Bespoke, 2023. Queensland Ballet

27 July 2023. Talbot Theatre, Thomas Dixon Centre, Brisbane

It would be hard to find a performance more thrilling, more emotionally driven, more technically fascinating than the sixth production from Queensland Ballet under the banner Bespoke. Made up of works from Remi Wörtmeyer, Paul Boyd and Natalie Weir, this program was rightly advertised as ‘compelling, challenging and always thought provoking’.

The evening began with Wörtmeyer’s Miroirs (Mirrors in French) danced by 10 dancers to piano music of the same name by Maurice Ravel. It was played onstage on this occasion by Daniel Le. Choreographically, Miroirs was an interesting combination of classical vocabulary and more contemporary style movement. The classical sections were nicely structured in a spatial sense with dancers creating a range of unexpected groupings. On the whole it was a relatively fast-paced work and often surprising in the strong imagery that emerged from partnering.

Scene from *Miroirs*. Queensland Ballet, 2023. Photo: © David Kelly

The more contemporary movement was often quite grounded and for me these sections didn’t work so well, or at least didn’t blend easily with the more classically-based sections. The work ended with a pas de deux danced by Mia Heathcote and Victor Estévez. It was a quiet ending compared with the speed and action of the first and much longer section and, despite excellent dancing from Heathcote and Estévez, the ending felt somewhat out of place.

Wörtmeyer was responsible for the attractive costumes and set design. His set consisted of nicely arranged strings of light and reminded me of a deconstructed chandelier. His costumes were simple, close-fitting tights and tops but were made elegant with the addition of small, silver decorative elements at the waist and elsewhere on the costumes.

Second on the program was Tartan choreographed by Paul Boyd to an assorted collection of sound, from a rendition of Donald where’s your trousers? to music from the Royal Scots Dragoon Guards! The work tells the story of an elderly Scottish gentleman, played by former Queensland Ballet dancer Graeme Collins, who relives his past and imagines the people he grew up with return to his house and interact once more with him.

Graeme Collins (centre) in *Tartan*. Queensland Ballet, 2023. Photo: © David Kelly

Tartan was choreographed in spectacular fashion to combine traditional Scottish steps with ballet and contemporary movement. I especially loved the way Boyd often combined, or intertwined, two varieties of fifth position of the arms, one strictly classical, one with fingers held in a Scottish manner. But here was much more than that, including the bends of the body in a reverence with torso stretched forward and spine parallel to the floor; pointe work for the girls on occasions; lots of pliés in second position; the fast, definitive moves of the feet close to the ankles; and so on. Then there were the surprising moments when the dancers appeared (like ghosts?) from under and inside a box-like table to the hilarious scene, led by Josh Fagan, accompanying Donald where’s your trousers?

Jette Parker Young Artists (centre Josh Fagan) in ‘Donald Where’s your trousers’ from *Tartan*. Queensland Ballet, 2023. Photo: © David Kelly

The dancers, all from Queensland Ballet’s Jette Parker Young Artist Program, performed with huge commitment and skill. Apart from their actual technique I loved the way they projected their presence out to the audience. It was an absolute joy to watch them and, If their performance is anything to go by, the future of Queensland Ballet is assured.

Natalie Weir’s Four last songs closed the program and, for me at least, it was the highlight. I have long admired Weir’s choreography, on the one hand for the emotive qualities with which her works are always imbued—We who are left made for Queensland Ballet in 2016 (restaged 2022) instantly springs to mind—but also for the way in which she has always used partnering to display choreographic possibilities. Both those qualities were apparent to an exceptional degree in Four last songs.

Weir’s Four last songs used the composition of the same name by Richard Strauss to tell a story about life and death with a strong sense of a life that is lived to the full before, inevitably, death arrives. The work was led by Lucy Green and Patricio Revé and I admired the way Weir had set choreography in the early stages that was joyful—Green’s little skipping-like movements shorty after her first entrance for example—but which gave way to something slower as age progressed. The work concluded with strong movement that was actually beautifully uplifting as the inevitability of the end of life was accepted.

The work of Green and Revé was mirrored by four couples representing, on the surface, four seasons, but those seasons also reflected four stages of life. The dancing of the four couples showed Weir’s long standing interest in partnering and ranged from beautifully swirling lifts to slower, less extravagant but still quite spectacular ones as life progressed. As for the four men, Weir tells us in her notes that they represent ‘one man, a thread of humanity’. There was one stage when the four men held sway with a magnificent series of entrances and exits interspersed with spectacular jumps. It was extraordinary dancing from all the dancers.

(left) Lina Kim and Callum Mackie and (right) Joshua Ostermann in Four last songs. Photos: © David Kelly

I have often wondered how Weir manages to imbue her work with the emotion that we always feel when watching it. It is of course partly the dancers’ ability and the coaching they receive to act out the scenario. But it is also Weir’s choreographic ability to create movement that tells the story. Those little early skipping movements from Green, for example. Then there were those beautiful swirling lifts that told so much about life, including the lifts performed by Callum Mackie and Lina Kim who performed as Autumn or a late stage of life in which more sleep was apparent. Kim’s body was often held parallel to the ground as if her body was still sleeping while being lifted. And more. Four last songs was a stunning work from Weir.

