Jurrungu Ngan-Ga [Straight Talk]. Marrugeku

23 August 2024. The Playhouse, Canberra Theatre Centre

Below is a slightly enlarged version of my review of Jurrungu Ngan-Ga [Straight Talk] published online by Canberra’s CityNews on 24 August 2024. The CityNews review is at this link.

I have always thought of Marrugeku as a dance company with a strong focus on Indigenous issues. But Jurrungu Ngan-Ga, staged recently in Canberra by Marrugeku, showed just how much more the company offers audiences. In the case of this production, multi-disciplinary is a much stronger descriptive term for this company. In Jurrungu Ngan-Ga dance was a definite, probably dominant, component and the dancers were all exceptional performers. But the dance input was solidly supported by voice (both spoken and sung), video projection, and installation. It also had a cast of diverse cultural origins, including those with an Indigenous heritage as well as migrants to Australia, especially those who had been interred in immigration camps, notably on Manus Island in Papua New Guines.

The work was largely a series of distinct scenes. It opened with a solo that gave us a look at the kind of choreography we might expect throughout the evening—dance that was twisted, complex, occasionally grounded but moving constantly across the stage space, and subtly displaying the effects of invisible forces on the body. From there Jurrungu Ngan-Ga moved from scene to scene, some more confronting than others including some prison scenes, some overtly sexual moments, and one scene that involved dancing that seemed to suggest determined resilience in the face of unimaginable personal difficulties.

A dancing moment from *Jurrungu Ngan-Ga* from a 2022 production by Marrugeku with Bhenji Ra centre front. Photo: © Prudence Upton

Choreographically Jurrungu Ngan-Ga was diverse in its references. There were moments when moves were distinctively balletic, some that seemed clearly Indigenous, others that had a strongly Asian feel, and some that recalled hip-hop. There were even some moments when I couldn’t help thinking of Raygun and her much-discussed Olympic break-dancing performance.

Unfortunately, as is a common practice these days, the online program gave us little that helped identify performers we may not have known from elsewhere—no portrait-style images. But the male dancer who, to me, gave the strongest performance was former Canberra-based artist Luke Currie-Richardson. Tall, powerfully built, shaved head and sporting a black beard, he was at times terrifying as he manipulated a boomerang as if it were a gun, while all the time soaring through the air and always completely committed to his role. *

Bhenji Ra also gave an outstanding performance as a woman who needed to, and did talk about her ideas and opinions on life. She did it mostly from a table top, which she demanded to be set up for her. Her strength as an actor shone through.

Costumes by Andrew Treloar were an interesting mix of styles from underwear to stylish evening attire. They were also shared among the dancers and often split into several pieces with parts worn by various dancers. As for the projections, from the program it was not immediately clear who was responsible for this aspect of the show but it was more of a mirror of what was happening onstage than anything else.

Prison scene from *Jurrungu Ngan-Ga* from a 2022 production by Marrugeku. Photo: © Prudence Upton

Marrugeku is led by Dalisa Pigram and Rachael Swain and is located between Broome, Western Australia and Sydney New South Wales. Its patron is former senator, Patrick Dodson, who has been strongly involved with the Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody. His input into the political aspects of Jurrungu Ngan-Ga was clearly present.

With such a background Jurrungu Ngan-Ga was not an easy show to watch. It was provocative and it constantly put confronting issues before us. It ended as it had begun with a solo, which this time was angst-ridden and full of a feeling of sorrow. The work pulled no punches but certainly gave us a profound examination of shameful issues, largely those emerging from incarceration and the detention of refugees, which have affected the people at the heart of the work. Straight Talk indeed.

Michelle Potter, 26 August 2024

* For more about Luke Currie-Richardson see this link to an article published in The Canberra Times in 2016 (from the days when that newspaper actually published material about the arts).

Featured image: Dancers from Jurrungu Ngan-Ga from a 2022 production by Marrugeku. Photo: © Prudence Upton

Silence & Rapture. Australian Chamber Orchestra and Sydney Dance Company

17 August 2024. Llewellyn Hall, Canberra

Below is a slightly enlarged version of my review of Silence & Rapture published online by Canberra’s CityNews on 18 August 2024. The CityNews review is at this link.

The Australian Chamber Orchestra (ACO) has an admirable history of staging productions with dance companies in which both musicians and dancers perform onstage, with artists of each genre reflecting the work of the other in some way. My first recollection of this kind of collaborative endeavour goes back to 1998 when the ACO joined with a small contingent of dancers from the Australian Ballet, then under the direction of Ross Stretton, to present the Stravinsky/Balanchine ballet, Apollo. Since then there have been several collaborations between the ACO and Sydney Dance Company. Silence & Rapture is their most recent joint initiative.*

Directed by Richard Tognetti, Silence & Rapture presented a series of compositions by two composers—J. S. Bach and Arvo Pärt—whose works are years apart but were so expertly curated on the program that they fell together seamlessly. Program notes explained the narrative that was behind the selection. It followed ‘the path of a Lutheran metaphor … the world as a pendulum swinging downward, from the natural world of Hope and Temptation (Garden of Eden), down to Tragedy and Passion (Garden of Gethsemane), then upward again to Resurrection and Redemption (Garden of Heaven).’ The ACO musicians were joined by countertenor Iestyn Davies and two Sydney Dance Company artists, Emily Seymour and Liam Green, who performed the choreography of Rafael Bonachela.

