Once upon a time today, in three small attic apartments in Paris, a big man, a tall thin man, and a curvaceous blonde live side by side. Their separating walls have been removed, leaving their lives exposed, stacked, and unavoidably entangled. BIGRE (Fish Bowl) turns this simple premise into a meticulously crafted piece of theatre: a silent comedy that peers uncomfortably into the private spaces of human longing.
Each character inhabits a sharply defined domestic world. One apartment is hyper-clean, white, and minimal: lights snap on with a click, a toilet opens with a clap, shoes are vacuumed by hand. It is a space of total control, yet isolation, we watch him singing karaoke alone or escaping into video games, painfully contained within his own sterility. Next door, the tall thin man lives in chaos: a cluttered, overfilled home of hammocks, binoculars, maps, clothes rails, and turntables. Everything appears on the brink of collapse, yet each object has its own precise place, even a plastic bag is carefully folded and stored. The third space is soft, pink, and overtly feminine, anchored by a fishbowl for a goldfish that is accidentally poisoned with bleach at the start of the show. Each apartment is a shoebox containing a full life: bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, and living room compressed into one fragile ecosystem.
What begins as a portrait of incompatibility slowly transforms into something far more tender. These neighbours, initially strangers, become one another’s family, lovers, and lifelines. They eat, sleep, party, laugh, and cry together, squeezing themselves under the same roof, clinging to connection with increasing desperation. The piece pulses with an acute awareness of who we lean on when we have no one, and why the need for connection persists even when it hurts.
One of the show’s great achievements is its rhythm. Lighting and sound are perfectly synchronized, creating a score that animates the space itself. The set is not passive; it breathes, collapses, resists, and transforms. Walls fall apart with messy precision; wind whips through rooms, sending clothes and hair flying; a backdrop shifts subtly to mark the passage of days and nights. At times, the apartment feels like a giant living puppet, at others, a fragile container threatening to rupture. The space becomes a psychological extension of the characters, revealing how environments shape behaviour, performance, and vulnerability. Notably, the man stage right appears more performative in his own private space than he ever does in the homes of the others, a quiet, fascinating observation about how solitude does not necessarily equal honesty.
The recurring image of the fishbowl operates as a haunting metaphor. The fish swims endlessly within a transparent, limited world, visible to everyone yet unaware of the vast ocean beyond. Like the characters, it survives within constraints it did not choose, contained, observed, and yearning without language.
BIGRE is deeply, sometimes uncomfortably, human. It does not shy away from the visceral: blood appears; bodies are injured; care is expressed through physical sacrifice. There is something confronting in how openly the piece exposes private need. The characters often pretend not to care, yet when it truly matters, they’re willing to hurt themselves to protect one another. This secret, private longing for connection becomes the show’s emotional thread, revealed gradually as we watch each character alone, then in pairs, then finally as a trio, shifting identities depending on who is present and which space they inhabit.
The ending, however, complicates this impact. For a brief moment, the work flirts with genuine bleakness, a sense that this time, the characters might not be protected by the show’s established rhythm of near-misses and comic survival. That moment lands powerfully. It feels earned. The image of the woman standing on the edge of the building, silhouetted against lightning and holding her crying baby, is striking, an ending charged with painful surprise. This moment is profoundly unexpected against the slapstick tone of the rest of the show; its sudden stillness feels powerful and honest, briefly revealing the extent of urban poverty and precarity that underpins the comedy. Yet the decision to offer a double ending, while playful and generous, slightly undermines the potency of that darkness. The work had earned the right to take us further, deeper, and it is unsettling to feel that depth gently pulled back from.
Still, BIGRE remains an extraordinary feat of precision, invention, and emotional intelligence. It balances comedy with cruelty, tenderness with chaos, and leaves us with a resonant belief that our differences do not divide us- they bind us. Intensely human, sometimes disgustingly so, this is a piece that watches people in private and recognises us all in what it sees.
Endearing, confronting, and irresistibly crafted, Fish Bowl is a reminder that even in the smallest, most fragile spaces, humans will continue to reach, desperately, for one another.
Image Credit: Filip Van Roe
With Vlaemsch (chez moi), Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui turns inward, confronting the Flemish heritage he inherited from his mother. As the son of a Flemish mother and a Moroccan father, he has long embodied a crossroads identity, one that has shaped his choreographic language and positioned him as both insider and outsider. Here, however, the focus is not outward but deeply personal: a tribute to his mother and an interrogation of what it means to be Flemish.
For this production, Cherkaoui collaborates with visual artist Hans Op de Beeck, musician Floris De Rycker, and costume designer Jan-Jan Van Essche. The set, awash in grey tones, evokes a sense of claustrophobia, echoing Cherkaoui’s complex relationship with his hometown. A dollhouse-like sculpture dominates the space, its skewed proportions including an enormous skull, a giant book, and scattered lamps. An attic, a symbolic time capsule of relics, becomes the site where memories, histories, and identities come to life. From this attic, figures emerge, revealing time as a layered landscape where past, present, and future coexist. Frames, frozen moments, and shifting images create a palimpsest of time periods, some vivid, others spectral.