Bespoke 2023 was a triumph.

Michelle Potter, 29 July 2023

Featured image: Lucy Green and Patricio Revé in Four last songs. Photo: © David Kelly

Yuldea. Bangarra Dance Theatre

20 July 2023. Canberra Theatre, Canberra Theatre Centre

With Yuldea, Bangarra Dance Theatre’s first production under the artistic directorship of Frances Rings, the company continues to present work that examines the experiences that Australia’s First Nations people have lived through. As Rings has written in the ‘Welcome’ section of the Yuldea program, ‘Yuldea reflects the truth-telling of the Indigenous experience in Australia and reminds us that there are two stories to the making of this country.’ The ‘two stories’ angle has been an outstanding feature of Bangarra productions since its inception and has contributed to the admiration audiences have had for the company over the years.

Yuldea is in four parts, ‘Supernova’, ‘Kapi (Water)’, ‘Empire’ and ‘Ooldea Spirit’. It tells the story of the Aṉangu people of the Great Victorian Desert and the Nunga of the Far West Region of South Australia. It focuses especially on the traditional cultural activities of the people of the regions, on the effects of colonisation including the building of the Trans-Australian Railway, and on the ability of traditional culture to survive. The title of the work, Yuldea, refers to a ‘soak’ or waterhole seen as an ‘epicentre of traditional life’.

Scene from ‘Empire’ in *Yuldea* referencing the building of the Trans-Australian Railway. Bangarra Dance Theatre, 2023. Photo: © Kate Longley

Choreographically, Yuldea presented the Bangarra style that has become familiar over the course of the company’s existence—the grounded movement, the turned up feet with legs bent sharply from the knee, tightly structured and strongly held group poses, bodies held upside down or at unusual angles in partnering moves, and so forth. But there were times in Yuldea when I was struck by the existence of moments that seemed based on ballet, both in some less grounded movement and recognisable balletic steps, and in the way the movement was structured in groupings that were less random in appearance and often performed in unison. It seemed a little like another version of the ‘two story’ angle.

Yuldea was beautifully danced by the whole company with a standout performance from Lillian Banks and Kallum Goolagong in an early duet.

Scene from *Yuldea*. Bangarra Dance Theatre, 2023. Photo: © Daniel Boud

Yuldea continued the collaborative style of production that has characterised Bangarra presentations for decades. Jennifer Irwin’s costumes were as stunning as ever. Her use of fabric and layering of material, and the cut of her costumes that allows the costume to move freely (as if performing its own dance) were there in spades, as was her admirable addition of decorative items, including feathers, to various parts of the costume.

In terms of set design, Elizabeth Gadsby gave us something different from what we have seen from former resident designer Jacob Nash, who has now moved on to other activities. For me, Gadsby’s set was akin to a kind of architectural minimalism. It consisted of a semi-circular arrangement of ‘ceiling’ to floor strips of material (not sure what they were actually made from) through which the dancers made entrances and exits, and a semi-circular white item that hung in the air in front of the strips of material. The semi-circular shape of both items perhaps represented the shape of a waterhole? I’m not sure. Perhaps the white structure was the serpent, the ‘Steel Snake’ of the railway? The set, especially the strips of material, might have played a functional role but for me the set as a whole lacked a certain artistic vision and the thrill that such vision gives to audiences.

Music came from Leon Rodgers, the recipient of the 2021 David Page Fellowship, and Electric Fields. Lighting was by Karen Norris and there was in-depth cultural consultation with a range of people and groups.

Like most productions from Bangarra, especially those made over the last decade or so, Yuldea is a complex work and asks us to continue to think about many aspects of Australian life. Bangarra will, I feel sure, continue to be one of Australia’s foremost dance companies as it moves ahead with Frances Rings as its artistic director.

Michelle Potter, 23 July 2023

Featured image: Lillian Banks and Kallum Goolagong in ‘Kapi (Water)’ from Yuldea. Bangarra Dance Theatre, 2023. Photo: © Kate Longley

Lucie in the Sky. Australasian Dance Collective

15 July 2023 (matinee performance). Playhouse, Canberra Theatre Centre

The Canberra season of Lucie in the Sky from the Brisbane-based Australasian Dance Collective (ADC) was performed as part of Uncharted Territory, a new Canberra festival. The festival set out to investigate connections between technology and the arts, and the limitless possibilities of such connections. As an exploration of dance and drones, or dance with drones, and featuring six dancers and five drones, Lucie in the Sky, was perfectly suited to explore this connective idea.

Perhaps the first thing to say is that I was taken by surprise by the size of the drones. They were tiny. We in Canberra have had a certain amount of publicity (not always positive) about drones, the larger kind delivering coffee to people’s yards! The drones that entertained us in Lucie in the Sky were like insects that lit up the space and moved around it, and did so in a variety of often mysterious ways. They had names and personalities and were programmed to engage with the dancers (or vice versa) in different ways. They were ‘indoor drones’.

I especially enjoyed Lilly King whose dancing with a little drone lit blue seemed filled with emotion and care for the connection.

