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.
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.
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.
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.
My review of Swan Lake from Victorian State Balletwas published online on 5 April 2025 by CBR CityNews. Read it at this link. Below is a slightly enlarged version of the review.
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4 April 2025. Canberra Theatre
The dance world has seen a wealth of versions of the ballet Swan Lake since its first performance in Moscow in 1877. Many choreographers have taken up the story of Odette, the Swan Queen, and the supporting characters, including of course Prince Siegfried, whose activities have impacted her life. Some choreographers have made changes to the storyline and created new, highly personalised choreography for their creations. Others have attempted to recreate the original work, as far as that is possible.
The production presented by Victorian State Ballet was choreographed and co-directed by Michelle Sierra. It followed to a large extent the traditional narrative of Odette, who has been turned into a swan by the evil von Rothbart. Her return to human form is only possible by a declaration of love from a human being.
We saw most of the familiar and most celebrated aspects of the traditional story: in Act 1 the birthday celebrations of Prince Siegfried; the dance of the four little swans in Act II; the thirty-two fouettés from Odile (who is impersonating Odette) in Act III; the character dances from across the world, also in Act III; the several pas de deux between the Prince and the Swan Queen across the work; and the impressive groupings of swans in Acts II and IV.
But there is an astonishing ending to the final act of Victorian State Ballet’s production. The finale to Swan Lake has seen various changes over the years, but I have never seen anything like the ending devised by Michelle Sierra.
In Act II, Siegfried, while out hunting following his birthday celebrations, has fallen in love with Odette, the leader of a group of swans. But in Act III, at a ball in his palace, he is deceived by declaring his love for an uninvited guest, Odile, having been persuaded with the help of von Rothbart (disguised as a magician) that she is Odette.
In Act IV Siegfried returns to the lakeside where he first encountered Odette. Both are in despair over what has happened and declare their love for each other. This declaration destroys the curse of von Rothbart who dies dramatically onstage. But even more dramatic is the return to human form by Odette and the totally unexpected transformation of Siegfried into a swan. He has taken his place in the flock of swans from which Odette has been saved. A staggering change to the story!
Some other noticeable changes were choreographic. I especially enjoyed the character dances in Act III which had a stronger than usual balletic component to them. I was also impressed by the way in which von Rothbart, danced by Tristan Gross, appeared to have a greater role in the work than is usual. He often only appears briefly and is sometimes only seen from a distance. In this production he interacted closely with the swans, including Odette, in Act II and there was no doubt as to his importance. But I wish his acting had been a little more dramatic. Perhaps his costume and make-up needed to be a little more impressive? His evil character just didn’t seem clear or strong enough.
The dual role of Odette/Odile was well danced by Elise Jacques and that of Siegfried by Benjamin Harris. Especially strong performances also came from the two leading swans, Maggie de Koning and Alexia Simpson, who worked well together given their similar performing style and that they were of a similar height.
My big gripe, however, concerns the overall technical standard of the dancing. The dancers in this company use their arms, and upper body in general, with beautiful fluidity and sense of shape. But I so wish they (and I mean all of them including the principals) put the same effort into their feet. Well pointed feet make a huge difference to the quality of ballet dancing and poor use of the feet prevented this Swan Lake from being as strong as it might have been.
21 March 2025. Lyric Theatre, Queensland Performing Arts Centre, Brisbane
Kenneth MacMillan’s Romeo and Juliet is a long ballet—almost three hours (if we include the two intervals between acts). But it is such a strong work by MacMillan, and so magnificently performed by Queensland Ballet in this 2025 presentation, that those three hours just flew by.
The relationship between Romeo (Patricio Revé) and Juliet (Chiara Gonzalez), critical to the success of the work, was carefully developed throughout, whether at their first meeting, or during the now-famous balcony scene, or when engaging in a clandestine marriage, or right at the end when Juliet wakes in the family crypt and discovers that Romeo is dead on the floor beside her bed.
Much of their dancing took the form of pas de deux, a typical MacMillan approach, and MacMillan’s choreographic approach to every pas de deux was thrilling to watch. In particular I loved the detailed movement of the feet and the fluidity of the lifts that often had the bodies leaning in unusual ways.
