Les Patineurs. The Royal Ballet

via the ROH streaming platform

Frederick Ashton’s 1937 creation, Les Patineurs (The Skaters), was first seen in Australia (as far as I am aware) in 1958 during the Royal Ballet’s tour to Australia and New Zealand. It entered the repertoire of the Australian Ballet in 1970 when it was first seen in Adelaide and then in various Australian venues. Below are two images from the 1958 Royal Ballet production in Australia, taken by Walter Stringer and now part of the collection in the National Library of Australia (NLA), and two from the 1970 Australian Ballet production, again by Walter Stringer in the NLA collection.* LInks to the NLA catalogue are also below.

Above left: https://nla.gov.au/nla.obj-146861023/view; above right: https://catalogue.nla.gov.au/catalog/2213080, Below left: https://nla.gov.au/nla.obj-146891471/view; below right: https://catalogue.nla.gov.au/catalog/2472972

I first saw Les Patineurs in Australia in 1970, a long time ago now, but can’t really remember if I saw it again somewhere. So I was pleased to be able to go to the ROH site to remind myself, not so much of the ‘story’ (which is quite slight and not really the main focus of the work), but of the choreography.

The production on the streaming platform is a filmed version of a Royal Ballet production from 2010 and I was thrilled, to tell the truth, to see who was dancing in that production. The Blue Boy, who takes on some of the most challenging of Ashton’s choreographic input, was Steven McRae, seen in the featured image to this post. I have admired McRae’s dancing for a number of years now. I really didn’t see much of him until around 2016 and onwards so it was interesting to see him in an earlier stage of his career. After a bit of research I discovered he was promoted to principal with the Royal in 2009 and his exceptional technique was well and truly visible in 2010.

His solo as the Blue Boy had some unusual moments. In particular there was a section or two where he performed a series of entrechats when his legs, rather than opening to the side to execute the crossing of the limbs, opened to the front/back. It was surprising to see this variation on the much-performed entrechat.

His technical strength was again exceptionally obvious in the closing moments of the production when he executed a long series of fouettés and grands pirouettes à la seconde, which he was required to continue until the curtain had fallen at the end of the performance.

But not only was McRae technically strong, his characterisation was thoroughly engaging as well.

While perhaps it was McRae who stole the show for me, it was a treat to see other Royal Ballet dancers in relatively early stages of their career development. Sarah Lamb for example was beautiful to watch in the pas de deux with Rupert Pennefather as was Akane Takada, whose work I have also enjoyed over several years. Takada performed as one of the Blue Girls. Then of course there was Liam Scarlett, whose career in Australia and New Zealand gave so many of us so much pleasure. Scarlett danced as one of the ensemble of skaters.

Samantha Raine and Akane Takada as the Blue Girls in Frederick Ashton’s *Les Patineurs*. The Royal Ballet 2010. Photo: The Royal Ballet streaming platform.

While Les Patineurs may not be one of Ashton’s most deeply affecting narrative works, choreographically it shows Ashton’s uncompromising approach to movement and his sense of attack, choreographic attack that is. This 2010 production was a huge pleasure to watch and opened up for me various avenues of research. The streaming also offers three extra short examinations of aspects of the work, including an interview with McRae and one with Lamb and Pennefather on various aspects of Ashton’s approach. Well worth watching.

Les Patineurs, 2010.

Michelle Potter, 28 September 2025

Featured image: Steven McRae as the Blue Boy in Frederick Ashton’s Les Patineurs. The Royal Ballet 2010. Photo: The Royal Ballet streaming platform.

*Only head and shoulder shots from 1970 by Walter Stringer are currently available (or suitable) for reproduction.

Postscript: Putting it mildly, I was surprised to read the following ‘AI overview’ after I entered ‘Liam Scarlett Les Patineurs’ into a search engine:

‘Liam Scarlett choreographed the ballet Les Patineurs for The Royal Ballet, which premiered in 2010. He was a British choreographer who had a successful career, but died by suicide in April 2021 following allegations of sexual misconduct.’

Everything in the first sentence is incorrect and, just to comment further on the wording above, it is a direct copy and paste from what emerged from my online query. AI is a worry that’s for sure!

Requiem. The Royal Ballet (2024)

Via the ROH streaming platform

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Michelle Potter, 10 June 2025

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

Limen. The Royal Ballet

Via the ROH streaming platform

Wayne McGregor made Limen as an exploration of the concept of liminality. The word liminality is not all that easy to define, and to tell the truth I spent a bit of time looking at how it is defined in different settings, including as an anthropological concept. In the end I settled for the fact that the word ‘limen’ in Latin means ‘threshold’ and I watched the ballet with that in my mind.

The ballet as streamed is from 2009, the year of its premiere. It opens in a darkish-blue environment with set and video design by Tatsuo Miyajima, along with a lighting design by Lucy Carter.

A moment from the opening of *Limen*. The Royal Ballet, 2011. Photo: © Tristram Kenton

In this environment dancers come and go as numbers and letters flash into the space and then, like the dancers, disappear. As we watch we can’t help but notice the astonishing manner in which McGregor pushes his choreographic movements into scarcely believable shapes, poses and connections without destroying completely the intrinsic characteristics of ballet. There are some intriguing moments between Steven McRae and Leanne Benjamin before she moves off leaving him alone.