Every aspect of the show was superbly executed by every single artist, with a standout performance of the Prelude from Bach’s Suite for Solo Cello in C Major from ACO’s principal cellist Timo-Veikko Valve. Apart from an impeccable transmission of the sound of the music, Valve the man could scarcely be separated from his instrument so involved was he, in a bodily sense, in transmitting the notes across the stage space and into the auditorium. While Valve’s involvement in this way was unforgettable, most of the ACO musicians also showed their intense commitment with a similar physical connection with their instrument during performance.

The dancers also stood out for their performance of Bonachela’s highly complex movement. Bonachela needed to restrain his choreography to an extent, given the small space in which the dancers could perform. But he showed his skill and, in addition to a focus on complexity, which often reflected the complexity of the music, he had the dancers at times performing solos on two small tables on the edges of the stage space. There were brief moments too of unison dancing involving Seymour and Green and I am always impressed by the way Bonachela turns to unison work, and how his dancers respond so beautifully.

Emily Seymour and Richard Tognetti in a moment from *Silence & Rapture*. Photo: © Daniel Boud

But the truly outstanding feature of Silence & Rapture was the theatricality that permeated the evening, especially in the use of the stage space. Apart from the two cellists and Chad Kelly, who played organ and harpsichord, all the musicians stood for the entire performance (how did they do it?) and formed a semi-circle onstage. They provided a focused performing area for the dancers and countertenor, who constantly interacted with each other, with the countertenor occasionally joining the dancers in performing Bonachela’s choreography.

Then there was the input from well-known lighting designer Damien Cooper. His design added colour to the production, and darkness sometimes when the musicians were practically hidden but still playing. His design also highlighted certain moments, including the cello solo by Valve, and a moment towards the end when the two dancers mounted a rise at the centre back of the stage to present the ‘upward swing’ to ‘Resurrection and Redemption’.

When I look back at the Apollo collaborative event of 1998 (and re-read my less than positive review of that performance) I wonder whether the success of Silence & Rapture reflects the fact that in this case the dance was made for the music, which had been specifically selected and put together. The show thus had an originality, a presentation that had not existed previously, an originality that was not present in what was put together in 1998? Whatever the reason, in its one-night-only performance in Canberra, Silence & Rapture was a five-star show.

Michelle Potter, 18 August 2024

* It is of course not uncommon for dance companies and composers to work together—even working onstage together is relatively common. This review simply concerns the collaborative efforts of the ACO, while not dismissing other such efforts.

Featured image: Sydney Dance Company’s Emily Seymour and Liam Green (centre) with musicians of the Australian Chamber Orchestra in Silence & Rapture. Photo: © Daniel Boud

Solace. Royal New Zealand Ballet

1 August 2024. St James Theatre, Wellington

Below is a slightly enlarged version of my review of Solace published online by Dance Australia on 5 August 2024. The Dance Australia review is at this link.

Solace, the recent triple bill from Royal New Zealand Ballet (RNZB), offered audiences a thought-provoking look at the approach of contemporary choreographers who work with ballet companies. They are often inspired by abstract ideas rather than by a narrative line. Such was the case with the three works that made up Solace: Wayne McGregor’s Infra, To Hold by Sarah Foster-Sproull, and Alice Topp’s High Tide.

First up was Infra, danced to a score by Max Richter. I first saw Infra in an Australian Ballet season back in 2014 and I was not really thrilled with what I saw then. But I felt quite differently watching the RNZB production. In his RNZB program notes McGregor remarked that ‘Infra has become simply about people’. Two people stood out in the cast I saw—Branden Reiners and Kate Kadow. Their duet, one of several in Infra, was filled with emotion as a result of the magnificent contact they made with each other. The connection they created was not simply a result of the physicality they developed through McGregor’s choreography but in other ways as well, including through their constant and engaging eye contact. But eventually Reiners left the stage, walking off without acknowledging Kadow. Her reaction continued the momentum that the duet had generated. Kadow seemed stricken by anxiety and pain as she reacted to Reiners’ departure. It was heart-stopping. Despite exceptional dancing by the entire cast, nothing could match the performance of Reiners and Kadow.

Branden Reiners and Kate Kadow in *Infra*. Royal New Zealand Ballet, 2024. Photo: © Stephen A’Court

Apart from being moved by the Reiners/Kadow connection, it was interesting to watch the unfolding of McGregor’s choreography. With Infra he worked within the classical medium but pushed that medium to exceptional lengths. In particular, his choreography moved away from the classical notion that the body is centred on an erect spine. In Infra it was quite noticeable that the spine was often curved with the dancers pushing the pelvis backwards and forwards to remove and then reinstate the straight line of the spine. Great work from RNZB.