Lilly King and drone in *Lucie In the Sky*. Australasian Dance Collective, 2023. Photo: © David Kelly

Other sections were more boisterous but equally engaging.

Harrison Elliott and drone in *Lucie In the Sky*. Australasian Dance Collective, 2023. Photo: © David Kelly

Before the curtain went up Amy Hollingsworth, artistic director of ADC, gave a short introductory talk about the various personalities of the drones and program notes listed the drones by name—one of whom, Lucie, gave her name to the show. But to tell the truth I was never sure which of the five drones was Lucie. I was unable to be accommodated on opening night (for reasons that I found extremely frustrating) so missed what was apparently a post performance discussion with some ADC personnel, which may have made things clearer. Who knows?

From a dance point of view (human dance that is), the standout performer was Harrison Elliott whose technique, including some hugely athletic jumps, was breathtaking. A significant amount of the dancing occurred between individual dancers and individual drones but there were moments of group dancing. I would have liked more.

Artists of Australasian Dance Collective in *Lucie in the Sky*, 2023. Photo: © David Kelly

Lucie in the Sky was performed to a score by Wil Hughes who was also responsible for the sound design. At times the score was very loud and I wondered whether this was in order to cover up the noise of the drones? They seemed to be moving silently across the space. Costumes by Harriet Oxley had, on one level, an overall simplicity—trousers and a top, one colour for all dancers—but they were filled with individual detail that was often surprising and always quite beautiful. Lighting by Alexander Berlage was suitably atmospheric and changeable, although sometimes very dark. While Amy Hollingsworth and the dancers were responsible for the human choreography, the drone choreography was created by the Swiss company, Verity Studios.

Lucie in the Sky was a monumental undertaking and, given the potential for drones to take off on their own pathway (I imagine) despite programming, which didn’t happen (at least not obviously), the show was a highly successful exploration and a fascinating collaboration.

Michelle Potter, 18 July 2023

Featured Image: Harrison Elliott in Lucie in the Sky, Australasian Dance Collective, 2023. Photo: © David Kelly

Stars in 3D. The Chamaeleon Collective

15 July 2023. Gorman Arts Centre, Canberra

Stars in 3D was yet another innovative program directed by Liz Lea and, as we have come to expect from Lea, it bridged barriers in so many ways. It was performed by Lea’s recently established inclusive dance group, Chamaeleon Collective, and was part of a new Canberra arts and innovation festival, Uncharted Territory. It was made in collaboration with two academics working in the field of Astronomy, Professor Susan Scott and Dr Brad Tucker from the Australian National University, with input from the Australian Research Council’s ASTRO 3D Centre, and supported by Recovery VR and QL2 Dance.

Stars in 3D was preceded by a talk and discussion with Scott and Tucker, which gave us a background to how Lea’s work was constructed and visually presented. Her program notes tell us that it is ‘A celebration of the Universe, from chromosomes to mapping the galaxy.’

The performing space, the QL2 black box area in Gorman Arts Centre, was an immersive space with three walls being used for the projection of images of a variety of matter from space. The images, and they were quite extraordinary shots, surrounded the dancers throughout the evening and often had words of explanation superimposed on them.

The work began with a solo from Jareen Wee who had been brought up from Melbourne as a guest artist with the Collective. With her beautifully fluid technique and expressive body she was the standout dancer of the evening and her opening dance recalled a solo she performed in Lea’s 2021 work The Point.

A highlight was the duet between Lea herself and Katie Senior, a dancer living with Down Syndrome, in which Senior’s thoughts on her life and activities were discussed through dance, communication, and film. This duet also looked back, this time to a work Lea and Senior made together in 2017 called That extra ‘some. It did, however, take on a new perspective within the context of Stars in 3D and had been extended, I think, with some extra film (there was film there that I don’t remember from the 2017 performance!). Perhaps I am wrong on that point but it was a special, and different experience to see it this time.

Surrounding the Katie Senior/Liz Lea duet there was a variety of dancing from the Collective, with dancers dressed sometimes in appropriately starry, glittering costumes as they promoted and simulated the astronomical discoveries that we heard about in the pre-show lecture.

In a brief interlude towards the end of the evening, Lea explained to us how to use the VR glasses we were given at the start of the show. For those who were able to get the glasses working using links on their mobile phone, some films in 3D were available to watch. (Don’t ask!)

All in all Stars in 3D was an unusual night, full of new experiences complemented by a diverse range of dancing, and filled with incredible images of a world beyond what we know well. Dance and science—a long-standing theme for Lea since she arrived in Canberra.

On a concluding note, for some time I wondered why the name of the group was Chamaeleon Collective, with that second ‘a’ in the spelling of the word. I was used to the word chameleon, the name of a lizard family known for its range of colours and ability to change colour and brightness. So why was there an extra ‘a’ in the name of the group? Eventually I asked Google and it turns out that Chamaeleon is the name of a small constellation in the deep southern sky named after the lizard family. The lizard family is sometimes spelled with that ‘a’ in there and its scientific name has the ‘a’ as well. So things became a little clearer and, all things considered, the spelling Lea uses is especially appropriate in the context of Stars in 3D given its connection with investigations into the nature of the universe.