Leanne Benjamin and Steven McRae in *Limen*. The Royal Ballet, 2011. Photo: © Tristram Kenton

The environment then changes with brighter lighting and with lines of coloured light creating a rectangular shape, or later stripes in parallel lines, on the stage floor on which the dancers continue their performance. McRae shines again, in particular with his triple pirouettes. But every dancer, dressed mostly in brightly coloured tops over mostly light, flesh coloured briefs, attacked McGregor’s demanding choreography with gusto.

But without a doubt the highlight of the work was an absolutely stunning pas de deux coming towards the end of the work and danced by Sarah Lamb (on pointe) and Eric Underwood. Lamb scarcely looked into the eyes of Underwood but the connection between them was intense. The fluidity as they moved together was engrossing and they seemed like just one person. Breathtaking!

As the pas de deux came to its end the stage blackened and the performing space lit up with tiny blue dots, numbers in various sizes, and letters all positioned seemingly randomly. Shadowy dancers appeared wearing simple costumes in skin coloured fabric. They danced together before Lamb and Underwood returned. But they too slipped away and were followed by a single dancer. But he too disappeared, as did the blue dots leaving nothing but a blackened space as the finale.

Limen is danced to a cello concerto by Finnish composer Kaija Saariaho, Notes on Light, which, as the Wayne McGregor website notes, was inspired by the idea of a solar eclipse. Although there were many moments that seemed to show the dancers on the threshold of beginning (or ending) a connection with others—thus reflecting the notion of liminality—Limen seemed to me to be more rewardingly seen as an abstract ballet demonstrating McGregor’s choreographic style. Like all of McGregor’s ballets, Limen is a masterly collaboration that leaves us both emotionally drained and filled with thoughts.

Michelle Potter, 26 April 2025

Featured image: Sarah Lamb and Eric Underwood in a pas de deux from Limen. Photo: © Bill Cooper

Yugen. The Royal Ballet

Via the ROH streaming platform

I was really surprised to discover (belatedly) that the Royal Ballet’s repertoire included a work called Yugen, choreographed by Wayne McGregor and presented in 2018. Australians of a certain age will remember Robert Helpmann’s narrative ballet Yugen, which he created for the Australian Ballet in 1965. Helpmann’s Yugen was freely adapted from the Japanese Noh play Hageromo. It told the story of Tsukiyomo the Moon Goddess and, in essence, focused on the outcome of an event one night when Tsukiyomo came down to earth to bathe in a lagoon but had her wings stolen by a local fisherman, Hakuryo, who believed they were rare shells.

Alan Alder as Hakuyro the Fisherman in Robert Helpmann’s *Yugen*. The Australian Ballet, 1965. Photo: © National Library of Australia/Walter Stringer

‘Yugen’ is a Zen Buddhist term and was defined by Helpmann in program notes to his ballet as ‘the most gracefully refined expression of beauty; beauty which is felt—as the shadow of a cloud momentarily before the moon’.

McGregor’s Yugen couldn’t be more different. His interpretation of the word ‘yugen’ is of course similar to that of Helpmann. In an ‘extra’ to the ROH stream, McGregor says the word means ‘mysterious or profound grace, something that has a mercurial beauty’. But there is no specific narrative line in McGregor’s production, although when watching it one is tempted to create a story in one’s mind as the work progresses. This is especially so with the relationship that seems to evolve between and beyond the leading dancers, Calvin Richardson, Sarah Lamb and Federico Bonelli, along with Joseph Sissens who takes a significant role as the work moves to an end. And also in that ‘extra’ to the stream, McGregor mentions that in his Yugen there is no obvious storyline, but goes on to say that he believes there is no such thing as a non-narrative ballet as audiences tend to imagine their own story (as indeed I did).

Choreographically, whether we see/imagine a narrative or not, McGregor’s work for eleven dancers is quite stunning. Danced to Leonard Bernstein’s Chichester Psalms and presented as part of Bernstein’s centenary celebrations, the work begins dramatically in front of Edmund de Waal’s set of rectangular structures of different heights and depths.

Scene from *Yugen* showing Edmund de Waal’s set. Photo: © ROH/Andrej Uspenski

From there the work proceeds through duets, solos and other combinations of dancers. A highlight is a solo from Richardson in which he seems to puzzle over his existence or state of being. Sarah Lamb performs McGregor’s demanding movements calmly and with amazing skill and it is such a pleasure seeing her look into the face of Bonelli who partners her through the work. They are clearly connected, emotionally or otherwise.

McGregor’s choreography is filled with exceptionally lyrical movements of the arms and upper body. And, as ever, he uses the space of the stage in unusual and thought-provoking ways. Watching is a moving and often surprising experience. It’s a waiting game too as one waits to see what will happen next in terms of how the body can move. Costumes by Shirin Guild allow McGregor’s diverse and fluid movements to be seen at their best

But perhaps the most deeply involving moments come as the work concludes. In a duet, with no one else on stage, and with the lighting (from Lucy Carter) progressively darkening, Sissens leads Richardson into the blackness. Is it to his death?

Calvin Richardson and Joseph Sissens in a moment from *Yugen*. Photo: © ROH/Andrej Uspenski

I probably need to relate the choreography of McGregor’s work more closely to the various psalms that are sung during the work. Perhaps another viewing? On this first viewing I am simply enjoying the fascination of two productions called Yugen—both so different in approach to the word, or aesthetic concept, that gave birth to them. And of course I enjoyed the spectacular dancing of the eleven Royal Ballet dancers who performed this second (for me) Yugen.