Next was Sarah Foster-Sproull’s newly-commissioned work, To Hold, again dealing with an abstract idea, ‘ways of holding and being held’. This idea was constantly made clear by the groupings Foster-Sproull created throughout the piece. Often the dancers gathered together in large, tightly-held arrangements. Often too they joined arms to create various groupings. Frequently the hands, often with fingers spread wide apart, were very prominent. To my mind this focus on joining hands in various ways meant that other choreographic moves seemed of secondary importance. I would have loved to have seen more variation rather than the work being overburdened by ‘togetherness’.

A moment from Sarah Foster-Sproull’s *To Hold*. Royal New Zealand Ballet, 2024. Photo: © Stephen A’Court.

The bright blue costumes by Donna Jefferis moved beautifully as the choreography, and the score by Eden Mulholland, unfolded. The costumes added a visually impressive element to the work.

Ana Gallardo Lobaina (left) and Joshua Guillemot-Rodgerson (right) in Sarah Foster-Sproull’s *To Hold*. Royal New Zealand Ballet, 2024. Photo: © Stephen A’Court.

The evening ended with another new work, High Tide, created by Australia’s Alice Topp to music by Icelandic composer Ölafur Arnalds. Topp writes that the work is ‘a tender look at the isolating experiences of fear and our ever-changing shadows’. High Tide consisted largely of duets, a dance format that is a specialty of Topp’s choreographic approach. Topp showed off her skill at developing lifts and partnership moves that were often quite spectacular in the way bodies linked up. Dancers were, for example, often held upside down or in twisted positions, and they frequently pulled away from each other while still maintaining a physical connection. Topp’s choreography is firmly classically based but is demanding in its complexity and there were moments when I felt a little anxious about some of the performers. High Tide probably needs more time for the dancers to develop greater confidence and fluidity with Topp’s choreography.

Ana Gallardo Lobaina and Branden Reiners in Alice Topp’s *High Tide*. Royal New Zealand Ballet, 2024. Photo: © Stephen A’Court

While visually all three works had an impact, the most outstanding collaborative contribution was designer Jon Buswell’s huge and domineering orb that accompanied High Tide. It reflected, on its changing surface and with its movement within the performing space, much of what Topp hoped to express about human experiences.

Solace was a demanding triple bill and RNZB rose skillfully to the occasion. It was an evening to be savoured and enjoyed for what it demonstrated about ballet today.

Update on request. An oral history interview with Alice Topp, recorded for the National Library of Australia, is available at this link. (MP 7/8/24)

Michelle Potter 5 August 2024

Featured image: A scene from Alice Topp’s High Tide showing Jon Buswell’s orb at the back. Royal New Zealand Ballet, 2024. Photo: © Stephen A’Court

Horizon. Bangarra Dance Theatre. A second look

18 July 2024. Bangarra Dance Theatre, Canberra Theatre.

In Canberra I had a rather different view of the production of Bangarra’s Horizon from the one I had in Sydney back in June. When I arrived at the Canberra Theatre to collect my tickets there was only one ticket in the envelope , despite the fact that I had officially been allocated two and did in fact have a guest with me. I was reallocated seats and ended up in row W very much on the side—not a position where critics usually sit! But in fact it gave me an interesting view of some aspects of the show, in particular a good view of the overall picture that was being presented, which gave added strength to some of the visual elements. While I much prefer to be a little closer, and hope the Canberra Theatre Centre can manage to get things right next time, all was not lost.

My review of the Canberra opening of Horizon was published online by Canberra’s City News and can be accessed at this link. Below is a slight enlarged version of that text.

Horizon is Bangarra Dance Theatre’s first mainstage, international collaborative initiative. It centres on aspects of Australian and Aotearoa New Zealand dance practice as those aspects reflect traditional society and culture.

The major part of the show is The Light Inside, a work in two sections. The first, ‘Gur Adabad/Salt Water’, is choreographed by former Bangarra dancer, Deborah Brown, whose family connections are in the Torres Strait Islands. The second is ‘Wai Māori/Fresh Water’, created by choreographer and director of Auckland’s New Zealand Dance Company, Moss Patterson, who grew up in the area around Lake Taupo on the North Island of Aotearoa New Zealand. The Light Inside is preceded by Kulka, a short work by Sani Townson, former Bangarra dancer and now Youth Programs Coordinator with the company.

The focus of Kulka is nighttime with emphasis on the fact that much of Torres Strait Islander society abounds in traditional songs and dances about constellations that guide the totems and clans in the society. A leading role was taken by Kassidy Waters while a highlight was a trio danced by Lucy May, Bradley Smith and Kallum Goolagong, which centred on the role of the Crocodile God in Townson’s clan. A feature of Horizon was a projection that acted as a kind of backcloth and mirrored the performers as they danced. Kulka introduced us to this mirror-like effect, which was continued, although slightly differently, during The Light Inside.

(left) scene from *Kulka* showing the mirroring technique above the dancers; (right) scene from *The Light Inside* showing the mirroring technique below the dancers as if they are dancing in water. Bangarra Dance Theatre, 2024. Photo: © Daniel Boud

Deborah Brown’s ‘Gur Adabad/Salt Water’ focuses on the relationship between Torres Strait Islander communities and the sea. An exceptional introduction to the work came from Daniel Mateo. It looked back to the work of a 19th century anthropologist as he recorded aspects of Torres Strait Islander culture on wax cylinders. Another highlight was ‘Blue Star’, an exceptionally performed solo by Lillian Banks telling of a seasonal change when moisture in the air makes the stars turn blue and twinkle, which becomes a guide for the seafaring peoples of the region.