The moments shared by the three friends, Romeo, Mercutio (Kohei Iwamato) and Benvolio (Joshua Ostermann), was also a highlight, whether joyous moments of friendship: or dramatic occasions involving sword fights; or attempts by Mercutio and Benvolio to keep Romeo’s behaviour safe and sensible. The three harlots, Georgia Swan, Laura Tosar and Vanessa Morelli also danced brilliantly as they engaged with the three friends, as well as with others in the market place. And Vito Bernasconi gave a powerful performance as Tybalt, cousin of Juliet. Such was his acting, as well as his technical performance, that I was involved enough to dislike him (as a character) for getting in the way of the relationship developing between Romeo and Juliet.
I missed a little the powerful input from the Capulet family that usually characterises the ball scene, although it was a pleasure to see Lisa Pavane making a return to the stage as Lady Capulet. But the ball scene lacked, I thought, the drama that I recall from a variety of other performances I have seen, including the 2019 production by Queensland Ballet. But I always enjoy the historical references that the dancing at the ball involves, especially the slight backwards tilt of the bodies as the dances proceed.
My one regret is that the design of the work from Paul Andrews seemed heavy and somewhat cumbersome. The scenes in the market place, a setting that figures prominently through the early part of the work, did not look as though the activities were actually happening in a market place but simply in front of a residence. The building that made up the background was very Italian-looking with its columned passage ways and its long flight of steps leading to the upper areas of the building. But it was darkly coloured and somehow gloomy, and the restricted space it created for dancing, and even the capacity for characters to move around in the upper passageways, was not conducive to interesting activity.
It is, however, pretty much impossible not to be carried along by this MacMillan masterpiece, especially when Queensland Ballet continues to dance so well, and when Nigel Gaynor continues to conduct the Queensland Symphony Orchestra so magnificently.
Michelle Potter, 23 March 2025
Postscript: An interesting discussion of the MacMillan Romeo and Juliet can be found in Jan Parry’s biography of MacMillan, Different Drummer (London: Faber and Faber, 2009) pp. 274 ff. Also interesting to watch via the ROH streaming platform (it needs a subscription) is Romeo and Juliet. The Royal Ballet in Rehearsal. It contains Royal Ballet rehearsal footage and a conversation with Deborah MacMillan, Donald MacLeary, Laura Morera and others regarding aspects of the ballet. It is especially interesting as Laura Morera has been the principal coach for the Queensland Ballet presentation.
In what was a joint program of four works, two from Royal New Zealand Ballet (RNZB) and two from Scottish Ballet, I imagined there would be some curiosity from audience members (or some people anyway) about the nature of ballet. I certainly was curious. Both companies have the word ‘ballet’ in their name for a start, but the details of the program sounded unusual.
Opening the program was Schachmatt (Checkmate in English translation) from Spanish/international choreographer Cayetano Soto, who was also responsible for the set, costumes and lighting. The work was based, notes tell us, on Soto’s admiration for and interest in the songs of people such as Joan Rivers as well as the choreography of Bob Fosse.
There was an exceptional, short and shadowy opening sequence. It was attention-grabbing and at first some of the dancers towards the back of the group looked almost like shadows rather than people.
But as the lighting became less shadowy, we could see the cast dressed in light blue-grey costumes, wearing black stockings that at first looked like knee-high boots, and with black caps as head gear. They danced often with the pelvis pushed back so the spine never looked straight; with arms often making geometric shapes; and with emphasis on hands often stretched flat; and with fingers twisted and curled. The dancers’ movements were fast and furious and bodies were bent and twisted. It made me think how different the movement was from the technique we assume is balletic. It seemed like a quirky novelty rather than a ballet. In fact the whole thing looked anti-balletic to me, although nothing could take away from a powerful performance from every dancer.
Schachmatt, which received an exceptional audience response at its conclusion, was a short piece, just 20 or so minutes, and was followed by a brief, spoken introduction from the stage by RNZB’s Artistic Director, Ty King-Wall, who was accompanied onstage by Director of Scottish Ballet, Christopher Hampson, dressed in a Scottish-style kilted outfit.
After thinking constantly during the unfolding of Schachmatt, especially about choreographic expression and its relationship to balletic concepts, it was an exceptional experience to watch the second item on the program, Prismatic from RNZB Choreographer in Residence, Shaun James Kelly. Kelly played with movement without removing so many balletic essentials as seemed to happen in Schachmatt. Kelly’s choreography showed fluidity; detailed interaction between dancers without that interaction being frenzied; smooth and curving shapes from the arms; lifts that were quite spectacular and that demonstrated a remarkable manner of moving through space; and a great use of the stage area, often in unexpected ways.