Michelle Potter, 5 January 2025

Featured image: Sarah Lamb in Wayne McGregor’s Yugen, 2018. Photo: © ROH/Andrej Uspenski

Postscript: McGregor’s Yugen was a co-production with the Dutch National Ballet.

Romeo and Juliet. Sarah Lamb as Juliet, Vadim Muntagirov as Romeo. ©ROH, 2015. Photographed by Alice Pennefather

Romeo and Juliet. The Royal Ballet

4 May 2019 (matinee). Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, London

It is always exceptional to see a work by a choreographer who is not the familiar one from one’s previous experiences of that work. Having seen John Cranko’s production of Romeo and Juliet countless times, as performed by the Australian Ballet, along with several versions by other choreographers, the Royal Ballet’s production of Kenneth MacMillan’s version of the Shakespearian tragedy was indeed an exceptional experience. I was lucky too, I think, to have seen Sarah Lamb and Vadim Muntagirov in the leading roles. While I thought Lamb’s interpretation was a little too child-like, I was fascinated by the changing emotions displayed by Muntagirov. In addition, the partnership between Lamb and Muntagirov was very secure technically and, as a result, MacMillan’s often swirling, curving, diving lifts were realised beautifully.

Sarah Lamb and Vadim Muntagirov in 'Romeo and Juliet'. The Royal Ballet. © 2015 ROH. Photographer Alice Pennefather — (Above and below) Sarah Lamb and Vadim Muntagirov in *Romeo and Juliet*. The Royal Ballet. © 2015 ROH. Photographer Alice Pennefather

The MacMillan version of Romeo and Juliet received its premiere in 1965. It is a gutsy production from the beginning when the market place of the opening scene buzzes with activity and is filled with people who seem so real (and was that a side of a dead cow being carried through the crowd on the way to the market?). The sense of the real continues through to the middle scenes when Mercutio and then Tybalt die from sword wounds and do so in such a dramatically convincing fashion, and on to the end where Romeo’s and Juliet’s death scenes leave us emotionally exhausted.

Then, Nicholas Georgiadis’ sets have little of the romantic to them. The Capulets live in a fortress, as we see when the guests arrive for the Capulet ball. And, as Jann Parry tells us in her program notes, the inclusion of a fortress looks back to the Franco Zeffirelli theatre production, made for the Old Vic in 1960-61, when Zeffirelli had the Capulets live in such a structure as protection from enemies and in order to preserve their family treasures. Then the crypt in which the Capulets place the apparently dead Juliet is spectacular with its huge stone sculptures and its flights of dark stairs of stone. The production has a kind of rawness to it and just speeds along.

Muntagirov danced superbly showing off his spectacularly light and seemingly effortless jumps; his wonderfully controlled turns, including some in attitude devant as well as attitude derrière, along with some great manèges with various showy steps. But what I especially admired about his Romeo was the way he made his emotions so visible. A highlight was when he watched a wedding parade enter the market place (to the accompaniment of mandolins) in the early moments of Act II. As he stood downstage, almost motionless, we could read that he was thinking that he and Juliet could and should follow that very example. Another was his undisguised anger at what Tybalt had done to Mercutio, and his determination to avenge the death of his friend.

Sarah Lamb is not my favourite Juliet I’m afraid. I know Juliet is a mere 13 or 14 years old but, within the MacMillan structure, I would have preferred a more feisty Juliet. But with her beautifully proportioned limbs and sound technique she danced superbly and was a joy to watch from that point of view

I enjoyed Thomas Whitehead’s commanding presence as Tybalt, especially in the scenes in the market place where his dislike of Romeo was constantly visible, and in the ball scene where his carriage of the upper body marked him as being a proud and aristocratic Capulet. And incidentally, the corps danced beautifully in the ball scene as they tilted their bodies slightly back from the waist upwards in a show of historical deportment. Other dancers to admire especially were Marcelino Sambé as a vibrant Mercutio, Téo Dubreuil as a constantly concerned Benvolio, and Christina Arestis as a very haughty Lady Montague who clearly could not bear the Capulet family.

This production was highly engaging and I love to ponder its character beside the others that I have seen—those of Cranko, Graeme Murphy, John Neumeier, Stanton Welch, and the two versions that take particular liberties for one reason or another—those of Sasha Waltz and Natalie Weir. (I have no review on this site of the Cranko production. It has been a while since the Australian Ballet showed it).

Michelle Potter, 7 May 2019

Featured image: Sarah Lamb as Juliet, Vadim Muntagirov as Romeo in Romeo and Juliet. The Royal Ballet. © ROH, 2015. Photographed by Alice Pennefather

Alessandra Ferri and Federico Bonelli. in Marguerite and Armand. The Royal Ballet. © ROH, 2017. Photo: Tristram Kenton

Obsidian Tear, Marguerite and Armand, Elite Syncopations. The Royal Ballet

18 April, 2018, Royal Opera House, London

It would be hard to think of a more diverse triple bill than the most recent from the Royal Ballet: Wayne McGregor’s intellectually clinical Obsidian Tear, Frederick Ashton’s emotionally captivating Marguerite and Armand, and Kenneth MacMillan’s joyously entertaining Elite Syncopations. There is, as ever, little to fault technically with the dancing by this incredible company so my thoughts are largely guided by other matters.

The absolute standout work of the evening was Marguerite and Armand, which occupied the middle position on the program. Yes, it is so closely associated with Fonteyn and Nureyev, and perhaps Sylvie Guillem and various partners, but Alessandra Ferri and Federico Bonelli gave an absolutely stunning performance that brought out every bit of Ashton’s wildly free and exciting, and beautifully musical choreography. And what a grand performance of the Liszt Piano Sonata in B minor, to which the work is set, we heard from the accomplished pianist Robert Clark.