FilipVanRoe_Vlaemsch-Chez-Moi-by-Sidi-Labi-Cherkaoui--Eastman-Company
The motif of painting and drawing runs throughout the work. Biblical imagery, the Last Supper, the Crucifixion, is painted, interrogated, and reimagined. Religion appears both as a constraining force and a survival mechanism. Dancers, equipped with paintbrushes, use them not only as tools but as extensions of the body, manipulating one another’s movements with the same freedom and fluidity as a pencil sketch. Their interactions explore identity as something drawn, erased, and redrawn in dialogue with others. Frames become circus-like hoops through which dancers pass, shrinking in size as they progress, suggesting the narrowing of cultural lenses. Yet these same frames also become portals, opportunities to break through restrictive ‘reality tunnels’ and encounter new perspectives. In these moments of dissolution and renewal, the lighting shifts and colour floods the stage, marking an expansion of horizons.
Music, performed by Floris De Rycker and his ensemble Ratas del Viejo Mundo, adds another vital layer. Known for exploring polyphonic music composed before 1600, De Rycker uncovers the often-overlooked Arabic influences that shaped Western sound. The blend of polyphony and folk song creates a textured soundscape, rich in poetry and history, which mirrors the layered complexity of the choreography.
Vlaemsch (chez moi) defies easy explanation. It traverses vast expanses of time and culture, weaving together personal memory, political reflection, and artistic collaboration. At its heart lies a profound question: what does it mean to be Flemish, and how do identities continually evolve through dialogue with one another? Cherkaoui, with his collaborators, offers not definitive answers but a deeply moving meditation — a celebration of hybridity, transformation, and the beauty that emerges when cultures meet.
FilipVanRoe_Vlaemsch-Chez-Moi-by-Sidi-Labi-Cherkaoui--Eastman-Company
Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui - Vlaemsch (chez moi) - Video
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THE PLACE
Choreodrome: Making Progress
Choreodrome is a marvellous showcase for emerging choreographers presented by The Place, an innovative dance space forming part of the London Contemporary Dance School.
“what is love, don’t hurt me” a work by Christopher Matthews , opened the evening's program.
Matthews is a choreographer, performer and visual artist, whose choreographic projects explore:
spectatorship, gender, queerness, intersections of the classical and contemporary, pop culture and dance histories.
His work on this occasion was strictly a filmed projection of the author, Matthews, giving a long dissertation of his love life and predilections for the male body performing movements from the classical repertoire of dance.
O.K. but a bit dreary in the end despite the evident charm of the intrepid creator.
Christopher-Matthews
The LoonHeads , the next work to grace the stage, is a piece by Orla Hardie , exploring the complexities of the human mind and emotional landscape, where nothing is black and white but layered with contradictions.
Hardie, dancing with Jemima Colin in costumes by Nell Rose to music by Sam Robinson, makes a complex exploration of the relationships of potential extraterrestrial beings, who may also have emotions like our own,
cool!
The-LoonHeads
The Party by Max Revell uses the potential of street dances to narrate stories in a theatrical context.
Revell develops his concept, with fellow dancers; Jordan Franklin, Jonadette Carpio and Ed Mitchell, using popping, and contemporary dance technics effectively to smoothly elucidate his movement objectives.
Grounded with his own musical compositions, blended with those of Oscar Downing, he tells his story, flaunting comfortable hip costumes by Lily Thuorgood.
Nice work!
Max-Revell
MOTHERTONGUE by Darcy Wallace is an ongoing movement research and performance project that explores and interrogates motherhood in the independent dance sector, challenging the expectations of (m)others and highlighting the lack of recognition of the maternal experience.
Wallace, a British Australian choreographer and contemporary dance artist for film and live performance, dances with Steph McMann, and Louise Tanoto: to music by Joe Newman, costumes by Kate Dewar, Set and Lighting; Rosie Elnile and Emeline Beroud.
The result is all right but slightly overindulgent.
Darcy-Wallace
Finally, the star of the evening is: Oluwatosin Omotosho - a Nigerian-born, London-based artist whose movement is rooted in:
Hip-hop and Street Dance, including Waacking, House, Locking, Popping, Vogue, with influences from Contemporary, Afro, Jazz, and Krump.
Her chef d’oeuvre is:
The Aunties: House of Masks ; danced by Tosin Akinyemi, Jackie Kibuke, Sia Gbamoi, Abisola Alli, Shanelle Clemenson to music by Ezekiel Ajie, topped up with the R&D Dancer, Jazmyn Raikes!
Her work is a thoroughly enjoyable blast, to be savoured over and over again!
Oluwatosin-Omotosho
Bravos and Bravas to all for an excellent and challenging evening!