The standout work on the program, however, was ‘Wai Māori/Fresh Water’, Moss Patterson’s section of The Light Inside. I first saw this work in Sydney at its world premiere in June. Then I couldn’t stop thinking about the relationship this new work had with the Māori haka. I was repeatedly reminded of football matches between Australia and New Zealand that are inevitably preceded by a haka. But the Canberra show seemed very different. After a month of performances in Sydney, the dancers had clearly absorbed the powerful and individualistic nature of Patterson’s choreography. The work was intensely moving and dramatic. Those qualities were clearly transmitted through the bodies of the dancers. They were proud. They were aggressive. They were strong and determined as they took their place in the world. Football memories were gone.

The work ended in a quieter fashion with the ensemble dancing to suggest peace and communication. But the strength and power of Patterson’s ‘Fresh Water’ remained and had clearly inspired the audience. Cheers rang out as the evening came to a close.

Horizon is an admirable undertaking and, as is usual with Bangarra productions, the collaborative elements were exceptional. Original scores were created by Steve Francis, Brendon Boney and Amy Flannery. Costume designs came from Jennifer Irwin and Clair Parker, set design from Elizabeth Gadsby, and lighting from Karen Norris.

Michelle Potter, 23 July 2024

Featured image: Kassidy Waters and dancers of Bangarra Dance Theatre in a moment from The Light Inside. Bangarra Dance Theatre, 2024. Photo: © Daniel Boud

Homemade Jam. BalletCollective Aotearoa with Tawa College dance group

6 July 2024. Te Auaha Theatre, Wellington
reviewed by Jennifer Shennan

This attractive program takes the unpretentious title Homemade Jam, as if to say, ‘We can’t afford to import posh marmalade from Harrods so we’ve made our own jam from the fruit in the orchard here.’ With a full house at both performances, and sold-out printed programs, BalletCollective Aotearoa (BCA) must be pleased to know there are clearly audiences keen to follow their work.

Earlier this year Turid Revfeim staged the triumphant production of the late Russell Kerr’s Swan Lake for RNZBallet, and 2024 will be long remembered for that tribute to the father of ballet in New Zealand. Without delay Turid turned her attentions to a BCA season at the Taranaki Arts Festival where it was very well received (involving NZTrio, a leading chamber music group, and a dance cast headed by Abigail Boyle, how could it not be?)

And now, with a different cast, to this Wellington season as part of the Pōneke Festival of Contemporary Dance. The energy all this takes cannot be underestimated, and it’s the combined resilience of BCA, with the participants’ independence of thought (something not always possible for those in a company structure) that is noticeable. It’s impressive when any dancers’ careers flourish, though how this troupe does it, with high performance standards on a zero budget, is anyone’s guess.

The opening work, Last Time We Spoke, is by Sarah Knox, graduate of NZSchool of Dance and now a faculty member of University of Auckland Dance program. It echoes back to Covid-era experiences, and is a study of the sense of community that can prove so vulnerable to such circumstances. Set to music by Rhian Sheehan, it has a poignant atmosphere and is beautifully danced, opening with Callum Phipps who moves as liquid amber.

preference for reason is an impressive large group work by students from the Dance program at Tawa College, whose creative director is Brigitte Knight. The work takes a theme of isolation and connection in an era of digital communication, and is staged with clarity and focus by the group of 24 youngsters giving their all. One of the dancers knows how to let his face become absorbed as part of the overall dancing body, so ‘the whole body does the talking’. This is an innate ability, can barely be taught, is rare, and should therefore be recognised when it happens. He will go far, but all the students will have been thrilled to share the program with BCA.

Alina Kulikova and Callum Phipps performing *Subtle Dances*, part of BalletCollective Aotearoa’s *Homemade Jam* program, in the inaugural Pōneke Festival of Contemporary Dance, 2024. Photo: © Lokyee Szeto

The third and final work, Subtle Dances, by Loughlan Prior, is a smooth smart, sassy work inspired from tango but carrying further the emotions that that stylised dance form usually keeps internalised. Prior is a choreographer who has made a major contribution to dance in New Zealand (including BCA’s premiere work, Transfigured Night, to Schoenberg, under Chamber Music New Zealand’s auspices). He is a past master at setting groups that capture and build atmosphere, and this stylish piece is no exception.

Well done to BCA and to all involved for a heartening demonstration of the joy that dance can offer if we let it. The name of the venue, Te Auaha, means to leap, throb, thrill with passion…so go for it, I say.

Jennifer Shennan, 14 July 2024

Featured image: Scene from Subtle Dances. BalletCollective Aotearoa, 2024. Photo: © Lokyee Szeto

Vismaya—Amazement. Mudra Dance Company with visiting musicians

choreography Vivek Kinra
auspices of Chamber Music New Zealand
29 June 2024. Q Theatre, Auckland
30 June 2024. Meteor Theatre, Hamilton
2 July 2024. Little Theatre, Lower Hutt
reviewed by Jennifer Shennan

Vismaya is Sanskrit for Amazement and proved the perfect title for this highly enterprising project of Bharata Natyam, South Indian classical dance, in performances and workshops on a national tour to five centres—Auckland, Hamilton, Wellington, Nelson, Christchurch.