Michelle Potter, 16 July 2023

All images: © Andrew Sikorski

Jewels. The Australian Ballet

Digital screening, July 2023 (filmed on 6 July during the Melbourne season of Jewels)

Given my reaction, or lack of a reaction for the most part, to the live performance of Jewels I saw in Sydney, I paid my subscription to watch the work streamed during a performance in the Melbourne follow-up season. I was hoping of course to feel differently. But I was again disappointed, not by the dancing—the Australian Ballet is in great form—but by the gushing praise and exaggerated enthusiasm for what seems to me to be a work that is showing its age in so many instances. I continue to think, as I did on my previous viewing in Sydney, that the way Balanchine groups the corps de ballet, at least in Jewels, has had its day. We have moved on in terms of grouping dancers on stage in the way that Balanchine admired, which is often somewhat statically or in an obvious geometric and stage-centred fashion.

But also I think that Jewels presents stereotypical views of French, American and Russian dance and society. Again we have moved on and there is more to France and its culture than perfume, haute couture, romance and other such items mentioned in discussions of ‘Emeralds’ for example. Then, I don’t really like dance being used to tell me that Americans are sassy, brash and cocky when not everyone is like that. It all reminds me a bit of the much-discussed way other cultures were used in some still-performed 19th century ballets. There is nothing of the racist or other unpleasant aspects of stereotyping in the case of Jewels, but we have just moved on. ‘Diamonds’ is more interesting in many respects because no one seems to relate it to characteristics of the Russian people and their culture but to how ballet developed in Russia. So there seems to be a difference in how we are meant to see the three sections, which adds to my problems with the work.

Quite honestly, I wish that various outlets would desist from raving on about Jewels rather than seeing it as a moment in a wider Balanchine repertoire. Some of the choreography is startling and more than interesting to see, but do we really need to call it a masterpiece? In my opinion, it is better seen as an historic work from the 1960s.

Despite the above, I did admire some particular dancers whom I didn’t see in Sydney. In ‘Rubies’ Isobelle Dashwood as the solo dancer was stunning. What a great dancer’s body she has—slender, tall and long-limbed, she is actually a perfect Balanchine dancer. What was so impressive though was the charisma she exuded at every moment. And she didn’t overplay the sassy bit but rather just danced the choreography and presented it beautifully to the audience. Someone to watch for sure.

Also in ‘Rubies’ I enjoyed the work of Brett Chynoweth as the leading male dancer, joining Ako Kondo in the pas de deux sections. Chynoweth threw himself into the choreography with gusto. Every gesture, every step was exciting to watch in its attention to shape and detail.

It was a pleasure too to see Sharni Spencer and Callum Linnane as the leading dancers in ‘Emeralds’. I admired their dancing in Sydney as the leading dancers in ‘Diamonds’ and the same beautiful connection between them was on show in ‘Emeralds’. Perhaps especially noticeable in ‘Emeralds’ was the detail, so in tune with the music, that they brought to every single movement. A terrific partnership again.

left) Isobelle Dashwood in ‘Rubies’ from *Jewels*. The Australian Ballet, 2023. Photo: © Christopher Rodgers-Wilson; (right) Sharni Spencer and Callum Linnane in ‘Emeralds’ from *Jewels*. The Australian Ballet, 2023. Photo: © Rainee Lantry

Another highlight was Duncan Salton’s rendition of the piano sections of the music to which ‘Rubies’ was danced, Stravinsky’s Capriccio for Piano and Orchestra. Exciting listening.

Michelle Potter, 15 July 2023

Featured image: Sharni Spencer and Callum Linnane in ‘Emeralds’ from Jewels. The Australian Ballet, 2023. Photo: © Rainee Lantry

Darpana: Reflections. Mudra Dance Company

2 July 2023. Lower Hutt Little Theatre

Choreography: Vivek Kinra
Reviewed by Jennifer Shennan

Darpana is a retrospective program of excerpts from the past three decades of seasons choreographed by Vivek Kinra for his company, Mudra. It’s a garden of earthly delights with celestial resonance, story-telling laced with joyous cavorting. There are sudden flashes of fury whenever forces of evil are encountered. Furious stamping, piercing glares and dismissive gestures will rid us of them. Only the good survive, only the safe are free.

This vividly expressive form of Indian dance, Bharata Natyam, runs the gamut of human emotions and motives, portraying figures from the parallel realm of deities whose examples are to be followed. It’s an art form in which singing, instrumental music (mridangam drum, violin, flute) and visual rhythm (dance)—in dramatic, poetic, and abstract patterned aspects—all find equal share in the performers’ finely-tuned detail and precise geometry of the body. And then there’s the dress-ups, further feast for the eyes, with carefully gradated lighting effects from full colour to serene silhouettes, from dawn to day to dusk.

After weeks of balmy mid-winter weather, the afternoon suddenly drops 10^o, feels like zero, and icy rain drenches us on the way to the theatre. Never mind, Lower Hutt is closer than India so it’s a small price to pay for the transport of joy awaiting us. Every season of Mudra since the mid 90s has revived memories of my visit to India for dance studies in the previous decade. O India, the country with the world’s richest of dance traditions. Time flies, time stands still, to be here is to be there.