PKO
LIEU - The Place
Review by: Patrick Kevin O'Hara
Date line: Tuesday the 9th of September, 2025
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Jasmin Vardimon Company
ALiCE
Sadler’s Wells Theatre
Review by Hope Wishart
Date line: Friday 23 - Saturday 24 May
Alice-Jasmin-Vardimon-Ashford
The opening dancers manipulated time with their bodies, marking the countdown past 7:00… We were late…for a very important date. What first appeared to be a simple digital clock slowly revealed itself to be alive, moving, expressive.
In this reimagining of Alice in Wonderland, Alice begins as a character inside a storybook designed by Guy Bar-Amotz. She falls—literally—out of the pages and into the real world. A stranger in a strange land, she crosses the boundary between fantasy and reality, stepping into a realm that is part mortal, part digital. This Alice isn’t bound by the story written for her. She’s a young woman with agency, a voice, and a sense of self, navigating a wonderland eerily reflective of today’s socio-political landscape. Vardimon draws a sharp and poetic parallel between Alice’s journey and the experience of an immigrant.
The Red Queen is no longer just a fantastical monarch, she’s a dictator. And it’s Alice who dares to challenge her authority.
Transformation pulses through the world of the show: Alice transitions from girlhood to adolescence, the Caterpillar becomes a butterfly, and the stage itself—built as a rotating revolve—morphs constantly, like a living pop-up book. Live animation is projected onto these pages, blending digital visuals with physical theatre. In one breathtaking moment, Alice’s shadow dances with an animated butterfly, embodying pure curiosity and wonder.
Vardimon brilliantly uses the human body as visual language: fists bloom into red roses; arms twist into flamingos. The choreography is inventive and precise. At one point, Alice grows to enormous proportions, her limbs extending beyond a doorframe—this is achieved not through special effects, but through the strength and synchronicity of dancers lifting and shaping one another’s bodies. Shadows stretch and shrink her form, playing with scale in ways that are both magical and theatrical.
The use of freeze frames was particularly powerful, punctuating moments of narrative with striking imagery.
This Wonderland includes a Trump-like politician espousing anti-immigration rhetoric, alongside portrayals of queer love and surreal authority. Though Alice is the outsider, it’s precisely this outsider’s perspective that gives her the clarity to question, resist, and ultimately reshape the world she enters.
The production explores Alice from multiple angles—tracing her journey from adolescence through to menopause—highlighting how identity evolves over time. The question “Who are you?” echoes throughout, reminding us that identity is never fixed.
The sonic landscape mirrors this fluidity. The sound design combines digital textures with bold musical choices, aiming to disorient and defamiliarize the familiar narrative. While evocative, it sometimes creates a disjointed feel that pulls us out of the moment.
Ultimately, Alice empowers us to challenge the stories we’ve inherited. It urges us to question our own reality, to resist the roles we’re prescribed, and to rediscover the wonder in our world. Nothing is fixed—only the limits of our imagination.
The movement language is equally fluid. Fusing hip-hop with contemporary dance, the only constant is character. Every performer brings fresh nuance to familiar roles, and the result is a version of Alice in Wonderland that feels startlingly new and deeply resonant.
Alice-Jasmin-Vardimon-Ashford
Jasmin Vardimon - ALiCE - Video
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Breakin’ Convention 2025 at Sadler’s Wells
Review by Hope Wishart
Breakin'-Convention-Sons-of-the-Wind,-Bounce,-Image-Credit-Belinda-Lawley
Breakin’ Convention 2025 at Sadler’s Wells was nothing short of phenomenal — easily one of the most exhilarating events I’ve witnessed. As a global hub for hip hop culture, the festival brought together the finest breakdancers from across the world, sharing the stage and injecting fresh energy into the historic venue.
From the moment I arrived, Sadler’s Wells was alive with creativity. DJs, cyphers, and graffiti installations transformed the space into an immersive celebration of hip hop, where every corner pulsed with rhythm and raw artistic expression. Dance didn’t just happen on stage — it was everywhere. During the interval, I watched young dancers in the mezzanine area erupt into spontaneous break battles to a live DJ set. Their groove, humour, courage, and sheer inventiveness turned the space into a playground of possibilities. They weren’t just performing; they were building community.
On the main stage, the calibre of talent was breathtaking. One standout of the evening was UK artist Lauren Scott, who brought a bold choreographic voice shaped by street styles, contemporary dance, and a profound sense of wordless storytelling. Her work felt theatrical, layered, and rich — a testimony to blending dance styles and shaping narrative through dance.
Another highlight was the ever-astonishing Ruggeds. Each dancer radiated individuality, swagger, and connection, drawing the audience into their performance with charisma and sharp comedic timing. Their ability to make the crowd feel part of the show was remarkable.
Then came a moment of hypnotic brilliance in Act II: Témoin by Saïdo Lehlouh. This piece lit up the stage with a subtle interplay between the individual and the collective. Twenty dancers from France moved magnetically and deliberately, allowing the audience to enter a trance-like state as shifting formations evolved in surprising, continuous motion. A particularly striking moment saw all dancers walking anticlockwise, while one moved against the flow — a visual metaphor for breaking convention, capturing the spirit of the festival itself.