In an inspired move, Chamber Music New Zealand (CMNZ) invited four highly skilled Indian musicians to visit and team up with six dancers from the Wellington-based Mudra Dance Company. Vivek Kinra has directed his Bharata Natyam academy and company here since 1990, but the calibre of his work has always been international rather than merely local, so we expect to be thrilled, and we are, by this performance of enriched chamber music.

Musicians (l-r} Sri Adyar Gopinath (mridangam), Ranjani Ganesan Ramesh (vocals), Jaishri Suresh (Veena), and Tiruchy L. Saravanan (flute). Photo: © Gerry Keating

Vocalist and director of music, Ranjani Ganesan Ramesh, sings with full expressive effect, reining in the ensemble with layers of melody and arcs of harmony. Sri Adyar Gopinath is a consummate player of mridangam/drum, his hands declaiming authority then fluttering and diving like hummingbirds, in mesmerising rhythmic embellishments on the steady beat within the music. Both these artists have had long association with the renowned Kalakshetra school in Chennai where Vivek had trained for many years, so they each know the other’s art as their own, and the dancers are galvanised into brilliance as a result.

Tiruchy L. Saravanan plays flute with great skill, evoking songbirds on the wing, and his solo piece, Nagumomu, is a particular delight of flight. The deeper string tones of the veena, beautifully played by Jaishri Suresh, offer a balm and solace that seems to embrace the listener. This ensemble could have played until dawn and no-one from the audience would have left early.

As for the dancers, we saw something quite sublime. I have attended Mudra performances since 1990, including a number of arangetram, (the two-hour solo graduation recital of a pupil who has attained the required standard). Each of those seasons has carried its own high quality but never before have we witnessed such an explosion of joy and total commitment from the six dancers in this production.

All the choreography by Kinra is new, in a wonderful blend that honours tradition but weaves in many contemporary references. He stands on stage before each work to perform the gestures and motifs of the work we are about to see. These are luminous miniatures and reveal the exquisite qualities he has always brought to his stage presence. The opening Pushpanjali, offering of flowers, is followed by Shyamala Dandakam in which a mysterious Tantric goddess is portrayed, and complete rapport is established between musicians and dancers.

(left) Shrinidhi Bharadwaj and Banu Siva, (right) Shrinidhi Bharadwaj—in the varnam, Navarasa: Nine Emotions. Photos: © Gerry Keating

The major work, a varnam—Navarasa: Nine Emotions—is a tour-de-force. Each dancer has an assured technique with stunning geometric precision in arm and leg movements, intricately detailed mudra (hand gestures), beguiling facial expressions, powerful dramatic timing in sustained narratives, and the range of emotions from love and ecstasy, hope and curiosity, pride and envy, fear and loathing, to peace and serenity. Comedy is also there—for example when Siva disguises himself as an old man and makes approaches to the young devotee to test her love and loyalty. Her disgust is palpable and she passes the test.

Varshini Suresh in *Navarasa*. Photo: © Gerry Keating

There are solo passages, and other times where two dancers move at great speed but in perfect unison (harder to do than it sounds, but no effort is shown). Shrinidhi Bharadwaj, Banu Siva and Varshini Suresh are hugely effective in portraying the emotions of the drama.

There is a distinctive quality to the dancers’ elevation as they anticipate on the upbeat, a leap that flies them free of gravity, to then land, of course, precisely on the beat. The effect on us is kinaesthetic—we feel we have been flying too.

In the final Thillana there is much to celebrate—glorious arcs of dancers curving and intersecting in lines across the stage, in a particularly joyous denouement of a performance that nobody wanted to end. The dancers—Varshini Suresh, Banu Siva, Shrinidhi Bharadwaj, Esther McCreadie, Deepika Sundar and Rhea Homroy—will be long remembered.

Each of the performances I attended, in Auckland, Hamilton and Wellington, had appreciative audiences, but the Lower Hutt’s Little Theatre experience was a particular triumph with the audience on their feet acknowledging the performance of a lifetime.

There were workshops, open to all, offered the day before a performance, and these too were memorable and informative—for example: ‘What skin is the mridangam drumhead made of?’—’Oh, I had to replace the leather with a quality plastic for this tour because New Zealand biosecurity measures are very strict and we could not afford to have this drum impounded for a three-week fumigation. We’d have been back in India by the time it was released.’ Each musician spoke to their instrument but had to be paused after 15 minutes by Kinra, who knows that the sacred and Sanskrit history of this art has to be contained somehow, or we would all have missed the following night’s performance. It’s a considerable art in itself to compress so much into the time available, but we catch all of it. We go home through a wild Wellington storm that had hours earlier almost prevented our planes from the north from landing, but the elements, let’s call them the gods, were with us all the way.