Mudra’s troupe of eight senior performers are all in full flower—joined by 15 junior dancers in bud—(one of them already on the way to stardom, but steady on, no sensible dance teacher wants a prodigy, a meteor that falls and burns out, better a star to last forever. I’ve had my eye on this youngster for 7 or so years now, and she is doing exactly as her teacher and I predicted she would).

Kinra was trained at Kalakshetra, the epicentre of Bharata Natyam teaching, near Chennai. The founder of the school, Rukmini Devi, envisaged a centre of arts and related crafts to thrive alongside community education initiatives. As a theosophist Devi visited New Zealand to connect with the Theosophical Society here, and also devoted time to animal rights’ causes. As a young dancer she had met Anna Pavlova who was touring with her company to India in 1922. Pavlova encouraged Devi in a revitalisation of Bharata Natyam away from the temple, towards the theatre. Her contemporary, Balasaraswati, was the legendary dancer who toured the world’s capitals and showed what heights a solo performer could reach, even towards the age of 70. They say Martha Graham sat in the audience and wept, and she was not alone. (If you don’t believe me, watch Bala, the film about her made by Satyajit Ray. It’s on Youtube). A century later, many cities of the world offer training in Bharata Natyam India’s gift to the world—which takes on intriguing differences depending on each locale.

Kinra’s students are drawn from all the states of India, whether born there and migrated here, or born here. Others are of Sri Lankan or Malaysian Tamil, or maybe Fiji-Indian descent. But wait, there’s a Pakeha of Anglo/Irish line among them—though you only know that from the program note, her dancing is up there with the best of the rest.

Read the BBC news item from a few days ago, a lengthy and fascinating report of the ancient and mysterious folk ritual, Theyyam practised in Kerala—where members of Dalit, the lowest caste, perform in an ancient dance-drama. High caste members are required to attend and revere them. Think about that.

Here with Mudra we watch the daughters of Brahmin neurosurgeons or scientists (so long as under-resourcing of health or academic budgets has not closed down their work places) or of the local corner dairy (so long as ram raiders or armed invaders have not knifed them to death). Many of these dancers hold professional careers in law, education, science, technology, commerce—yet their radiant performances would have you believe they are full-time professional artists.

Each of the nine works is choreographed from the subtle tension between tradition and individual dancers’ personalities, all of whom deserve praise. One dancer leaps high and sideways, lands in ‘first position’ on the half foot, slowly continues down to a deep full plie, leans sideways then slips onto her knee and hip while sliding over the floor, then she comes back into the vertical and slowly returns to standing, all the while smiling. (Don’t try this at home. Well, the smile maybe, but for the rest you’ll need to be in training for years).

Varshini Suresh makes a stunning position flow to the next with great grace and it’s hard to take your eyes off that as she invests her dancing with expressive joy. Banu Siva has a wonderful poetic and rhythmic clarity in every aspect of her movement. Shrinidhi Bharadwaj is the dramatic force who propels the power of story-telling to great effect. The treasured Zeenat Vintiner is most welcome back as she rejoins Mudra after several years break. Her personal life reads like something from the Mahabharata, and echoes the story of the Polish refugee children who were given haven in New Zealand 80 years ago. Her own experience is a triumph for her, her family and her teacher.

(left, top to bottom) Shrinidhi Bharadwaj, Esther McCreadie and Banu Sivanantharajah; (right) Shrinidhi Bharadwaj. *Darpana Reflections*, Mudra Dance Company, 2023. Photos: © Gerry Keating

My grandchildren were agog at the stamina demanded of these performers—loved the contrasting qualities between them—and were greatly taken with the calm way the dancers managed the tiniest little ‘things’ that happened: a tiny bell from an anklet falls off onto the stage—we can see it glinting and hope that the other dancers can too because you would not want to leap and land on that piece of metal. One dancer’s long black braid plaited with flowers comes loose from the belt which holds it in place as she twirls at speed. With great aplomb she continues dancing but ensures by various miniature twists that it not fly out and hit her fellow dancer in the face. (This is like a pilot realising that one engine is malfunctioning. Nought to do but keep calm, switch it off and use the other engine to make a faultless landing). Another dancer leaps high into a very narrow space between two others and knows her foot might catch in the swathe of silk that she’s wearing—so mid-air she leaps even higher and ever so slightly changes course. Stunning. My grandkids say ‘We love watching how these little things are managed—it makes the dancers seem more human and a little bit like all of us.’

They are equally pleased by the refreshments at intermission — the best samosa and ladoo in town—and a program note that the catering is by Awhina, the impressive New Zealand enterprise that fundraises to help women widowed by war in Sri Lanka, in a range of small scale development projects. I thank the young woman for my spicy masala tea, tell her how well the performance is going and hope she gets to glimpse some of it herself. ‘Oh I was dancing in last night’s cast—I’m just helping out front tonight.’ she smiles.

Poul Gnatt founded our New Zealand Ballet on ingenuity like that, 70 years ago. He’d have loved this performance as much as I did.