We were watching a particular choreographic voice, but one that was not removing what makes dance balletic. Prismatic gave me goose bumps and it was a pleasure to watch the dancers performing to an audience, to us. That’s a personalised approach and was not something I got from the first item. To me Prismatic was theatre.
After interval we watched another short work, Limerence, this time from Annaliese Macdonald, former dancer with RNZB, now freelancing. Performed to music by Franz Schubert, it was made for four dancers who interacted with each other, displaying different emotions at different times.
The leading role was danced strongly by Joshua Guillemot-Rodgerson but we were never completely sure of exactly where his emotions were directed. What was he thinking? What were the others thinking as well, especially when they were trying to guide him through an event? In fact, a quote from Austrian poet Rainer Maria Rilke was written in the program notes: ‘Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final.’ That quote gave a strong indication of the nature of Limerence.
Choreographically Limerence had a beautifully strong contemporary feel but it was clearly based on an understanding of balletic technique. The bodies of all four dancers were used as expressive tools to transmit emotions.
The final work Dextera (a play on the word ‘dexterous’) came from Franco-British choreographer Sophie Laplane. It was danced by a large cast to excerpts from various compositions by Mozart. Laplane mentions in program notes that she was interested in ‘portraying the complexity of human nature through dance’ and complexity of movement (large and small, individual and group) was clearly on display.
Red gloves were a feature. In the beginning one fell through the air from the flies. Then dancers entered, all wearing red gloves. Sometimes one set of dancers ripped the gloves away from the group wearing them. The gloves were then ripped back. In the final moments a swathe of gloves fell again from the flies. I am assuming that the gloves referred to the fact that dexterity usually indicates skill involving the hands.
Another feature of Dextera was that red ‘handles’ had been added to some costumes and dancers (mostly the women) were picked up, (mostly by the men) using the handles, and the bodies manipulated in some way.
Choreographically Dextera teetered towards seeming suitable for inclusion in a program by a company with the word ‘ballet’ in its name. It was clearly pushing movement boundaries but, at least to me, the dancers looked like human beings and the choreography looked as though there was a balletic background that was being used in the ‘pushing’. But the work seemed so long, which was not made to feel shorter when many sections of the work appeared not to relate to each other. I was relieved when the work eventually concluded.
The outstanding feature of the program, over all four works, was the strength of the dancing. Whatever movement ideas the choreographers chose to investigate, the dancers rose to the challenge and performed with gusto. And all my congratulations to the staff of both companies for creating a program that put forward a challenge. In fact, as I left the theatre I had the feeling that it would be hard to find a performance that could give rise to so many varying thoughts about the nature of ballet.
The Night has a Thousand Eyes is an hour-long work described as a ‘nocturnal dreamscape of movement and mystery’. The first image is of a vast suspended square tent of white muslin, evoking the cloth draped over a baby’s cradle, lit from within, but empty yet. Piano music is gentle, lullaby-like. Soon the dancer moves in amniotic shadow inside the tent, we glimpse a limb, the edge of her torso, her arm gesturing up, then around, and down, the palms of her hands coming forward into focus. There’s a quiet mood of questioning and waiting as the work awakens to this exploration of space and place, and the piano carries us through.
This is Lucy Marinkovich in the first in a series of vignettes shared with Michael Parmenter, mostly solos, occasionally duets, that play with shadows and silhouettes from the dark and into the light that is sourced from side or back or front, with the two dancers’ bodies, especially arms and hands, striking 1, 000 shapes that hint, suggest, tease, whisper and play in the night.
Impressions are suggested—to wonder at the beauty of an arm outstretched then curved then dissolved—to hold and embrace an infant, perhaps—keeping silent reverie alone beneath a dark sky that shimmers with 1,000 stars, in no specific place but here. Nights are long but the piano, in Lucien Johnson’s driving score, carries us through.
Parmenter dances alternate sections, he too is a silhouette, then moving and flowing, then held in chiselled positions. He will later be the insomniac out in the night streets of Paris, marking out fragments of old tap dance routines, or flashing a thousand tiny lights onto a dark wall, imagining he’s alone but we are watching. These are film-like dream-like sequences, and still the piano carries us through.
