significant achievement for all concerned.

Christine Walsh, Maria Kawatani, Maina Gielgud

Michelle Potter, 22 December 2015

Janessa Dufty in Daniel Riley's 'Reign', Sydney Dance Company 2015. Photo: Peter Greig

New Breed (2015). Sydney Dance Company

8 December 2015, Carriageworks, Eveleigh (Sydney)

My review of New Breed, a program of new works from Kristina Chan, Fiona Jopp, Bernhard Knauer, and Daniel Riley, is now available on DanceTabs. I continue to ponder Riley’s work, Reign, as there is no reason why an Indigenous-style vocabulary shouldn’t be used for any theme. Perhaps, too, I am wrong to assume the theme is strongly Western. But, I still wonder…

Follow this link to the DanceTabs review.

Featured image: Janessa Dufty in Daniel Riley’s Reign. Sydney Dance Company 2015. Photo: © Peter Greig

Michelle Potter, 13 December 2015

Ochres. Bangarra Dance Theatre

4 December 2015, Carriageworks, Eveleigh (Sydney)

Seeing Ochres in 2015 after 21 years was a remarkable experience. More than anything it marked the astonishing achievement of Stephen Page and his team of artists. Through the creativity that has characterised Bangarra’s journey, Page has given Australian Indigenous culture a powerful voice. Ochres was an eye opener in 1994. Now it is a powerful evocation of all that Bangarra stands for.

Djakapurra Munyarryun and Bangarra dancers in 'Black' from Ochres, 2015. Photo:-Jhuny-Boy Borja — Djakapurra Munyarryun and Bangarra dancers in ‘Black’ from *Ochres*, 2015. Photo: © Jhuny-Boy Borja

This 2015 Ochres is not an exact rendition of the original. It is promoted as a ‘reimagining’ of that early show but is definitely close enough for those who saw it in the 1990s to feel they are seeing the work again.

As it did in 1994, the 2015 Ochres begins with a scene featuring cultural consultant Djakapurra Munyarryun, not this time painting up with yellow ochre, but singing a song, Ngurrtja—Land Cleansing Song–composed especially (I believe) for this 2015 production. He has, as ever, huge power and presence. He stood perfectly still for several seconds before beginning his song and the effect was mesmerising.

Torres Starait Islander Elma Kris, another of Bangarra’s consultants, follows with a section called The Light in which she, like Djakapurra Munyarryun had done previously, smeared her limbs and face with yellow ochre.

These opening scenes are followed by the four ‘ochre sections’—’Yellow’ inspired by female energy, ‘Black’ representing male energy, ‘Red’ showing male and female relations, and ‘White’ inspired by history and its influence on the future.

In ‘Yellow’, choreographed by Bernadette Walong-Sene, the women dance low to the ground. Their movements are most often flowing and they have an organic look to them. Deborah Brown shows her remarkable skills throughout this section. How beautiful to see a relatively classical move, a turn in a low arabesque with one hand on the shoulder for example, followed by sudden movements of the head as if she is curious about, and watchful for what is happening around her. Brown always looks good no matter what style her movements represent.

‘Black’, with contemporary choreography from Stephen Page and traditional choreography from Djakapurra Munyarryun, shows power and masculinity—hunters crouching behind bushes, warriors with their weapons sparring with each other. This section is also characterised by some nicely performed unison work.

‘Red’ has the strongest narrative element of the four sections. It focuses on four different expressions of male/female relationships moving from youthful dalliance featuring Beau Dean Riley Smith, Nicola Sabatino and Yolanda Lowatta to the final section ‘Pain’ in which Elma Kris cares for an ailing man, danced by Daniel Riley. But in between we can imagine other relationships. Domestic violence and addiction perhaps?

‘White’ concludes the program. The two cultural consultants, Elma Kris and Djakapurra Munyarryun, lead this final section and, with all the dancers covered with white ochre, a spiritual quality emerges from sections representing a range of concepts from kinship to totemic ideas. The choreography is credited to Stephen Page, Bernadette Walong-Sene, and Djakapurra Munyarryun.

Jennifer Irwin’s costumes are cleanly cut and simply coloured. Jacob Nash’s set, looking like long shards of bark, hangs in the centre of the space above a sandy mound. It is lit in changing colours by Joseph Mercurio. A score by David Page is evocative of the 1990s but retains enough power and emotion to feel relevant still.