Jennifer Shennan, 4 July 2023

Featured image: Abiraami Antony-Pillai (left) and Anika Mair in a moment from Darpana Reflections, Mudra Dance Company 2023. Photo: © Gerry Keating

Trilogy. Queensland Ballet

22 June 2023. Playhouse, Queensland Performing Arts Centre, Brisbane

Queensland Ballet’s latest triple bill, Trilogy, is quite simply an extraordinary collection of dance works. It consists of Jack Lister’s A Brief Nostalgia, a co-production with Birmingham Royal Ballet, first staged in Birmingham in 2019; Christopher Bruce’s Rooster danced to songs by the Rolling Stones and first staged in 1991 in Geneva; and the world premiere of Cathy Marston’s My Brilliant Career, a ballet based on Miles Franklin’s novel of the same name.

If we take what is in the printed program as a starting point, Lister’s A Brief Nostalgia was inspired by a short poem that begins with the line ‘Even the most fleeting moments can cast great shadows’ and for much of the work we watched what was unfolding onstage through dark-ish lighting by Alexander Berlage. Often the movement was reflected as shadows cast on white screens.

Occasionally there were ‘fleeting moments’ when we saw more than shadows. Groups of relatively brightly-lit dancers performed in various combinations, sometimes small, sometimes large when the full cast of twelve danced together. Lister’s demanding choreography focused often on swinging, swirling arms and extraordinary lifts performed to a quite strident and percussive score by Tom Harrold.

The pattern was broken at one stage by a duet, danced at the performance I saw by Georgia Swan and D’Arcy Brazier dressed in black rather than the grey outfits worn by others. It seemed to have a love interest embedded in it and was danced smoothly and gently in a haze of smoke.

But in general, there was huge physical energy on display. It was fast-moving and often actions happened and then disappeared before our eyes. Those ‘fleeting moments’ were truly on display.

A Brief Nostalgia was followed by Christopher Bruce’s Rooster. It is a work for ten dancers, five male and five female, and is performed to eight songs from the Rolling Stones. It looks back to the nature of male/female relationships of the 1960s. The men strut around often doing a ‘rooster strut’ especially in the opening section danced to ‘Little Red Rooster’. They preen and show off a feeling of self-importance. The women accept, for better or worse, the way they are treated. But as Bruce himself has said, ‘There is a kind of sexual war going on.’

Dance-wise the movement is a brilliant collection of ideas from across the board. While most obviously it is the rock/jive style popular in the era of the Rolling Stones but there are references to ballroom, and older court dances, as well as contemporary style choreography using the floor for rolling and spinning movements. Red and black predominate in the varied style of the costumes by Marian Bruce and are reflective of the era. For the women the costuming includes feather boas, scarves and mini skirted dresses. For some in the audience it is pure nostalgia. For most it is just huge fun to watch. And stylishly danced by the cast.

My favourite part of Rooster was the section danced to ’Ruby Tuesday’, which began with a solo for a female dancer but which developed further when four male dancers interacted with her. I saw Sophie Zoricic as the soloist and her performance was sublime. She filled the space with expressive and lyrical movement, and I loved the moments when she was tossed in the air by the four men and executed (no doubt with the assistance of the men) a tour en l’air in a horizontal position as she rose up into the space above them. Shades of Sancho Panza in Don Quixote (except better!) Then, when she was partnered by Kohei Iwamoto, the dancing became extraordinarily thrilling. Two terrific artists there.

It has been a while since I read Miles Franklin’s novel My Brilliant Career so I wondered how, or if I would be able to follow Cathy Marston’s version of what is a complex story. Marston’s work closed the evening and, as it turned out, I think she did a brilliant job, although it was good to have read the synopsis in the program as a lead-in. Every character was very clearly drawn choreographically. The movements chosen to elucidate the nature of the characters were often small, individualistic movements of the feet or the hands, or we understood the nature of the character by the way they sat or walked. But it worked brilliantly and was a remarkable achievement from Marston.

Then there was Marston’s development of the leading character of Sybylla by splitting the role between two dancers, one called Syb, the other Bylla. On the surface it sounded like an odd thing to do but again it was remarkable work from Marston and was executed with remarkable performances from the dancers. I saw Lucy Green as Syb and Sophie Zoricic as Bylla. At times I couldn’t take my eyes off Green, at others it was Zoricic I looked at, so the two sides of the young woman, one searching for a world without borders, one that was seeking something else, were clearly developed.

There is much more to say about this work. The different men with whom Sybylla came into contact, her grandmother (strongly performed when I saw the show by Georgia Swan) whose house and culture she moved into for a temporary time, the children in her family, the circumstances that led to her final realisation of what path her life should take, the set design that so easily could be moved to offer new locations. But as a final comment, a huge highlight came with the commissioned score from Matthew Hindson. It was so closely entwined with the choreography that at times I wondered whether I was listening to the choreography and seeing the music. Amazing work from Hindson who managed to describe the characters in his music as Marston did with her choreography.

I need to see My Brilliant Career again and to have the occasion to write in more detail. I hope it has further seasons.

Perhaps the most rewarding aspect of the evening was the wonderfully diverse approaches to choreography we saw. Ballet doesn’t have to be a bunch of arabesques and pirouettes (although of course they have their place). All in all, another exceptional triple bill program from Li Cunxin and Queensland Ballet. May it continue.