The performers are not connected as characters, nor is any specific thematic narrative developed. They move in alternate sequences that build a sympathy and empathy between them as they share the thoughts and things that arrive in the nights—both theirs and ours. A scene comes to seem like a poem, each separate yet belonging together in a selected collection.
The hub of the work is the mesmerising Serpentine Dance reconstructed by Marinkovich after Loie Fuller moving in the earliest stagings of electric light on stage over 100 years ago. Vast swathes of white silk are held aloft with poles to extend the wings into a celestial realm. The carefully chosen moves and curves and swoops bring the silk into its own life, making invisible air now visible, eventually enveloping the dancer, and still the piano carries us through.
So the two dancers, but also the lighting design that in turn brings textiles to life, effectively make a cast of four performers. We cannot take our eyes off any of them.
My wish, although maybe not practical, would have been to see the pianist in low light side-stage, visually holding these vignettes together as indeed the music did throughout.
My review of Essor a solo performance from Yolanda Lowattawas published online on 02 March 2025 by CBR CityNews. Read it at this link.. Below is a slightly enlarged version of the review.
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01 March 2025. Gordon Darling Hall, National Portrait Gallery, Canberra
There is much to admire about Essor, a 20-minute solo performance choreographed and danced at the National Portrait Gallery (NPG) by Indigenous performer, Yolanda Lowatta. Lowatta is a member of Canberra’s Australian Dance Party and the Party’s leaders, Alison Plevey and Sara Black, produced Essor, which was commissioned by the NPG.
As has been the case whenever a dance performance has been commissioned by the NPG (and there have been quite a few such commissions over the past several years), Essor was created in response to photographic material currently on display in the Gallery—in this case to Some Lads, a series of portraits by renowned Australian photographer, Tracey Moffatt. The images are of dancers connected with the Aboriginal and Islander Dance Development Centre who had influenced Lowatta in some way and include Russell Page, Graham Blanco, Matthew Doyle, and Gary Lang. The name of the work, Essor, is an Indigenous word meaning ‘thank you’ and the work is Lowatta’s recognition of the impact those lads have had on her.
It was a real pleasure to watch Lowatta’s sense of movement as displayed in her choreography. There was a beautiful overall fluidity in her manner of moving, especially in the arms and upper body. But within this fluidity there were many moments of detail especially in the fingers and in the positions taken by the feet. There were moments, too, when a smile crossed her face suggesting that she was recalling a particular moment in relation to one of her mentors.
But what was remarkable was the way in which Lowatta referenced different styles of dance, all of which must have influenced her current, personal movement style. Some movements seemed to come straight from the dance style seen in clan performances from Indigenous women; some referenced Western contemporary dance, especially those grounded movements that were interspersed throughout; some, such as the leaps with a leg held in arabesque, were quite balletic.
This stylistic diversity, which never looked jarring or lacking in harmony, was reflected in an exceptional soundscape from Indigenous multi-artist Bindimu. It contained sounds of water; the playing of Indigenous instruments; sounds from nature, including bird calls; human voices; and a range of other audio items. Just as Lowatta’s choreography referenced different dance styles, Bindimu’s soundscape took us, potentially, from venue to venue, that is to a selection of places where dance might been seen.
Bindimu was also responsible for Lowatta’s costume—a dark purple ‘grass’ skirt and top worn over a Western style close fitting pair of black shorts with a separate top. Again, there was a strong reference to more than one aspect of Lowatta’s career.
The work was structured around a circle of audience members, seated on the floor in the centre of the Gordon Darling Hall, with a few regular seats, placed outside the circle, for older people. Lowatta moved this way and that and often traversed the circular space occupied by the seated audience. But as the soundscape came to an end, Lowatta led the audience from the Hall to the Gallery where the Moffatt portraits were hanging. She left us there, after well-deserved and loudly expressed applause, to admire the photographs and, as a result, to reflect further on Essor.
Frederick Ashton choreographed his ballet, EnigmaVariations, to the similarly named score by Edward Elgar: Royal Ballet publicity describes the ballet as an ‘ode to the composer Edward Elgar’. The ballet depicts several of Elgar’s friends and family who are seen at Elgar’s home as he ponders the outcome of a request to conductor Hans Richter regarding input into the premiere performance of the Enigma score. Richter eventually sends a telegram to Elgar agreeing to the request to conduct, and Elgar and his friends gather as one to share Elgar’s pleasure (and relief?).