Témoin reflects Lehlouh’s ongoing exploration of group dynamics and individuality, through a constellation of styles and generations, the piece gently unpacks what it means to be part of a community, how identity is negotiated within it, and how movement can assert or absorb the self.
Breakin’ Convention 2025 was more than a showcase — it was a living, breathing manifestation of hip hop culture in all its boldness, depth, and evolving beauty. The event didn’t just entertain; it united, questioned, and inspired.
Breakin' Convention 2025 | Official Trailer - Video
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Another Day of Loving
Dance- Theatre by
MAYA YONCALI and Andy McCredie
14th February at The Place
Review by Hope Wishart
A person and person on a stage
Photographer: Ania Grom-Yoncali
Dancer and Choreographer Maya Yoncali and Performer and Director Andy McCredie's "Another Day of Loving" is a deeply moving and raw exploration of grief, relationships, and the enduring search for connection after loss. The dance-theatre piece is a debut collaboration for the duo which transcends the personal to tap into the universal fear of separation and the fragility of love.
The performance commences with lighting by Abbie Sage that conjures images of sunbeams penetrating through trees, the soundscape, a blend of birdsong, river water, we find ourselves in a graveyard of flowers, an evocative setting that immediately grounds the audience in the potent juxtaposition of love and loss. This graveyard setting creates a space where the proximity between life and death is felt intensely. The couple enter with flowers for a loved one and dance in an embrace, turning outwards the woman begins spinning on the spot as the man looks on lovingly. Yoncali's unique movement vocabulary, characterized by spellbinding spiraling hands and powerful, precise gestures. As the woman is pulled from the man’s arms towards death the movement transforms itself with wide lunges reminiscent of Martha Graham’s raw, primal femininity— beautifully portraying the ache of loss, hands extend upward and plunging inwards towards her solar plexus, while the sounds of her arms striking her body echo the raw intensity of the performance, all mirrored by the intricate rhythms of the music and outward breath.
McCredie's theatre expertise complements the dance elements, his movements conveying the disorientation and struggle of grappling with loss. His sense of longing and searching for the woman who is dancing beside him, makes us feel that they were in a different world after the death, falling forwards and backwards completely off balance. This is a beautiful portrayal of male fragility and sensitivity, an excellent performance, and visual depth. The intentional simplicity and economic storytelling build a powerful narrative, showcasing the artists' mastery of physical storytelling.
"Another Day of Loving" is a love bound visceral experience. The answer to how one dances in the face of loss is rendered with excruciating commitment and longing. Yoncali and McCredie’s debut collaboration promises an exciting journey, leaving the audience yearning for more from this dynamic duo.
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Dimanche
Compagnie Focus & Chaliwaté
in association with MimeLondon
The Peacock Theatre
Review by Hope Wishart
Dimanche--Mihaela-Bodlovic
"Dimanche" is an imaginative, surreal tragicomedy that delves into our worrying capacity to carry on with our lives while the world around us grapples with climate catastrophe. This remarkable production invites audiences on an insightful journey, using transformative scale shifts—from a toy-sized van to life-sized scenes—to illustrate the daunting dimensions of the climate crisis we face.
Crafted over three years, "Dimanche" evolved from a film script structure into a theatrical experience that employs puppetry and object manipulation to breathe life into its poignant narrative. It poignantly explores the theme of separation, particularly between animals and their young: we are introduced through puppetry a polar bear and its cub, torn apart as the ice caps melt, while a flamenco bird is caught in the pull a tornado, losing its nest in the chaos.
Dimanche--Mihaela-Bodlovic
The production creates a vivid, imaginative depiction of a near-future world ravaged by ecological disasters. With seamless video special effects, the stage transforms from images of melting ice caps to roaring tornadoes and drying lakes, brilliantly emphasising the stark reality of our environmental crisis.
The stage itself magically morphs between various settings and climates, from snowy roads to the stifling interior of a heat-stricken house. We meet a comical old woman skilfully brought to life by a puppeteer and a couple trying to enjoy their breakfast as their surroundings distort around them. Later, this very house suffers the brunt of a tornado while they try to enjoy their roast dinner, highlighting the absurdity of normalcy in a world gone awry.
One of the most striking moments occurs when a tidal wave engulfs both the stage and audience, immersing us in an underwater experience enhanced by an epic, panoramic sound design. As we are submerged in darkness, surreal imagery unfolds—a fish swims past, floating furniture drifts, and a flock of jellyfish dances above, culminating in the sight of a man asleep amidst it all, lazily swatting at his ringing alarm clock. This moment serves as a powerful reminder of humanity's startling defiance in confronting the urgent realities of our predicament.