The kind of fusion of contemporary and traditional movements we have come to expect from Bangarra’s dancers is all there and reflects the fact that Bangarra is an urban Aboriginal initiative with strong links back to its cultural heritage. And, while the dancers of 1994 were extraordinary (a list of the 1994 team appears in the program), the manner in which Bangarra has grown technically is also clear. Its dancers are spectacularly good and their commitment shines through.

Michelle Potter, 9 December 2015

Featured image: Leonard Mickelo in a study for Ochres, 2015. Photo: © Edward Mulvihill

For more about Djakapurra Munyarryun follow this link.

Daniel Gaudiello as the Prince in 'The Sleeping Beauty'. The Australian Ballet, 2015

The Sleeping Beauty. A second look

5 December 2015 (matinee), Joan Sutherland Theatre, Sydney Opera House

My second viewing of David McAllister’s Sleeping Beauty simply confirmed my opinion that this production is the most over-designed ballet I have ever seen since I saw my first professional ballet performance many years ago. Sold-out houses mean nothing artistically as far as I am concerned. At least this time, however, I knew what to expect and so made a concerted effort to block out the design and look at the dancing, as much as was possible.

This matinee performance belonged to Miwako Kubota and Daniel Gaudiello as Aurora and Prince Desiré respectively. As the sixteen year old Aurora, Kubota performed charmingly and was technically close to faultless. But it was in the wedding scene that she took my breath away. She was radiant. She brought so much light and shade to her dancing and, amazingly, the light and shade came mostly through her technical execution. She leant into movements, she used her head and shoulders beautifully, every movement had an expressive power. I especially loved that part in one of her variations in the pas de deux where her delicate wrist movements, enhanced by such a beautiful smile, such a fluid body, and such perfect feet, told the story of how she had grown from a child to a woman, reflecting back to her father’s similar mime sequence at her sixteenth birthday.

As her prince, Gaudiello once again showed what a wonderful dancer and partner he is. I love watching him take care of his ballerina and, as usual, his technical execution of the choreography was outstanding. I was especially taken by those moments in his variation in the coda of the grand pas de deux where his light and beautifully elevated cabrioles to the front (also beautifully beaten) were followed by a sweep of one leg, the foot passing through first position, into an attitude at the back. That foot caressed the floor making those small movements that join larger ones so clear.

The only other male dancer who has made me so aware of the beautiful tiny details that make up larger and more obvious movements is Ethan Stiefel, whom I was once lucky enough to see as Solor in Makarova’s Bayadère.

For the first time in a long time I felt that this grand pas de deux, with Kubota and Gaudiello performing as they did, was actually grand. Hurrah!

Sympathy to the gentleman in the Garland Dance in Act I who had a major wig malfunction, but bouquets to the other gentleman who, wig intact, managed to remove the fallen part from the floor. The dance went on, the gentleman left the stage and returned with wig fixed. But sadly that Garland Dance has, in this production, lost all its honourable simplicity and choreographic design as a result of those garlands that looked quite burdensome with far too many lolly-pink and ghastly-green flowers (matching the ladies’ dresses that are similarly coloured and burdened).

As I had previously, I enjoyed the newly-imagined role of Carabosse, which was carefully thought through by former Royal Ballet dancer Gillian Revie. Benedicte Bemet, fresh from the triumph of receiving the award of the 2015 Telstra Ballet Dancer of the Year, was partnered by Christopher Rodgers-Wilson in the Bluebird pas de deux. Both danced nicely but did not have the attack of Ako Kondo and Chengwu Guo. They need a little more time to reach greater heights in roles such as the Bluebird pas de deux. I’m sure those greater heights are on their way.

Michelle Potter, 7 December 2015

Featured image: Daniel Gaudiello as the Prince in The Sleeping Beauty. The Australian Ballet, 2015. Photo: © Jeff Busby

My earlier review of the Australian Ballet’s new production of The Sleeping Beauty is at this link.