I had never previously seen the ballet, which received its premiere from the Royal Ballet in 1968, and I came to the streaming with pretty much no knowledge of what was happening, not even why the mysterious envelope that arrived at the end of the work caused the thrill that it did for the cast. But even without this knowledge it was a fascinating work choreographically and for the way the collection of people who danced the various and diverse roles were so strong in their characterisations. It is also exceptionally designed as a period piece by Julia Trevalyan Oman. After watching it this first time, my curiosity sent me on a research trip via the internet and via David Vaughan’s engrossing book Frederick Ashton and his Ballets. I watched the stream again.
Christopher Saunders performed the role of Elgar and did so with a strength that drew attention instantly and constantly. The opening moments in which Elgar’s wife, danced by Laura Morera, offered her support for her husband as he struggled to remain unworried by his situation set the scene beautifully. It looked calm and simple in many respects but it was choreographically quite complex especially in relation to the various lifts included.
Francesca Hayward gave a memorable performance as Dorabella, a young friend of Elgar. Dorabella suffers from a speech impediment and this aspect of her persona was recognised with fast moving and constantly changing choreography—including fast runs and little hops on pointe. But, in addition to this somewhat remarkable choreographic inclusion, Hayward projected a winning, unforgettable youthfulness.
Another standout character was Arthur Troyte Griffith, an architect and a close male friend of Elgar, danced dramatically and exuberantly by Matthew Ball. But the entire cast performed with such skill and dramatic input that it is hard to single out individual performances. One aspect of the choreography that stood out for me was Ashton’s skill in creating movement that never looked as though it was specific to particular parts of the body. Movement just coursed through the entire body.
The ballet is episodic in structure and crosses time. But it is just beautifully structured and performed and will stay in my mind for a long time to come.
Frederick Ashton was a choreographer who used classical ballet as his medium, which today it is not such a common method of producing a new work, not even within a ballet company (at least not in my mind). This is not a criticism of ballet today and I clearly recall my former ballet teacher, Valrene Tweedie, saying ‘ballet absorbs everything’! To its credit ballet has moved on and continues to do so. But Ashton was a choreographer whose work is thrilling to watch for the manner in which he uses movement that encompasses aspects of ballet that no longer appear to the same extent in today’s choreography.
A recent addition to the ROH streaming platform has been Ashton’s six-or-so minute pas de deux Voices of Spring. Ashton originally made the work, then called Frulingsstimmen, in 1977 for a New Year’s Eve performance of Die Fledermaus as performed by the Royal Opera. It appeared in a ball scene in Act II of the production along with another Ashton inclusion, Explosions-Polka.
Frulingsstimmen was first performed as a dance piece, independent of the opera, in September 1978 under the name Voices of Spring, the English translation of its German title, Frühlingsstimmen. Since then the pas de deux has been part of the Royal Ballet’s repertoire (although it seems to have been performed somewhat infrequently).
The version the company has added to its streaming platform is a performance from 2013 danced by Yuhui Choe and Alexander Campbell. Technically they make Ashton’s demanding choreography look just breathtaking (including his ‘signature’ walking through the air moments). Impressive from both dancers is the line of the body, the fluidity of the arms and indeed the fluidity of the entire body throughout the piece, along with the use of a beautifully stretched neck, especially from Choe, with the head balanced so impressively at the top of the spine.
But more than technical matters, the connection between the two dancers had been exceptionally thought through. Campbell presented Choe to the audience in true balletic tradition, while never forgetting that he was an individual as well. Then there was the absolute joy that coursed through the pas de deux and that reflected so beautifully the music, the Frulingsstimmen waltz from Johann Strauss II.
This pas de deux has been danced by others over the years, all well-known artists. But, from the excerpts available on YouTube,* no one else seems to have captured the nature of the work as Choe and Campbell have done, especially the exceptional fluidity and the inherent joy seen throughout the performance. I was blown away.
Michelle Potter, 9 February 2025
* The YouTube footage available does not include the Choe/Campbell performance, which is only available online via the ROH streaming platform
22 January 2025, Parramatta Town Hall, Western Sydney
It is not easy to review All In. To tell the truth, in many decades of performing, teaching, reviewing and writing about dance, I have never really seen anything like it. Not only that, Dance Makers Collective (DMC) is a new organisation for me (even though it is more than 10 years old apparently). Based on Dharug country (Western Sydney), it is a collective-led dance company with a mission to build dance communities and it works with, and between, dance theatre, contemporary dance and social dance. It aims to connect and move people and to destigmatise dance.