The composition of "Dimanche" is nothing short of masterful. The interplay of lighting and sound artfully guides the narrative, transcending the need for language. This production resonates deeply with all, uniting us in our shared experience of the climate disaster. Ultimately, it serves as both a call to action and a confrontational inquiry: what will it take for us to truly awaken and enact the changes necessary to preserve our world?
DIMANCHE Compagnie Focus & Chaliwaté LONDON PREMIERE
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The Nutcracker, English National Ballet, December 2024
By Amanda Jennings
Dance Writer
+44 7879632546
English National Ballet’s 14-year-old production of The Nutcracker, choreographed by Wayne Eagling, had become tireder and tireder over the years, and it is definitely time for a new version. Making a new Nutcracker is very different from creating any other ballet; you are crafting a seasonal confection with the main priority of getting bums on seats during the Christmas holidays. It must be durable (you don’t want to be recreating every couple of years) and efficient for touring, but other than that, unless you are the great Peter Wright, Balanchine or Petipa, whose versions rank among the great classical ballets, you can rely on the magnificence of the Tchaikovsky score, colourful sets and costumes and a sparkly snow scene to carry the piece. ENB’s new production, choreographed by Artistic Director Aaron S. Watkin with the young rising star Arielle Smith, very much brings the above requirements to life, and will last the company into (and probably through) the next decade.
The setting for the first scene of Act I is London in the Edwardian area, complete with a glimpse of St. Paul’s in the distance, some suffragettes waving placards (superfluous) and dancing chimney sweeps (again, superfluous, but ticking boxes aimed at tourists). The action takes place in and outside Drosselmeyer’s confectionery shop; visitors including the young Clara admire the bright display of goodies and the model Nutcracker perched on the counter. During the Christmas party scene Clara is given the Nutcracker, who comes to life, although still wearing his cumbersome wooden head, to dance a solo. After the party guests depart, Clara falls asleep on the chaise-longue hugging the Nutcracker doll, and dreams of her older self on the brink of first love. The rats appear, initially via clever and very realistic shadowy projections of scurrying rodents around every nook and cranny of the room (video designs by Leo Flint). The battle with the toy soldiers ensues, after which Clara and the Nutcracker Prince (now sans headpiece) are transported to the Land of Snow in a glassy chariot pulled by a giant ice-seahorse.
Act II in the Land of Sweets is colourful, and indeed, super-sweet. The nowadays-problematic national dances are performed instead by sweets representing various countries: Makivnyk, a Ukrainian poppy-seed roll, Tanghulu, a Chinese candied fruit served on giant skewers, Sahlab, a rich drink made from milk and orchid root, Spanish Turron nougat, Liquorice Allsorts, and there’s a Waltz of the Flowers danced by Buttercream Roses.
At the end, Clara wakes up alone with the Nutcracker doll in the salon of her home, and her frustration at the realisation that it was all just a dream melts into joy as she discovers she is still wearing the necklace given to her by the Sugar Plum Fairy.
The success of this production (and it certainly will be successful) is due to the sumptuous score (given a gorgeous account under the baton of Music Director Maria Seletskaja) and the outstandingly good sets by Dick Bird. The Act I street scene, with its projections of falling snow, is lovely, the party salon with its Edwardian wallpaper and sweeping staircase down which the guests enter is perfect, and the Land of Snow is glorious; huge icicle pendants glitter through the falling snow as the sparkly snowflakes, led by the Ice Queen, swirl. Act II has gorgeously colourful sets but I was less fond of some of the costumes. Egyptian Sahlab wears a singularly unattractive cream affair of huge, ruffled sleeves, and she’s accompanied by two men in horrible brown unitards with dreadful headdresses, and the Mirlitons look like cartoon creations with their gimmicky lampshade skirts and barbershop spiral-striped tights. The Buttercream Roses have large ice-cream cones on their heads; The Snowflakes wear frothy white headgear that looks like shower-caps.
Choreographically, I’m afraid it’s rather dull, apart from the Sugar Plum pas de deux, which is well-crafted, (but why not just keep Petipa’s unsurpassable choreography which tears at the heartstrings with its beauty)? and the choreography for the Nutcracker Prince, which I would guess is Watkin’s work: a man choreographing for a man. Arielle Smith’s quirky, fluid work, attractive as it is, feels rather out of place at an Edwardian party. When opportunities for virtuosity arise in Act II the choreography never rises above the pedestrian.
There were some outstanding performances. Rhys Antoni Yeomans as the Nutcracker Prince topped his customary virtuosity with elegance in the upper body and ports de bras, and a thoroughly charming characterisation with lovely attentiveness to the older Clara (Georgia Bould). In the party scene, Snow and in Spanish Turron, the stunning legs, and feet of Anna Nevzirova, together with charming stage presence, impressed as always. Henry Dowden and Giorgio Garrett were good as the Chinese sugared hawthorn berries. Shunhei Fuchiyama displayed firecracker technique as the lead Makivnyk, and among his supporters I noticed Jett Lecamu, a young dancer whose potential I picked out a year or two ago when he was a student. Sangeun Lee and Gareth Haw danced a Sugar Plum pas de deux of refinement, elegance, and grace. Lee is a true ballerina whose attention to detail is unfailing and who brings out every nuance of choreography and character in every role she dances. I must also mention the young student from Tring Park, Millicent Honour, who played the child Clara with total professionalism and showed excellent potential in her dancing.