Java Dance. Swargaloka Dance Troupe (from Jakarta), and Gamelan Wellington

5 December 2015, Adam Concert Room, Te Kōkī New Zealand School of Music, Victoria University of Wellington
Reviewed by Jennifer Shennan

Prabhu Sri Bathara Kresna, a character in Indonesian wayang kulit shadow puppet theatre, can wield weapons of supernatural power. One of these, wijaya kusuma, is a flower so beautiful (would that be a lotus, a water lily, or passionfruit flower?), it is said to bring back the dead from their graves.

The director of Gamelan Padhang Moncar, Budi Putra, must have borrowed such a flower for the evening’s performance since Jack Body, loved musician, composer, colleague, mentor and friend, who endeavoured for such a long time to bring this troupe of dancers from Jakarta to New Zealand, died earlier this year so did not live to see their performance. But every member of the capacity audience could sense why he would have wanted to arrange the visit, and their dancing, as beautiful as any lotus, effectively means he came back to spend the evening with us. A miracle.

There are five performers in the visiting troupe, four of them young and sinewy teenagers. Their youth melts away as they begin to dance however, and the quiet authority and mature confidence with which they hold the stage is deeply reassuring. We are not thinking of how they might dance in some years time. They are doing it here and now.

The opening dance of welcome, Sesaji, is an auspicious offering that establishes a mood of serenity for the evening performance. One couple moves as traditional dancers, staying within the highly stylized angularity of etched sculpture that keeps specific emotion disguised, yet still palpably present. The other couple moves in more contemporary style, limbs freer to shape their gestures, to leap, to stretch out into lines that suggest forces of modernity, albeit still carefully measured. The dancers occasionally join in the singing as well. By placing these two generations of styles adjacent and simultaneous, the choreography speaks of past and present not simply by pitching them as alternatives to choose between, but as layers to be absorbed by degrees one into the other. What a civilised and inspired statement about the history of dance.

The second dance, Beksan Enggar-Enggar, depicts a man who has to leave for war saying a reluctant farewell to his wife.

Yani Walandari in 'Beksan Enggar-Enggar, 2015. Photo: Jasper Rain — Yani Walandari in *Beksan Enggar-Enggar*, Swargaloka Dance Troupe, 2015. Photo: © Jasper Rain

In 2015 as a centennial year from WW I, we have witnessed countless evocations of war and the emotional toll it takes in the lives of ordinary people. Not a one of them would be more poignant than this traditional dance for a couple—who dance so close to each other, yet do not touch, who cast discreet oblique glances as they turn, sway, step, slide, sink and rise to speak their sadness of imminent parting. Their rapport is real, and we sense it will stay strong even when apart. The menuet of French noble dancing from the 18th century court, barely known or understood today other than through its music (think of the adagio movement of Bach’s Double Violin Concerto) shares exactly this same form. When eventually the briefest physical contact is made between the two dancers (he brushes his hand along the back of her waist) the signal of the end of the dance is cast. In this timeless performance by Yani Walundari and Bathara Saverigadi Dewandoro, we saw something that words cannot paraphrase, and should not try to.

Comedy bounded in for the third dance, Bajidor Kahot, when the older member of the troupe, Tri Kadar Nugroho, with a mask-like face of bright pink, and two protruding rabbit teeth, cavorted around in his attempts to imitate the lithe and graceful skills of the younger dancers. With the consummate timing of all best comedians, he succeeded in making a fool of everyone you’ve ever met who tried to persuade you of his handsome and attractive potential. He’s flat on his back, admiring his reflection in the sky, by the time he realises the young couples have escaped far away from his oafish advances.

Balinese dance is one of the most celebrated of world dance traditions. Its shimmering, staccato, deft and unpredicatable dynamics evoke the firefly, the humming bird, the butterfly, the candle flame. To Balinese gamelan now, Taniwha Jaya, directed by Gareth Farr, we see Tari Margapati, a fascinating duo by Chikal Mutiara Diar and Denta Sepdwiansyah Pinandito. In the bebancihan genre, which combines movement from the normally contrasting male and female styles, gender is layered not demarcated. This is a seemingly simple yet subtly presented theme.

In the final dance, Nusantara Indah, several local dancers from the Indonesian community join the visitors. Beguiling sequences move into tableau-like groupings with a final firework of a multi-limbed creature bringing a festive air to the ending of a truly memorable performance.

Throughout the evening the musicians in three gamelan ensembles, as well as Indonesian community playing angklung, rendering Pokarekare ana in Maori, offered affirmation that what is different between people is opportunity for seeing what is shared.