Its co-director, Miranda Wheen, is well known in Canberra having performed, with exceptional results, for various Canberra-based groups, including those directed by Elizabeth Dalman and by Liz Lea. My interest in Wheen’s work is what encouraged me to accept the generous invitation to review the latest DMC show.
The show took place in a hall with an unraked floor with two rows of seats around the edges of the space. It began with an Indigenous section led by a remarkable performer singing and using a version of clapsticks (they were quite long) to develop the rhythm of the section. The Indigenous element moved into a second section, which began with a series of connections between the Indigenous dancers and dancers performing Western-style contemporary dance.
The Western section eventually took on a life of its own and, while I found this section somewhat lengthy, the choreography was fast-paced, varied in the groupings that formed and dissolved, and nicely danced by all.
What was for me the most interesting of the following sections began as a Spanish/Flamenco flavoured performance led by a committed artist (Pepa Molina?), whose flamenco skills were clearly exceptional, and who was accompanied by a small number of other dancers also demonstrating Spanish movement. A few minutes into this section, however, the Spanish dancers were joined by a young man dressed all in white, who at first seemed also to be performing Spanish-style movement. But it didn’t take long to realise that he was in fact a proponent of Indian movement. What was totally fascinating was the way he moved his fingers. While they were clearly Indian-style, and exceptionally clear, somehow they blended beautifully with the the leading Spanish dancer whose fingers moved as if playing castanets. Here was a terrific example of the joyous connections between dance forms.
But the culmination of the show really brought home the concept of ‘all in’. The show moved quite suddenly into its finale when the audience (and not just one or two audience members but pretty much the entire audience) rose from their seats and joined the dancers on the floor. Young and old, experienced and not so experienced, all were present moving together. There were some instructions on a screen at the end of the space ‘Go left’, Go right’, ‘Make a circle’, ‘Dance with the person next to you’, and so on. And they did!
Media for the show, which was part of the 2025 Sydney Festival, stated: ‘Dance exists on stages, at weddings, in clubs and at cultural gatherings. Why is it so universal? What are the boundaries between ballet and backyard parties? Can dance build bridges and ignite collective joy?’ Well All In certainly built bridges of various kinds, including between dance styles and between performers and audiences. And seeing the thrills and excitement that permeated the finale, dance clearly can ignite collective joy.
So, apart from the thrill of watching a performance that was mostly an outstanding show in terms of dance technique, what All In showed us is that dance is for everyone and that it exists beyond what might be called a mainstage show. It needs to tour. I can think of a number of Canberra venues in which All In might be presented, notably in Canberra Theatre Centre’s Courtyard Studio Theatre and in Gorman Arts Centre’s Main Hall. Let’s hope!
As I am not familiar with the company and didn’t really know the names of the various dancers, below is the list of creatives from the online program: Director & Choreographer Miranda Wheen Assistant / Rehearsal Director Marnie Palomares Producer Carl Sciberras Composer Fiona Hill Designer Anya McKee Lighting Designer Benjamin Brockman Creative Collaborators Vishnu Arunasalam, Azzam Mohamed, Pepa Molina, Peta Strachan Co-Choreographers & Performers Samuel Beazley, Mitchell Christie, Eliza Cooper, Emma Harrison, Katina Olsen, Melanie Palomares, Emma Riches, Ella Watson-Heath Co-Choreographers Jana Castillo, Tra Mi Dinh, Sophia Ndaba Featuring Cameo Performances from Jannawi Dance Clan, Future Makers, Riddim Nation, Las Flamenkas, Pepa Molina, Vishnu Arunasalam, and Majdy and Seraj Jildah Indian Percussion Pirashanna Thevarajah DJ Krystel Diola Music Mix Bob Scott Additional Choreography (Jannawi Dance Clan) Peta Strachan Additional Music (Jannawi Dance Clan) Steve Francis (Composer) and Matthew Doyle (Vocals) Additional Choreography (Las Flamenkas) Pepa Molina Additional Music (Las Flamenkas) Manuel Barco Stage Managers Tom Kelly and William Phillips