Overall, then, this production cannot rival those of the world’s top companies for choreographic ingenuity, but children and anyone looking for a spectacle will love it.
Nutcracker-english-national-ballet-in-nutcracker
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GIGENIS: The generation of the Earth
Akram Khan
Sadler’s Wells
20th November 2024
Review by Hope Wishart
Gigenis credit_Maxime_Dos_Productions-Sarfati
In GIGENIS: The Generation of the Earth, choreographer Akram Khan shares the stage with an ensemble of six maters of Indian classical dance and a live band of seven musicians, creating a rich tapestry of movement and sound.
The narrative draws inspiration from the Mahabharata, weaving a timeless tale of power, greed, joy, and fear. At the heart of the story is a mother who, having lost her husband to war, is now faced with the impending loss of her son on the battlefield. "I was a daughter, then a wife, and then a mother," she repeats throughout the performance, her voice echoing the sorrow and chaos that envelop her world. Through her eyes, we witness the pervasive injustice and turmoil that mirror today’s global crises of war and violence. She desperately implores her son, who thrives in chaos, to seek harmony and peace, yet her pleas go unanswered, echoing her struggle against the lack of control over her own narrative.
Gigenis credit_Maxime_Dos_Productions-Sarfati
Khan's work serves as a poignant return to our roots—a powerful reminder of our shared humanity and history. In a world rife with conflict, GIGENIS implores us to heed the wisdom of our past and learn from our collective mistakes.
Central to this work is the celebration and honouring of Kathak, embodied in the movements of seven masters of classical Indian dance. The story unfolds vividly through expressive hands and piercing gazes, each gesture laden with meaning and emotion. Within this form, the dancers' bare feet turn on their heels at extreme speeds, creating a raw, visceral connection with the audience. This rapid footwork resonates deeply, evoking the very essence of human experience—vulnerability, power, and resilience—while also showcasing the technical prowess and artistic depth of Kathak. Every intricate hand movement and expressive glance not only conveys the narrative but also honours the richness of this traditional dance form, reaffirming its relevance in today’s world.
Zeynep Prakash’s lighting design is a standout element of the performance, intricately carving the stage and directing the audience's focus with precision. This design imbues the production with almost cinematic qualities, such as zooming in on the dancers’ hands as they move at high speed. The stage is elegantly framed by warm yellow light bulbs that encircle the six musicians and centre stage drummer, enhancing the impact when the dancers move into symmetry. This setup not only amplifies the power and force of their collective choreography but also highlights the individuality of each performer, allowing every subtle movement and expression to resonate under the spotlight.
Ultimately, GIGENIS serves as an homage to traditional dance, as Khan gracefully reconnects with his roots and cultural heritage—a nod to an era when humanity was more attuned to nature, Mother Earth, and our rich mythology.
The production is marked by Khan's clarity in visual storytelling, encapsulating the intimate alongside the epic. The harmonious interaction between the seven dancers and the seven live musicians culminates in an explosive yet deeply moving experience, making GIGENIS a compelling exploration of the human condition.
Gigenis credit_Maxime_Dos_Productions-Sarfati
Akram Khan | Gigenis, the generation of the Earth - Video
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Ballet Black: HEROES,
Sadlers Wells,
November 8th, 2024
By Amanda Jennings
Dance Writer
+44 7879632546
If-At-First-by-Ballet-Black-photo-by-ASH
Ballet Black is now 23 years old, which is a remarkable achievement in view of the difficulty, in today’s straitened circumstances, of fundraising for the arts. Cassa Pancho’s small (only nine dancers) but perfectly formed company has improved steadily year by year and has consistently presented new and interesting work by up-and-coming and established choreographers. Their latest short season at Sadlers Wells showed two new works under the title Ballet Black: HEROES.
Sophie Laplane’s If at First fills the first half of the programme. Previously she made CLICK! for Ballet Black in 2019 and has worked extensively internationally in both live performance and film. Currently she is choreographer in residence with Scottish Ballet. If at First was inspired by Jean-Michel Basquiat’s painting, Eroica, and by Laplane’s musings on Beethoven’s angry crossing-out of the dedication to Napoleon pn the original score of his Eroica symphony; extracts from this great symphony emerge from a muddled mish-mash of pieces by various 21st century composers. The symbolism of the passing around of a Basquiat crown among the dancers is effective; they are searching for the hero amongst their cohort, or perhaps they are all heroes, representing the quotidian heroism of the masses. The choreography itself, whilst perfectly serviceable with some effective double-work, is not particularly innovative, and I could not identify the point of the large, mirrored discs the dancers at times carried, but the piece is not unattractive, and the dancers applied themselves with dedication and thoughtful craftsmanship. I particularly noted the engaging work of Love Kotiya, a 1st year apprentice but looking like a seasoned performer, and Helga Paris-Morales, a superb dancer with a charming stage presence. Isabela Coracy, a true artist whose every move is imbued with passion and style, drew the eye whenever she appeared.