Michelle Potter, 23 June 2023

Myth & Ritual. Orchestra Wellington, with Ballet Collective Aotearoa

3 June 2023. Michael Fowler Centre, Wellington
reviewed by Jennifer Shennan

Marc Taddei, music director of Orchestra Wellington (OW), has made the band a major fixture of Wellington’s music scene. A heartily large number of subscribers means there is always a capacity audience in place and the Michael Fowler Centre is no small venue.

Typically, Taddei chooses a theme to connect the different works on any given programme. A recent one, Elemental Forces, featured the mighty Scythian Suite by Prokofiev. It was a staggering experience to hear the enlarged orchestra play the work. I was quite shocked to learn from the program note that Diaghilev had commissioned the score from Prokofiev just the year following Stravinsky’s Le Sacre du Printemps, but then declined it even before the composition was finished. (No wonder Prokofiev was sometimes seen leaving Diaghilev’s office in tears). It was 1915, orchestral players were in short supply, mostly being away in the trenches, so the work was never performed and I’m not aware of any subsequent choreography being set to the music. (Diaghilev must have been out of his mind. The final movement of the suite summons a mighty sunrise—probably the most extraordinary sight any human has ever witnessed, even if we do tend to take it for granted, as in ‘the sun will rise again tomorrow’. The dancers would only have needed to start in a crouched position in the dark and to unfold to a standing position into the light, with the slowest motion humanly imaginable. Perhaps Sankai Juku could have managed that? or Cloudgate?

OW’s most recent programme, Myth & Ritual, opened with Richard Strauss’ Salome: Dance of the seven veils. Nobody danced to it—nobody needed to, the music said it all. Then a powerful work for orchestra and saxophone, Zahara, by John Psathas. The soloist, Valentine Michaud, wore a dress (creation might be a better word) that Léon Bakst would have been proud to design.

Then followed Bela Bartok’s Miraculous Mandarin in which the orchestra joined forces with Orpheus Choir and with Ballet Collective Aotearoa (BCA). The Michael Fowler Centre may be a large venue but by the time an enlarged orchestra and sizeable choir are in place, there’s not a lot of room left for dancing. It was impressively resourceful then for BCA’s Turid Revfeim, artistic director, and Tabitha Dombroski, choreographic director, to place the cast of six dancers in the high choir stalls, a wide but extremely narrow space, for their playing out of the myth and ritual of this extraordinary work.

Bartok knew what he was doing, even if not everyone has seen what he could see. Note the date of composition, 1918. Whether overt or not, World War One has to be in the subtext of anything produced in Europe at that time. Despite that provenance, the work was received as a scandal and banned on moral grounds but that has not prevented its longevity as a score, even if these 105 years later it can still challenge audiences.

Four street rogues compel a woman to act as seductive target to wealthy passers-by who will then be robbed and beaten to death. One such character emerges, the Miraculous Mandarin, who dies several times, but returns to life. That role was compellingly played by Björn Aslund who faced the orchestra in defiance of the inevitable. The harlot, Mimi, was played with aplomb by Alina Kulikova, and the rough rogues—Alisha Wathen, Zoe White, Callum Phipps and James Burchell—were extraordinarily agile in their clambering through rails and seats. No need to design a set for this—it was there in the architecture of the place.

The dancers are named here because, inexplicably, they were not acknowledged in the printed program on the night— but the imagery they created will linger long in the memory.

Other than that omission, this was a remarkable night at the orchestra that became a night at the theatre. A graphic exhibition in the foyer of the life and work of Bela Bartok, supplied by the Hungarian Embassy, was an added and much appreciated feature.

There is further resonance for those who follow ballet history here that Poul Gnatt, founder of New Zealand Ballet, choreographed Miraculous Mandarin for the national ballet company in the Philippines that he helped to found in 1970s. And in mid 90s, the then artistic director of the Royal New Zealand Ballet, Ashley Killar, choreographed Dark Waves to Bartok’s Music for strings, celeste and percussion. He based the ballet on a short story by Vladimir Nabokov, and gave to Jon Trimmer one of his finest roles. The work was toured to America (where it impressed the New York critics) though was never performed publicly in New Zealand. (I’d got lucky and seen a studio rehearsal before the company went on tour. They returned to find various arts agencies were trying to close the company down. Triumph to those who said No to that).

There are still a number of dancers from the original cast easily to be located, who would willingly coach a new cast. Killar is still active in the ballet world and lives in Sydney, so there’s not a lot to stop the work being staged again. It’s redolent with New Zealand provenance.

Jennifer Shennan, 5 June 2023

Featured image: Rehearsal for Myth and Ritual

geist dance. Björn Aslund, Robert Oliver, Tessa Ayling-Guhl

27 May 2023. Hunters & Collectors Gallery, Wellington
reviewed by Jennifer Shennan

Hunters & Collectors is a well-known vintage clothes shop in Wellington’s favourite inner city Cuba Street. Chrissie O, the proprietor, had the wit to instal a mezzanine gallery within the high stud of the heritage building so that small scale art exhibitions and related gatherings can take place there within the shop.