In my mind I continue to have a vision of Bonelli standing upstage about to rush forward to sweep Marguerite up in his arms and begin the main pas de deux. He took an arabesque on half pointe, arms flung upwards and outwards. And there he stood, balancing perfectly, body filled with passion and daring. Brilliant, as was the pas de deux itself with Ferri being flung from pose to pose and both artists projecting the ravishing excitement of what their love could be. And so it continued with the narrative flowing so clearly to the very end. I’m not sure how long this ballet is—twenty five minutes maybe—but it was over in a flash so captivating was it.

The opening work, McGregor’s Obsidian Tear, left me a little cold and its choreography seemed stark and emotionless—but then I guess obsidian is a hard substance. Everything seemed to happen suddenly. Lighting cut out rather than faded and movement, while it showed McGregor’s interest in pushing limits, had little that was lyrical.

The most interesting aspect for me was the set, designed by McGregor. It resembled a black box theatre space but looking closely it reminded me of an Ad Reinhardt painting. At first Reinhardt’s paintings look monochromatic, as did McGregor’s set, but a closer look reveals small, intimate details, as also happened with the set for Obsidian Tear. Of the dancers, I especially enjoyed the dancing of Benjamin Ella and Marcelino Sambé. But Obsidian Tear did not engage me the way so many others of McGregor’s works have.

Royal Ballet artists in 'Obsidian Tear'. © ROH, 2016. Photo: Bill Cooper — Royal Ballet artists in *Obsidian Tear*. © ROH, 2016. Photo: Bill Cooper

The final work on the program was Kenneth MacMillan’s Elite Syncopations, danced to a selection of music by Scott Joplin and other ragtime composers, and played by an onstage band. Beautifully set on a stripped-back stage space with the dancers and band members in spectacular costumes by Ian Spurling, it was a buoyant, joyous, even reckless show.

Without wishing to detract from any of the twelves dancers who gave us such pleasure, stars were Sarah Lamb and Ryoichi Hirano. Hirano in particular knocked me for six. I have always seen him in more classical or dramatic roles (and have enjoyed his work in such ballets) but in Elite Syncopations he showed another side of his skills. He was smooth, persuasive, suave, flirtatious and a great partner. And he never stepped out of character.

Sarah Lamb in 'Elite Syncopations'. The Royal Ballet. Photo: © ROH/Johan Persson — (left) Sarah Lamb in *Elite Syncopations*. Photo: © ROH/Johan Persson; (right) Ryoichi Hirano and Yasmine Naghdi with onstage band in *Elite Syncopations*. © ROH 2017. Photo: Bill Cooper

Ryoichi Hirano and Yasmine Naghdi in 'Elite Syncopations'. © ROH, 2017. Photo: Bill Cooper — (left) Sarah Lamb in *Elite Syncopations*. Photo: © ROH/Johan Persson; (right) Ryoichi Hirano and Yasmine Naghdi with onstage band in *Elite Syncopations*. © ROH 2017. Photo: Bill Cooper

As a conclusion to a decidedly mixed triple bill, Elite Syncopations sent us home smiling.

Michelle Potter, 19 April 2018

Featured image: Alessandra Ferri and Federico Bonelli. in Marguerite and Armand. The Royal Ballet. © ROH, 2017. Photo: Tristram Kenton

Sarah Lamb and Steven McRae in 'The Illustrated Farewell'. The Royal Ballet, 2017. © The Royal Opera House. Photo: Tristram Kenton.

The Illustrated Farewell, The Wind, Untouchable. The Royal Ballet

6 November 2017, Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, London

Two new works and one revival made up the Royal Ballet’s most recent triple bill. The opener, Twyla Tharp’s The Illustrated ‘Farewell’ should perhaps be described as new-ish rather than new, since it also drew on material Tharp had made way back in 1973 in a work called As time goes by. Tharp’s work was by far the most attractive item, in a choreographic sense, on the program.

Sarah Lamb and Steven McRae made spectacular, separate entrances, covering the stage with expansive grands jetés and bringing their trademark joyous approach to their dancing. Such a pleasure to see them. They then proceeded to dance the first two parts of Joseph Haydn’s 45th (so-called ‘Farewell’) symphony, scarcely stopping throughout the two movements to catch their breath. They were perfectly matched as partners, executing Tharp’s twisting, turning, demanding movements and making the most of her playful approach at times. A swirl of ballroom steps and even a high-five appeared amongst the more classical moves. It was a virtuoso performance.

Lamb and McRae were a hard act to follow but Mayara Magri held the stage In a solo before the music for the third movement began. Hers was a remarkable display of dancing that showed off both Tharp’s expansive yet intricate choreography and Magri’s strong technical skills. Then, as the music began, Magri was joined by a corps of dancers, who seemed to appear from nowhere. Both this third movement and the fourth were filled with intricate groupings of dancers sometimes dancing in unison but mostly working separately from each other so the overall patterning looked scattered.

Mayara Magri in The Illustrated Farewell. The Royal Ballet, 2017. © ROH. Photo: Tristram Kenton — Mayara Magri in *The Illustrated Farewell*. The Royal Ballet, 2017. © ROH. Photo: Tristram Kenton

The work finished beautifully with Lamb and McRae appearing unexpectedly upstage on a raised black platform against a black background. They kneeled in a kind of homage and then disappeared into the black, while below Joseph Sissens, in white trunks and long-sleeved white shirt, melted to the ground in a poignant farewell.