Mthuthuzeli November is a major force in the UK dance world, and his The Waiting Game suits the Ballet Black dancers perfectly, bringing out their humour as well as their technical capabilities. A central overcoated figure, downtrodden by the repetitiveness of his daily routine, begins to sink deeper and deeper into retrospection as he searches for meaning in his life, and tries to enter the large lit cube that perambulates around the stage: perhaps the grass will be greener on the other side. Eventually a sea-change in mood occurs: now we are backstage at a performance, at the five-minute call. Our man in the overcoat arrives with seconds to spare; a colleague, repeatedly exhorting him to take things two minutes at a time, persuades him to get into his sequined jacket and on to the stage, along with the rest of the cast, also in sequins. The movement style changes to a Broadway-influenced dynamic, enormously entertaining, and so beautifully danced that one could not help but smile. What did it mean? Perhaps they are all faking it, using the stage as a place to hide, or perhaps it is the place where all can be heroes. Ebony Thomas as the central figure performed with a naturalness that immediately gained our sympathies; everyone was excellent, but Coracy again stood out.
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Pina Bausch/ Germaine Acogny & Malou Airaudo
The Rite of Spring / common ground[s]
Sadler's Wells, 6th November, 2024
Review by Hope Wishart
Pina-Bausch_Germaine-Acogny-&-Malou-Airaudo,-The-Rite-of-Spring,-image-credits,-Maarten-Vanden-Abeele
This staging of the Rite of Spring signifies a pivotal collaboration between the Pina Bausch Foundation and the Ecole des Sables, showcasing Bausch’s original 1975 choreography through a diverse company of 34 dancers from 13 different African nations. Each dancer brings a wealth of unique backgrounds and training, rejuvenating the piece and illustrating its universality across cultures. Their interpretations breathe fresh life into the performance, embodying it as though it had just emerged for the first time.
The stage is intentionally bare, dominated by a dark brown square composed of 3,060 kg of peat, meticulously arranged before each show. This earthy base becomes a vital element that anchors the dancers’ movements and highlights a deep connection to the earth, signalling an underlying urgency for spring. As the performance unfolds, dancers become increasingly encrusted with soil, encapsulating the idea that the earth leaves its mark on them. The piece's opening and closing segments evoke a dust-to-dust theme, further amplified by this striking staging choice.
Originally composed by Igor Stravinsky in 1913, Rite of Spring delves into the themes of ancient rituals and sacrifice within a pagan context. The pivotal story, stemming from Stravinsky's vision of a pagan Russian community, centres on a young maiden who is chosen to dance to her own demise, a sacrificial act aimed at ensuring the arrival of spring and appeasing the gods. Bausch’s decision to ground the piece in soil transcends associations of time and place, tapping into the essence of human experience—connecting both male and female. This creates an atmosphere that is distinctly tribal, allowing the performers to connect with their most primal instincts as they dance barefoot- they portray the human body in its most raw and naked form.
The performance commences with lighting that conjures images of sunbeams penetrating through tree branches, illuminating a girl resting on a red cloth on the peat. As the score shifts to its potent rhythmic motifs, the women coalesce into a cluster formation and move in perfect synchronicity giving the illusion of one body. Their movements are powerful and precise; fists extend upward and plunge towards their solar plexus, while the sounds of their arms striking their bodies echo the raw intensity of the performance, all mirrored by the intricate rhythms of the music.
During the 35-minute piece, an urgent energy permeates the choreography, with dancers executing synchronized movements or swiftly navigating the stage with dynamic precision. 'How would you dance if you knew you were going to die?” was the question sparking Pina Bausch's imagination when she first choreographed Rite of Spring in 1975 and the final soloist gave her self completely to the challenge moving as if completely inspired and as if it were her last dance on earth.
The choreography resonates with raw vitality, highlighting the intrinsic connection between life and death, particularly in the context of nature's relentless forces, which continues to have thematic urgency in today. The dancers’ raw physicality and emotional depth convey an exploration of primal instincts, reaching a powerful climax that lingers in the audience's mind long after the performance concludes. This rendition remains etched in memory, its relevance continuing to unfold and revealing new insights into contemporary societal issues. A masterpiece, it promises to impart vital lessons for years to come.
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Theatre of Dreams
Hofesh Schecter
Sadler's Wells, 10th October 2024
Review by Hope Wishart and Gabriel Wishart
Theatre-of-Dreams-Todd-MacDonald
“I want audiences to be awakened, to experience my work from the gut. Trusting the gut is to me like trusting nature, or God, or a sense of purpose, a source, a spark. Trusting a higher and better force than our limited oppressed cultured minds.”