The idea for this project was initially proposed by Rose Campbell, a former trustee of CMNZ, and has proved an exceptional achievement for everyone concerned. There have been some voices raised in complaint that CMNZ is departing from its original charter in including dance and ethnic arts in its programming. I’d have thought everything is ethnic therefore nothing is ethnic … that dance is not the opposite of music but that each art can mutually enhance and inspire the other, so entwined as to be one and the same art. Vismaya was chamber music of the highest calibre, expressed through dancing of mesmerising yet accessible quality.

Heartfelt thanks are due to those whose vision brought us this truly amazing production, to all the performers, and to Vivek Kinra who at the end of the performance thanks us all for coming. That’s the only thing he got wrong all evening. It’s we who are to thank him.

Jennifer Shennan, 4 July 2024

Featured image: Members of Mudra Dance Company (from left) Esther McCreadie, Banu Siva, Shrinidhi Bharadwaj, Varshini Suresh, Deepika Sundar. Photo: © Gerry Keating

The Dataset. Australian Dance Party

27 June 2024. The Vault, Dairy Road Precinct, Canberra

The Dataset took place in the Vault, an expansive, untheatrical space in the Dairy Road Precinct in Fyshwick, a largely industrial area in Canberra. The Vault has been used effectively before by Alison Plevey’s Australian Dance Party, in particular with From the Vault in 2019. But it needs an exceptional production to ensure that the characteristics of the space, especially its dark and unwelcoming environment, are used to advantage. The Dataset was unappealingly dark at the beginning, although it brightened up somewhat, at least in terms of lighting, as the work progressed.

Sara Black and Alison Plevey in an early moment from *The Dataset.* Australian Dance Party, 2024. Photo: © Lorna Sim

Indeed as the work progressed, the two dancers who formed the cast, Alison Plevey and Sara Black, who were wearing identical white outfits, were subjected to examination by a program in which every conceivable aspect of the dancers’ bodily and emotional characteristics were measured by what appeared to be an artificial intelligence program. We could see the program unfolding in words on the large back-screen in the performing space. Those words were also spoken aloud by an American voice. We watched as the dancers attempted to address the suggestions the AI program offered them.

Eventually, presumably because the AI program suggested that friendship was the next step, the dancers removed their short white jackets, under which they were wearing an individually distinct, decorative black and white top. They danced together with choreography that (perhaps unsurprisingly) was very much in the style we have come to expect from Australian Dance Party—lots of floor work, lifts with stretched limbs emerging out of the shapes formed, along with a variety of twisted poses.

Sara Black (at the back) and Alison Plevey (on the floor) in *The Dataset*. Australian Dance Party, 2024. Photo: © Lorna Sim

Slowly, however, the data on the screen began to fall apart, with words breaking up and lurching around. AI was no longer working well. In the end, darkness descended and the dancers made their way around the space using torches as they set up a kind of camp site to which they invited several audience members to join them. The work came to the end in this calm and very different environment.

Final moments in *The Dataset*. Australian Dance Party, 2024. Photo: © Lorna Sim

The Dataset falls within the Australian Dance Party’s focus on social and environmental aspects of the world in which we currently exist. Media material from the company explains that the work ‘imagines a world where we physicalise the data that forms us and interrogate its purpose and power. What happens when the system rules us? What happens when the system is broken? The Dataset highlights our adaptability as humans in the face of adversity.’ It is certainly an interesting concept to address and the collaborative elements were at times engrossing and entertaining, especially the ever-changing images that flashed across the back-screen as the dancers were developing their friendship.

But from the beginning of The Dataset my mind kept recalling Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World (published 1932) and George Orwell’’s Nineteen Eighty-Four (published 1949). Both were dystopian novels that examined potential changes in society, and their effects on humanity, by developments in fields such as science, economics and the like. The Dataset had a similar narrative, although I wondered constantly whether dance could address such issues as effectively as the written word. In the case of The Dataset I think the answer is no. In this case the choreography, which is the heart of dance, seemed unnecessary as the work unfolded.

Michelle Potter, 29 June 2024

Featured image: Opening scene from The Dataset. Australian Dance Party, 2024. Photo: © Lorna Sim

Coppélia. Queensland Ballet

22 June 2024 (matinee). The Playhouse, Queensland Performing Arts Centre, Brisbane

I didn’t see Greg Horsman’s version of Coppélia, a joint production between Queensland Ballet and West Australian Ballet, when it was first performed back in 2014. But, having admired his reimagining of La Bayadère (despite efforts by some to remove it, and other productions of Bayadère, from the world-wide repertoire), I was looking forward to Queensland Ballet’s presentation of Horsman’s Coppélia. I was not disappointed.

Horsman has kept enough of the original storyline of Coppélia so that the work is recognisable to those of us who have been brought up on the traditional version. Dr Coppélius is bent on bringing a doll to life while the people of the town try to discover what is happening inside his house. And there is the usual love interest wending its way through the story. But Horsman has set this Coppélia in South Australia, in the small town of Hahndorf, which was the home in the early 1800s of German settlers.

But before Act I begins, with its presentation of the activities of the Hahndorf townsfolk, we are given some background in an outstanding prelude. It introduces us to Dr Coppélius and his daughter Coppélia as they prepare to set out on a journey to settle in Australia. The prelude contains a brief moment on stage and then some film (stills and footage) as the boat traverses the oceans. As the voyage continues we see Coppélia’s death and her burial at sea.