Arthur Pita’s work The Wind, danced to a commissioned score by Frank Moon, followed as the middle piece. Based on a story by Dorothy Scarborough written in 1925, which was subsequently made into a silent movie, the ballet follows events in the life of a young woman from Virginia, Letty Mason, who arrives in Texas in the 1880s and is tormented in mind, body and soul by the wind and the bleakness of the landscape. The story is complex and includes, on an obvious narrative level, marriage, rape, and eventual revenge by Mason. But The Wind suffers from Pita’s condensing of the story and his efforts to include a dimension beyond the obvious. To achieve this latter he introduces two characters, Cynthia (Wild Woman) danced by Elizabeth McGorian, and Mawarra (the Lost) danced by Edward Watson, who appear to represent Mason’s mental state.

In all this Pita leaves little time for including much dancing. In the role of Letty Mason, Natalia Osipova makes a sterling attempt to develop the role but she is given far too little dancing in which to do it. And so it is with the other leading characters—Thiago Soares as the cowpuncher Lige Hightower, who marries Mason; and Thomas Whitehead as Wirt Roddy, a cattle buyer who rapes her.

Thomas Whitehead as Wirt Roddy & Natalia Osipova as Letty Mason in *The Wind*. © 2017 ROH. Photo: Tristram Kenton

Then there were those three large wind machines that took up a lot of the performance space and blew air across the stage throughout the ballet. I thought they were obtrusive and promoted the idea of the relentless quality of the wind rather too pointedly. Nor am I sure that we needed to see so much wind being generated by the machines. Having Osipova struggling at one stage to keep her wedding veil from either escaping or engulfing her was a little too much.

There was, however, something fascinating about The Wind. Despite the lack of dancing given to some of the Royal Ballet’s strongest artists, there was something powerful about the way Pita had distilled the story. There was a starkness to the work, although perhaps this came more from Jeremy Herbert’s minimal set (apart from the overpowering presence of the wind machines), and a strong lighting design by Adam Silverman, as much as anything else. It reminded me a little of Agnes de Mille’s work, especially her Fall River Legend, and I suspect that The Wind could be revised to have a similar impact as Fall River Legend.

The evening closed with Hofesh Shechter’s Untouchable, a work concerning ‘moving with the herd’ first seen in 2015. There was a lot of militaristic moving around in groups with the occasional breakout by a few dancers to form separate groups. Occasionally I had the feeling that the movement was referencing a folk idiom. The best part was probably the atmospheric lighting by Lee Curran.

Artists of the Royal Ballet in 'Untouchable'. 2017 © Photo: Tristram Kenton — Artists of the Royal Ballet in *Untouchable*. © 2017 ROH. Photo: Tristram Kenton

Michelle Potter, 10 November 2017

Featured image: Sarah Lamb and Steven McRae in The Illustrated ‘Farewell’. The Royal Ballet, 2017. © The Royal Opera House. Photo: Tristram Kenton.

Woolf Works. The Royal Ballet

11 February 2017, Royal Opera House, Covent Garden

The printed program for Wayne McGregor’s Woolf Works gives the piece a subtitle: A Triptych. It is a perfect subtitle since Woolf Works consists of three separate pieces but, like a religious triptych, each separate part tells us something about an overall subject. In the case of Woolf Works this overall subject concerns the innovative, poetic writing of the early twentieth century novelist Virginia Woolf. And the work begins with the voice of Virginia Woolf talking about language in a recording made for the BBC in 1937. Her talk was called ‘On craftsmanship’ and, as she speaks, writing (hers presumably) appears in white on a black front screen. As her voice continues, the writing transforms itself into various white shapes. The lighting changes and the screen lifts. The first section begins.

Although the informative program, innovative in concept and design, never seeks to say what Woolf Works is ‘about’, for me McGregor brilliantly distills each of the Woolf novels he has chosen to work with into certain intrinsic elements. The first movement, I now, I then, inspired by the novel Mrs Dalloway, shows us the changing nature of relationships across a lifetime, even though the novel takes place in just one day. The second section, based on Orlando and called Becomings, examines the trajectory of the universe across time, just as Orlando takes place over several centuries. It might be called a study in time travel and has something approaching science fiction as an intrinsic element. The third section, Tuesday, is inspired by The Waves and seeks to show us the concept of inevitability.

Of the three sections I now, I then seems to me to be the strongest. If you know the novel, you will recognise the main characters of Clarissa Dalloway; Jenny Seton, the close friend whom Clarissa famously kisses; Peter Walsh, the man Clarissa didn’t marry, perhaps to her ongoing regret; and Septimus Warren Smith, the shell-shocked former soldier who eventually commits suicide, never being able to overcome his thoughts about the death of a soldier friend in World War I. But such knowledge isn’t entirely necessary as I now, I then stands on its own as a work about relationships of many and varied kinds.

In I now, I then, Alessandra Ferri plays a meditative, slightly distant Clarissa, lost in her thoughts. It was a pleasure to see her back onstage. In another cast, however, I saw Mara Galeazzi in the role and I preferred her performance. She seemed more emotionally involved in the role and, without wishing to detract from Ferri’s strong technical performance, I admired the way Galeazzi was able to embody the choreography, giving it quite beautiful shape and fluidity. The various pas de deux between Clarissa and the two men in her life (played by Federico Bonelli and Gary Avis in one cast and Ryoichi Hirano and Tomas Mock in the other) were highlights in both casts.