We should treasure the wisdom embedded in the DNA of traditional dances. They are, mostly speaking, an endangered species in the world, but this spirited little troupe, by the calibre of its performance, and its beautiful costuming, is carrying its past into its future.

Jennifer Shennan, 6 December 2015

New Zealand School of Dance Graduation 2015

19 November 2015, Te Whaea, Wellington
Reviewed by Jennifer Shennan

The New Zealand School of Dance (NZSD) graduation program opened with Paquita, staged by Anna-Marie Holmes, after Petipa’s vintage choreography from 1846, offering as many challenges today as it no doubt did back then. In another layer of heritage Nadine Tyson, the tutor who rehearsed the work, danced in it at her own NZSD graduation back in 1988. The luxuriant music by Minkus demands a festive commitment, and the students aspired to this with flair. Soloist Lola Howard in one of the variations caught our eye with her sense of line, and technical command.

Sarah Foster-Sproull, also a former NZSD graduate, created Forgotten Things, to music by Andrew Foster, in a premiere work for this season. A series of highly effective images, with light shining on skin of limbs in a kinetic sculptural effect, cohered the piece throughout. The mediaeval dance-like rhythms supported well the work’s theme of community undergoing change.

Cnoditions [not a typo] of Entry, an enigmatic and somewhat troubling work choreographed by Thomas Bradley, (no program profile so perhaps he prefers the anonymity?) had a line of robed and hooded figures in very low light levels that suggested sinister or secret machinations of covert behaviour among the members of a small and closed group. The program notes also appear to be in code (and a pity that the printed program is overall an uneven affair).

Tarantella, Balanchine’s quirky number from 1964, to Gottschalk’s jaunty music, was danced with effervescent style and vivacity by Mayuri Hashimoto and Felipe Domingos (the latter a promising young dancer from Brazil who has been confirmed in a contract to join Royal New Zealand Ballet). Diana White staged the piece which was rehearsed by Qi Huan, until recently a fine lead dancer with RNZB. His artistic conviction shone through the students’ performance (though Poul Gnatt would have required their somewhat quiet tambourines to be shredded by the end of the performance).

As It Fades, choreographed by Kuik Swee Boon of Singapore, to an atmospheric score, was performed here in excerpts, so it’s hard to gauge the work’s context. There was noticeable contrast within its structure—speed and flight, moving through to a calm and quietly iexplored place, performed with strong focus—as if above ground, but then under water.

Lola Howard and Jerry Wan Jiajing in *Concerto*. New Zealand School of Dance Graduation 2015

The final and major work on the program was Concerto, choreographed by Kenneth MacMillan, premiered in Berlin in 1966. The rapport between MacMillan and dancer Lynn Seymour, whose distinctive qualities as a richly poetic and dramatic dancer inspired the making of the main duet, survives to again inspire the very fine and fresh performance it received here from Lola Howard and Jerry Wan Jiajing. Lynn Wallis staged the work, with Stephen Beagley and Turid Revfeim also involved. The Shostakovich piano concerto #2 was beautifully performed by Ludwig Treviranus and Craig O’Malley on two pianos sidestage. The colour gradations of costumes made attractive foil to each other and were the most successful of the evening.

Ballet is nothing if not faithful to its repertoire, but new choreographies in that idiom are very rarely commissioned or forthcoming—yet its movement vocabulary is able to speak to us of our lives and loves and concerns—witness that serene and timeless Concerto pas de deux. Contemporary dance, by contrast, is rarely studied or staged here through the classics of its own heritage repertoire and too often it has only a single season life. These are not parallel streams in choreography since they are one and the same art. Only through studying and seeing both repertoires do we know and understand that, and ourselves, as performers and as audiences. No doubt the School’s upcoming 50th anniversary will draw attention to the legacy of those decades.

This program offers challenges to the students, and opportunities to be savoured by the audience. The fact that your favourites will be different from mine is the rich treasure that the musical and non-verbal nature of dancing invites. It matters not whether old or new, borrowed or blue, ballet or contemporary dance. What matters is that it be good, and that choreographers and dancers know what to do with their music. All encouragement to the students as they make their way into careers in dance.

Jennifer Shennan, 24 November 2015