The scene then moves to Hahndorf and follows the story largely as we know it, with some exceptions and additions. A notable addition is a brief, moving moment when we see Dr Coppélius (D’Arcy Brazier) making the decision to try to return Coppélia to life. Then there are changes to how the music is used choreographically. The Mazurka from Act I becomes a celebration of a recent win by Hahndorf’s football team. Later, parts of the music for the Czardas in Act I become an accompaniment to a German-style dance with lots of slapping of the knees.

Artists of Queensland Ballet in Act I of *Coppélia*. Queensland Ballet, 2024. Photo: © David Kelly .

Act II keeps closely to the traditional production as Swanilda (Laura Tosar) and her friends discover the studio of Dr Coppélius, and Franz (Edison Manuel) climbs through a window in Dr Coppélius’ house to make his own discoveries. Act II ends as we might expect with Swanilda and Franz escaping while Dr Coppélius is left holding the doll he was hoping would be his daughter brought to life.

Artists of Queensland Ballet in Act III of *Coppélia*. Queensland Ballet, 2024. Photo: © David Kelly .

Act III adds some developments to the original story, including the appearance of an angry Dr Coppélius, who usually does not appear in this last Act, carrying his lifeless doll. But after a scuffle or two peace is reached between him and the townsfolk. Swanilda and Franz make plans for the future and the work ends happily.

I was at the second last performance of this Coppélia and, as often happens in such situations. it is not always principal artists who take on leading roles. In particular, I enjoyed immensely seeing company artist Edison Manuel dance Franz. He was engaging in his characterisation and displayed a nicely placed and developed technique. He is someone to watch over the coming years.

There was so much to like in Horsman’s Coppélia. It was appealing in design with lighting by Jon Buswell, set design by Hugh Colman, and costumes by Noelene Hill. But what I especially loved was the way Dr Coppélius had been transformed. Gone was the bumbling, eccentric pantomime-style character that we so often see in traditional productions. Horsman’s Dr Coppélius was a man whose life had been rocked by the death of his daughter and we could see in his every move that he was not the eccentric person of the traditional ballet but someone whose emotions are like our own.

Some of the best choreographers in Australia and overseas have reimagined old stories and made them more relevant in some way. Greg Horsman has joined them and created a thoroughly enjoyable ballet with a coherent, Australianised storyline.

Michelle Potter, 26 June 2024

Momenta. Sydney Dance Company

21 June 2024. The Playhouse, Canberra Theatre Centre

Below is a slightly enlarged version of my review of momenta, originally published online by Dance Australia on 24 June 2024. A link to the Dance Australia version is at this link.

The word momenta is the plural form of momentum, a word that means ‘the product of the mass and velocity of an object’. Momenta is also the title of the latest work from Rafael Bonachela, current artistic director of Sydney Dance Company, and there have been several explanations of why Bonachela titled the work as he did. Some are quite complex and don’t help much with understanding what Bonachela was considering as he created the work. But no matter how we might discuss the word, Bonachela’s work momenta was certainly filled with mass and velocity with the ‘objects’ being the extraordinary dancers who make up the current composition of Sydney Dance Company.

The work began with some remarkable unison dancing and this is an aspect of Bonachela’s choreography that I have admired over several decades. He has a gift for grouping dancers in constantly changing arrangements, and for giving those dancers such a varied selection of movement, poses and uses of space within a unison component. The opening section of momenta often had the dancers working on the floor and using their lifted legs as a focus, which initially seemed somewhat unusual as a component of Bonachela’s approach to unison work. But no matter how or where the dancers were positioned, they responded with an input that took the breath away.

Those opening moments set the scene for what followed and as momenta progressed the large groupings broke down into solos, duets, trios and other arrangements of performers until we reached the end sections when the unison work began again. Momenta was very much an abstract work for me, but it was compositionally varied within that overall abstraction and as such the choreography never lost its engrossing quality.

An absolute highlight was a duet between Naiara de Matos and Piran Scott, while the work of Emily Seymour also stood out. But it is quite astonishing to watch the flexibility, the fluidity, the energy and the absolute attention to the tiniest choreographic detail from every single dancer in the current company, many of whom are relatively new performers of Bonachela’s work.

Naiara de Matos and Piran Scott in a duet from *momenta*. Sydney Dance Company, 2024. Photo: © Pedro Greig

In terms of collaborative input, the highlight was the lighting from Damien Cooper. It was mostly relatively dark, although the colour of that darkness was not always the black we might have expected. As the work progressed, there were hints of dark green, sudden flashes of red, a burst of white cloud, at times a sudden brightness, and at others a mysterious hazy quality (especially, although not exclusively, when that white cloud began to dissipate). The lighting design was enhanced by the constant presence of a circular rig of 19 spotlights that moved up, down and around in the performing space and limited, at times, where the dancers could gather. The movement of the rig was beautifully controlled so that it appeared to be an essential part of the choreography.