Alessandra Ferri and Gary Avis in 'I am, I was' from 'Woolf Works'. The Royal Ballet, 2015. Photo: © Tristam Kenton — Alessandra Ferri and Gary Avis in *I now, I then* from *Woolf Works*. The Royal Ballet, 2015. Photo: © Tristam Kenton

Clarissa as a younger woman and Jenny her friend, played by Beatriz Stix-Brunell and Francesca Hayward (and in the other cast Yasmine Naghdi and Mayara Magri), had some gorgeous choreography, sometimes performed in unison, often fast and joyous, and always full of the pleasures of youth and friendship. They engaged too with Peter, Clarissa’s early love interest, while the older Clarissa stood thoughtfully in the background. Again pleasure in relating to others was at the heart of the choreography.

Federico Bonelli and Beatriz Stix-Brunell in 'I am, I was' from 'Woolf Works'. The Royal Ballet, 2015. Photo: © Tristram Kenton — Federico Bonelli and Beatriz Stix-Brunell in *I now, I then* from *Woolf Works*. The Royal Ballet, 2015. Photo: © Tristram Kenton

Another exceptionally powerful performance came from Edward Watson as Septimus, whose problematic mental state was made clear as he executed the writhing, twisted choreography.

Strong visual elements in the form of film footage (film designer Ravi Deepres) washed across the performing space and over the set, which consisted of the perimeters of three large, wooden, movable square structures. The footage showed London scenes from the 1920s and, sometimes, the garden of Virginia Woolf’s home and, with Max Richter’s score occasionally interrupted by the sound of Big Ben chiming, the setting was an evocative one.

Becomings was distinguished by some astonishing lighting effects from Lucy Carter. Although her work is an important and quite beautiful element in all three sections, in Becomings it is nothing short of sensational—as innovative as anything Woolf wrote. It sometimes divides the stage space, other times it beams out into the space of the auditorium. It colours the space, and darkens it too, and laser beams occasionally shoot across the stage.

Among this spectacular light (and darkness as the stage is often submerged in near blackness), dancers appear, clad in an assortment of black and gold costumes that range from Elizabethan garb—Eric Underwood at times wears an Elizabethan-style dress that would have delighted Queen Elizabeth I—to contemporary attire (costume design Moritz Junge). There is some spectacular dancing. Legs stretch and extend in seemingly impossible ways and partnering sometimes takes the breath away. Natalia Osipova and Steven McRae stand out, especially in an early pas de deux where the gender of Orlando is explored (perhaps?). Both also stand out elsewhere in this second section, as does Sarah Lamb who always looks good executing McGregor’s flashy, super-extended style.

Steven McRae and Natalia Osipova in 'Becomings' from 'Woolf Works'. The Royal Ballet, 2015. Photo: © Tristam Kenton — Steven McRae and Natalia Osipova in *Becomings* from *Woolf Works*. The Royal Ballet, 2015. Photo: © Tristam Kenton

Despite the dancing and the mesmerising lighting display, Becomings did not have the same attraction for me as I now, I then. It was harder to feel where Woolf fitted in for one thing, even given the emphasis at times on gender issues, which Woolf explores in Orlando. But then perhaps the link is that Woolf was always experimenting, exploring, finding innovative ways to use language, as McGregor and his collaborators are examining how collaboration across the arts can give new insights?

The third and final section, Tuesday, begins with half the stage space being taken up by film footage of very slowly breaking waves. A voice-over reads Woolf’s suicide note left for her husband before she stepped into the river Ouse, her pockets weighed down with stones. After the glitz and glamour of Becomings, Tuesday was quietly reflective and we felt the slow motion of the waves and the inevitability of time passing.

Clarissa appears alone on stage at the beginning of Tuesday. But her memories continue to fill her mind. Children appear from the darkness beneath the images of waves. They run to her. She is joined by Sarah Lamb (as her sister, Vanessa Bell?). Voices are heard over the music and the names of Vanessa’s children are mentioned—Quentin, Angelica, Julian. The corps de ballet dances in wave-like movements. Clarissa stands and watches. Bonelli joins her and they are left alone. Clarissa slips to the floor and the waves retreat.

Scene from 'Tuesday' in ''Woolf Works'. The Royal Ballet, 2015. Photo: © Tristam Kenton — Scene from *Tuesday* in *Woolf Works*. The Royal Ballet, 2015. Photo: © Tristam Kenton

I found Woolf Works a hugely moving work. I’m sure I missed many of the nuances. But I love that I could make up an interpretation (my own if not McGregor’s) that sent me out of the theatre fulfilled and wanting to see the work many more times. It is an exceptional collaboration with intelligent minds behind it, including that of a dramaturg (Uzma Hameed). This is how dance should be.

Woolf Works is directed and choreographed by Wayne McGregor and first took the stage in 2015. Its revival in 2017 is part of the Royal Ballet’s celebration of McGregor’s ten years as the Royal’s resident choreographer and the work will be part of the Royal Ballet’s repertoire on its tour to Australia in June/July 2017.

Michelle Potter, 13 February 2017

Featured image: Alessandra Ferri and Francesca Hayward in I now, I then from Woolf Works. The Royal Ballet, 2015. Photo: © Tristam Kenton

Chroma, Multiverse, Carbon Life. The Royal Ballet

14 November 2016, Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, London

This triple bill of works by Wayne McGregor, including Multiverse his newest commission, was presented in celebration of McGregor’s ten years as resident choreographer with the Royal Ballet. While all three works clearly had the ‘McGregor touch’ in terms of a choreographic interest in the extent to which the body can be pushed to extreme limits, each was also quite distinctive in its own right.