Chrissie was friend and flatmate of Douglas Wright, back in the 1980s when we were young—well, younger than we are now—so she jumped at the chance when her friend, photographer Tessa Ayling-Guhl, offered an exhibition of the photo-portraits she had made of Douglas in 2015, but had never before shown in public. Tessa selected six from her gallery of 75 images, to make a small and perfectly-formed exhibition, geist, which evoked the man and the dancer we knew and loved and miss. A video of Douglas’ poignant solo, Elegy, played silently and continuously in the space.

The opening of the exhibition attracted a buzz of people interested in the intersection of dance and visual arts. Several weeks later an invited audience came to the closing event of the exhibition. Björn Aslund, freelance dancer and member of Ballet Collective Aotearoa, choreographed geist dance, which he performed to Robert Oliver’s playing on bass viol of sarabandes by Marin Marais and Kellom Tomlinson.

Björn made a pavane-like entrance, then with a chair and a lily as props, paid respect to the now classic Elegy, but also featured in his own dance a wonderful theme and variations growing out of the music, with angles and snatches as though to grab at times past, then into curves and arcs and turns that became figures of eight and infinity signs, reaching to the ceiling, knocking on Heaven’s door …

In 1920s sculptor Richard Gross created a larger-than-life bronze statue of a male athlete at the entrance gates to the Auckland Domain. It has become a talisman image for Auckland, Douglas’ town, so it was a resonant moment when Björn standing on the chair moved into the same precarious arabesque the athlete holds, reaching out, almost losing his balance, as do we all sometime in life, but catching it again to the immense relief of every held breath in the room, his own included. This was heroic dance-making and Douglas would have been moved.

The address of Hunters & Collectors is Cuba Street, no. 134 … almost a sequence, but lacking the 2. E tū. In te reo Maori that means Stand up, Stand there, Stand your ground… so Björn and Robert did, as Douglas had done.

Jennifer Shennan, 29 May 2023

Communicate. Quantum Leap

18 May 2023. Playhouse, Canberra Theatre Centre

Communicate, the latest production from Canberra’s youth group, Quantum Leap, gave me something of a jolt. There were, for example, a few changes to the structure we usually see from the group. But more than that, this current group of dancers aged from 13 to 23, who were joined for this production by 8 dancers from Bangkok, gave a show that often had a strongly professional look about it, more so than usual. Quantum Leap’s production values have always been high and have come from choreographers, designers, composers, film makers, stage managers, and others who are professionals in their field. But with Communicate the company surpassed itself with a high standard of dancing along with the excellent input we have come to expect from the various collaborators. Occasionally I forgot entirely that the dancers were still developing the skills they need to move into a professional company.

The program, which examined various aspects of how we communicate and interact with each other, was made up of three sections. The first, Holding Space, came from choreographer Alice Lee Holland currently working in Townsville with Dance North. The second, Echo Chamber, was the work of Kyall Shanks, artistic director of the Tasmanian youth company Yellow Wheel. The third, Shared Language, began with a work, choreographed by Lordfai Navinda Pachimsawat creative director of Bangkok Dance Academy, and made in Bangkok on 8 Thai dancers. But this third section was extended once in Australia into two further developments in which Thai and Australian dancers engaged with each other in a variety of ways. These developments had choreography by Ruth Osborne assisted by Steve Gow. In all cases input from the dancers was acknowledged and this method of working is an essential component of any Quantum Leap program.

While each work had its own special aspects, there were some exceptional solo moments that were absolute highlights. It was a thrill to watch as tiny details of placement of various parts of the body were given a focus, and when an emotionally dramatic aspect of the work was physically highlighted. No one held back!

The contingent from Bangkok began their section in a very individual way—brightly and distinctively dressed and also more or less going their separate ways in a movement sense.

But those outer clothes were soon removed to reveal outfits that were more sombre and lacking that individuality. By removing those rather extravagant clothes, the dancers revealed themselves as beings with a shared humanity and they began working closely together in a movement sense. They formed various group patterns, often with arms joined, often moving in undulating patterns. In many respects, this aspect of the choreography reminded me of some of Graeme Murphy’s approaches, and even further back to the choreography of Bronislave Nijinska.

But this section eventually morphed into wider issues of sharing life and dance with others, and eventually we saw all 28 dancers working together.

Going back to the changes in structure mentioned earlier, the most obvious one was that in Communicate each section was separated from the following one by a blackout. In previous Quantum Leap programs the various sections, while still separate pieces, followed on from each other without a break but with a carefully choreographed end to one and beginning of the next. This arrangement was always a beautifully fluid transition and had become an expected part of Quantum Leap programs. So the change was a shock, although perhaps this change moves Quantum Leap into a more regular, or usual arrangement as followed by professional companies?

Overall, this program had been beautifully rehearsed and was mostly impeccably performed. The focus on communication was highlighted in a diverse manner across the production and Communicate was a delight to watch and a credit to all those involved.

Quantum Leap is a significant addition to the dance scene in Canberra and a list of ‘some alumni’ who have begun their careers as Quantum Leapers (listed in the printed program) is quite astonishing. They include (if I have to limit myself to just two} Daniel Riley now directing Australian Dance Theare, and James Batchelor with a major international career as a choreographer.

Michelle Potter, 19 May 2023