The soundscape came from Nick Wales whose original, commissioned composition incorporated Distant Light by Latvian composer Pēteris Vasks. Costumes and set were by Elizabeth Gadsby with assistance from Emma White. The costumes were varied (a little) in style and colour but there was a minimalist quality to them in keeping with the overall abstract quality of the work. Their simplicity gave the dancers every opportunity to show that the focus of momenta was the body in motion.

The cast of *momenta*. Sydney Dance Company, 2024. Photo: © Pedro Greig

The work closed with showers of small pieces of sparkling cellophane falling onto the stage and out into the auditorium. I’m not sure why this happened and it was perhaps the one aspect of momenta that seemed entirely unnecessary. But momenta was such an absorbing production that this odd addition could just be pushed aside and basically forgotten.

The work is a huge credit to the underlying approach to contemporary dance that we have come to expect from Bonachela in his leadership of Sydney Dance Company.

Michelle Potter, 25 June 2024

Postscript: There were some great production shots from momenta but they were not captioned with the names of dancers. Why? As a result I have limited myself to just three shots, one of which I was able to caption (hopefully correctly).

Horizon. Bangarra Dance Theatre

13 June 2024. Drama Theatre, Sydney Opera House

Below is my slightly enlarged review of Horizon, originally published online by Dance Australia on 17 June 2024. A link to the Dance Australia version is at this link.

Horizon is a collaborative venture focusing on selected dance customs and activities in Australia and Aotearoa New Zealand. It is Bangarra Dance Theatre’s first mainstage, international collaborative initiative, a momentous and admirable undertaking. But the production was not without some issues.

Horizon was officially described as a double bill but there were three works on the program. Two were linked by the overarching title, The Light Inside, with one by former Bangarra senior artist Deborah Brown, the other by Māori choreographer and director of Auckland’s New Zealand Dance Company, Moss Patterson. Despite the linking by title, each displayed a quite different approach, especially in a choreographic sense. I’m not really sure why the two weren’t thought of as separate works. The coupling seemed to me to be just a convenient and non-dance way of making an association between two works on the program.

Horizon opened with a short work, Kulka, by Sani Townson, former Bangarra dancer and now Youth Programs Coordinator with the company. His focus was on nighttime and the fact that his specific Torres Strait Island society abounds in traditional songs and dances about constellations. Those songs and dances are guides to the totems and clans that make up the culture of the society.

Nine dancers performed Kulka to a percussive score by Amy Flannery. A strong, dominant role was taken by dancer Kassidy Waters. The choreography for Kulka was, however, a little repetitive especially in the beginning when Waters was constantly held upside down and carried across the stage in this position. But Townson later developed some interesting groupings of dancers and introduced us to a feature of Horizon that was repeated throughout each of the works: the dancers were mirrored in a structure that acted as a kind of backcloth in the case of Kulka, or later in the show as reflections in a watery foreground.

Callum Goolang, Kassidy Waters and Daniel Mateo in *Kulka* from *Horizon*. Bangarra Dance Theatre, 2024. Photo: © Daniel Boud

Deborah Brown’s contribution to The Light Inside was subtitled Salt Water. Opening with a magnificent solo from Daniel Mateo, Salt Water was performed to a score by Steve Francis and Brendon Boney. Brown’s choreography was beautifully fluid, mesmerising even, with all the dancers contributing to what was an outstanding performance. A particular highlight was a solo by Lillian Banks called Blue Star. This section told of a seasonal change when moisture in the air makes the stars twinkle and turn blue. This change becomes a guide for the daily work of the seafaring peoples of the Torres Strait Islands. Banks gave a clarity to every moment of the choreography.

Moss Patterson’s contribution, also performed to the score by Francis and Boney, had the subtitle Fresh Water reflecting Patterson’s background growing up in the area around Lake Taupo on the North Island of Aotearoa New Zealand.

His choreography had overtones of the Māori haka and I couldn’t stop my mind moving out of the theatre to football matches between Australia and New Zealand, which inevitably contain a haka at the start of the match. But the work ended in a quieter fashion with the full ensemble dancing to suggest peace, with final moments proposing the meeting of salt and fresh water.

As is always the case with Bangarra productions, there were elements beyond the choreography that were standouts. In particular the costume designs by Clair Parker for Kulka and Jennifer Irwin for The Light Inside, were exceptional. At one stage Irwin’s costumes for Salt Water featured extended sleeves and similar additions to other parts of the costumes. These additions were manipulated by the dancers so that choreography and costume moved as extensions of each other.

Emily Flannery, Maddison Paluch and Courtney Redford in a scene from *Salt Water* in *The Light Inside*. Bangarra Dance Theatre, 2024. Photo: © Daniel Boud

It is unfortunate, however, that the lighting design by Karen Norris was quite dark for much of the time, and the beautifully decorative elements of the costumes were only really clear via production images. Elizabeth Gadsby’s set design made quite clear the concept of the horizon around which the works were developed.

The evening was quite different from what we have been used to watching from Bangarra. ‘Quite different’ because the usual narrative-style approach we so often associate with works from Bangarra was missing, or at least the works were based on much more abstract ideas than has usually been the case. Hope and light across and within cultures, with water also a feature, were the themes I extracted from the production.

Michelle Potter, 17 June 2024