Chroma, the oldest of the three, was first made in 2006. It was the work that inspired Monica Mason, director of the Royal Ballet at the time, to offer McGregor the position of resident choreographer. Ten years on Chroma retains its minimalist beauty in its design with a set by John Pawson, costumes by Moritz Junge, lighting by Lucy Carter, and a score by Joby Talbot and Jack White III. It is still thrilling to watch choreographically with its extended limbs and emphasis on a fluid torso. But what made a difference in the current production was the presence in the cast of five dancers guesting from Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater: Jeroboam Bozeman, Jacqueline Green, Yannick Lebrun, Rachael McLaren and Jamal Roberts.

It is tempting to say that these dancers brought a different aesthetic to the choreography, and perhaps they did. Certainly I sensed that they injected a more powerful human quality, something emotional into the steps. It is hard to articulate just why the way they danced was different but it seemed like they had a different kind of focus in their movement. A greater sense of physicality and a different muscularity maybe? Whatever it was, it added a different level of interest, which is not to denigrate in any way the five fabulous Royal Ballet dancers who completed the cast: Federico Bonelli, Lauren Cuthbertson, Sarah Lamb, Steven McRae, and Calvin Richardson. The 2016 production indicates that Chroma lives on and has the power to grow. (Thoughts on my first viewing of the Royal Ballet in Chroma in 2010 are at this link.)

Sarah Lamb in 'Chroma'. The Royal Ballet 2013. Photo: © Bill Cooper. — Sarah Lamb in *Chroma*. The Royal Ballet (2013). Photo: © Bill Cooper.

The closing item was Carbon Life, made in 2012. Again it had lighting by Lucy Carter, sometimes as in the opening moments eerily green, other times full on bright white. Design was by English fashion designer Gareth Pugh and music by pop/funk artists Mark Ronson and Andrew Wyatt.

Artists of the Royal Ballet production of 'Carbon Life', 2012. Photo: © Bill Cooper / Royal Opera House / ArenaPAL — Artists of the Royal Ballet in *Carbon Life*. Photo: © Bill Cooper/Royal Opera House/ArenaPAL

I especially enjoyed some of the earlier sections where unisex seemed to be the order of the day. Men and women wore similar costumes: short black trunks and, for the women, a skin-coloured midriff top that tightly enclosed the upper body and made them appear topless. Added to this costume both sexes had slicked-back hair (wigs?) that added to the similarity in the look of the sexes. Choreographically this section seemed at times like a ballet class engaged in a kind of temps lié exercise.

A later section was distinguished by some incredible costuming consisting of black, stiffened additions to the head, legs and other parts of the body. They were a little like a cross between KKK headgear and Cambodian dance costume attachments, or perhaps a bit like Ballet mécanique. Certainly the shapes were architectural and the body began to sprout structural additions. The singular attraction of Carbon Life, however, was the presence of live musicians onstage/upstage usually partially hidden by lighting or a screen of some sort. Their playing was loud and engaging and, when they appeared to take a curtain call, they too were dressed to kill. But in the end the choreography seemed like a minor player in all this and Carbon Life took on the guise of a fast-paced video clip rather than an exercise in choreography.

In between Chroma and Carbon Life came the newly commissioned Multiverse, which, incidentally, the Australian Ballet adds to its repertoire in February 2017. I thought it was the least interesting of the three works, although program notes were full of explanations and thoughts about McGregor’s intentions, which centred on the current refugee crisis and other such global perils. Musically (or sound-wise) it was diverse and consisted of two pieces by Steve Reich—a specially commissioned work Runner, and a 1965 piece It’s gonna rain, of which the second part is the voice of a Pentecostal preacher holding forth in Union Square in San Francisco on the biblical story of Noah and the flood. Perhaps because I found William Forsythe’s work, Quintett, so moving—it used Gavin Bryars recording of a homeless man singing over and over Jesus’ blood never failed me yet, which sat emotively beside the choreography—I found the use of the preacher’s words unaffecting. Unlike the Forsythe piece, in Multiverse choreography and recording didn’t seem to reflect each other in a thought-provoking manner. After all this, the second Reich piece, Runner, was simply soporific for me.

Nevertheless, Multiverse began strongly with a male duet—I saw Luca Acri and Marcelino Sambé—full of tension and drama. It was by far the most interesting part of the work choreographically. The section that followed referenced the plight of refugees. This idea came across most strongly via the set by Rashid Rana in which fragmented images appeared. Some were contemporary shots, others were from the well-known painting by Théodore Géricault, The Raft of the Medusa. But there were rather too many moments when the dancers simply stood still and, while this might be seen as giving way to the power of the images and what they represented, it was hardly compelling from a movement point of view.

Set from 'Multiverse'.© Rashid Rana. Courtesy Lisson Gallery — Set from *Multiverse*. © Rashid Rana. Courtesy Lisson Gallery

Perhaps Multiverse needs more than one viewing in order to appreciate its complexities? But then not everyone has such a luxury. The idea of making dance that reflects current society is indeed admirable (and I am a fan of McGregor’s Live fire exercise). But on this occasion it simply didn’t work for me and I began to wonder whether I should not have read the detailed program notes because what was written and what appeared onstage didn’t really match.

Audience reaction was a curious thing too. As the curtain went down, behind me an enthusiastic audience member was cheering long and loudly. Beside me another was boo-ing!

Michelle Potter, 19 November 2016

Artists of the Royal Ballet in 'Anastasia', Act I. © ROH, 2016. Photo: Tristram Kenton

Anastasia. The Royal Ballet

12 November 2016 (matinee), Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, London

Having recently reread Different Drummer, Jann Parry’s biography of Kenneth MacMillan, I was full of anticipation at the prospect of seeing MacMillan’s Anastasia, a work that traces the story of Anna Anderson, who believed (wrongly it eventually turned out) that she was the Grand Duchess Anastasia who had survived the murderous attack on her parents and siblings, the Imperial Russian family, by Russian revolutionaries in 1918. Parry’s account of the various problems that surrounded the creation and casting of MacMillan’s ballet, which began as a one act work for Deutsche Oper Ballet in Berlin in 1967, was absorbing reading.

I guess more than anything else, I came away from the performance with renewed admiration for MacMillan’s classical choreography, clearly on view in the first two acts, which were added when MacMillan transformed his one act work into a full-length one in 1971. I loved the way he handled groups, as in the ball scene in Act II where a large corps of swirling dancers wove their way across and around the stage in ever fascinating curving, threading, and criss-crossing patterns. I was also impressed with his use of a kind of canon-style of movement throughout, but especially in Act I where his approach to the choreography for Anastasia’s three sisters stood out.

And I admired his pas de deux in Act II which, although it seemed somewhat as though it had been inserted in order to have a grand pas de deux in the ballet, was beautifully lyrical and smoothly integrated within itself—there was no stopping and restarting to separate pas de deux from variations from coda, for example. It also had some breathtaking moments, including that astonishing tilt of the full body by the ballerina as the pas de deux began.

I also admired Bob Crowley’s designs, which in terms of costumes ranged from opulence in the ball scene to stripped back simplicity in Act III, the scene in the hospital/asylum where Anna/Anastasia relives her life. His set designs were also worthy of admiration, with the inherent drama of Anna Anderson’s mental state being foreshadowed with the tilted shapes of the ship on which Act I takes place, and the chandeliers of the palace in Act II, captured forever in mid-swing.

As for the dancing, I saw Lauren Cuthbertson as Anna/Anastasia partnered by Thomas Whitehead as the officer to whom she was attracted in Act II and as her husband in Act III. Cuthbertson was charmingly youthful in Act I and handled Act II nicely as she welcomed and interacted with guests at her coming of age ball.

Lauren Cuthbertson as Anastasia and Reece Clarke as Officer in 'Anastasia', Act II. © ROH 2016. Photo: Tristram Kenton — Lauren Cuthbertson as Anastasia and Reece Clarke as Officer in *Anastasia*, Act II. © ROH 2016. Photo: Tristram Kenton

But she and Whitehead didn’t really suit each other as partners, largely because their physical attributes are quite different: Cuthbertson is taller and finer in build and more classically proportioned than Whitehead. As a result, the emotional connection that was needed between them was not as powerful as I would have hoped.

Sarah Lamb dancing with Federico Bonelli, as Mathilde Kschessinska and her partner (not given a name in the story’s cast of characters), sailed through the difficult choreography of the pas de deux in Act II making it all look easy. Great to watch. Another Act II highlight was the quartet between Kschessinska and her partner and Tsar Nicholas II, played by Gary Avis, and his wife the Tsarina Alexandra Feodorovna, danced by Itziar Mendizabal, in which personal relationships within the royal court were brought into question. Anastasia hovered in the background, wondering.

Sarah Lamb as Mathilde Kschessinska and Steven McRae as her partner in 'Anastasia' Act II. -© ROH 2016. Photo: Tristram Kenton — Sarah Lamb as Mathilde Kschessinska and Steven McRae as her partner in *Anastasia* Act II. © ROH 2016. Photo: Tristram Kenton

As Rasputin, Eric Underwood was moodily present throughout, taking part in the dancing at times, hovering darkly at others. Rory Thomas as the Tsarevitch Alexey, the sickly child and brother to Anastasia and her sisters, handled his role with aplomb.

The production itself, however, which was realised by Deborah MacMillan and staged by Gary Harris, wasn’t entirely satisfying. The third act looks back to the first two acts as Anna relives scenes, largely horror scenes from her life as the Grand Duchess Anastasia, and as we see characters from this earlier life move across the stage in front of her eyes.

Lauren Cuthbertson as Anna Anderson and artists of the Royal Ballet in 'Anastasia' Act III. © ROH 2016. Photo: Tristram Kenton — Lauren Cuthbertson as Anna Anderson and artists of the Royal Ballet in *Anastasia* Act III. © ROH 2016. Photo: Tristram Kenton

But, as there is a such a clear and strong disconnect stylistically between the first two acts and the third when MacMillan draws so strongly on a contemporary, expressionist mode of dancing, albeit with Anna in pointe shoes, it is hard to reconcile the notion that the last act is part of the same ballet as the first two acts. Design-wise the third act is superb with its stark grey walls and its single iron bed, and choreographically it is mostly quite gripping. But as I left the theatre, having felt the power of the work at many points, I nevertheless wondered whether it would not have been better to have left Anastasia as a one-act production.

Michelle Potter, 14 November 2016

Another note for my Australian readers: As the image of the pas de deux in this post indicates, Sarah Lamb usually dances as Kschessinska with Steven McRae as her partner. McRae was replaced at the last moment by Bonelli.