– Hofesh Shechter
Hofesh Schecter’s new work, Theatre of Dreams, uses the materiality of the theatre as mode of exploring our subconscious minds; it shows us what is wants to show us and hides what it wants to hide. The traditional theatre curtain is here multiplied; one curtain reveals another curtain and another creating a cinematic edited feeling in which you are transported between different dances and worlds.
Interestingly in the post-show discussion Schecter traces his first thought back to ideas around poetry- questioning what moves us and why it moves us and if it is purely a reflection on what we’ve been taught which is also extended to the dreams we have for our lives. It seems that the idea of dismantling this education is at the core of this work encouraging us to question the way things are- this very much comes to fruition when we as audience members are woken from our dream and invited to dance with the company in a moment of joint euphoria where we find ourselves truly becoming part of the show. Encouraging us yet again to question why things are the way they are and awakening us to a sort of complacency about the ways we usually experience things.
The dance reveals a universal language through its elementary principles, inviting us to see more clearly and feel more deeply, both from within and without. It explores the spaces in between—the mysteries that are preserved and reverberated through the dance's duet with curtains, which form shifting spaces and alcoves of discovery. It is as if we are wandering through a constantly changing labyrinth. The experience of the dance defies direct explanation and can only be grasped through simile or analogy; it is more than the sum of its parts—live music, movement, voice, lighting, and sound. The overwhelming loudness of the sound paradoxically emphasizes the subtlety of each step or our own presence in a vaulted room, without instruments to ground us, where we are all humbled by its power.
The dance itself feels like a Bretonian cryptogram, with Hofesh Shechter as the master organist pulling the levers, pressing the pedals, and playing the keys to capture and edit reality in time. Like the Wizard of Oz, he orchestrates a surreal medium through which the dance becomes a profound reflection of our endless search for meaning in a world that often lacks it. The dance shocks you into wakefulness, electrifying your senses and leaving you charged with the energy of bodies, minds, and music. The theatrical space becomes an immersive experience, leaving you breathless and static-charged with the raw intensity of it all.
When it's over, nothing can be perfectly retold. You are left stunned, in awe, without questions, only complete stupefaction. The mechanics of how it all happens lose significance in the face of the undeniable truth that the experience is to be felt deeply in the body, leaving no room for intellectual analysis—only a visceral understanding.
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English National Ballet, Akram Khan’s Giselle, September 18th, 2024, Sadlers Wells
By Amanda Jennings
Dance Writer
+44 7879632546
Erina-Takahashi-as-Giselle-in-Akram-Khans-Giselle-©-Camilla-Greenwell
“Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,” wrote Robert Frost. Akram Khan’s Giselle, created for English National Ballet in 2016, always calls this evocative sentence to mind. The production is dominated by the giant wall that forms the set and symbolises the societal division between the Outcasts (disenfranchised immigrant workers made destitute by the closure of the clothing factory where they were employed) and the members of the aristocratic Court, owners of the factory. As in the original ballet, Albrecht is a member of the aristocracy who has disguised himself to mingle with the Outcasts in order to woo Giselle. She has another suitor, Hilarion, who here is a kind of foreman of the Outcasts, keeping them in line according to the wishes of the aristocracy. Unbeknownst to the Outcasts, Albrecht is betrothed to Bathilde, daughter of the head of the aristocratic dynasty. Act I proceeds along these familiar lines, including the poignant recognition by Giselle of her own skilled handiwork in Bathilde’s sumptuous gown, but there are sinister overtones; Hilarion forces the Outcasts to bow their heads to the aristocracy, and Giselle’s death, hidden from our view by a huddle of Outcasts, is a violent murder commissioned, we assume, by the aristocrats, carried out, we assume, by Hilarion, who is seen cradling her body as the curtain falls.
Act II takes place in the disused factory where many Outcast workers have died through lack of safety precautions. The Wilis are their ghosts, bent on revenge. Hilarion arrives to mourn Giselle, and is brutally killed by the Wilis by means of the large bamboo canes they carry. Albrecht arrives, is redeemed from death by Giselle’s forgiveness as she is finally subsumed into the world of the Wilis, and is seen finally at the wall, barred from his aristocratic cohort and henceforth an Outcast himself.
Khan is an ingenious creator, full of twisty, clever choreographic ideas, and has theatrical insight that leads him to choose creative collaborators whose work will come together with his own to produce a true work of art. Designer Tim Yip does full justice to the concept of the Wall, which rotates through 180 degrees to reveal rungs on the reverse down which Hilarion can climb into the disused factory, and through a further 45 degrees to sit parallel with the floor as the Wilis emerge from underneath it. The composed score by Vincenzo Lamagna, orchestrated by Gavin Sutherland, is a blend of sound design (by Yvonne Gilbert) with strains of Adolphe Adam’s original running through it, highly effective. Mark Henderson’s lighting design works perfectly with the action. Is there any area of weakness? Sadly, yes, and it’s the narrative, as so often with story ballets. Audience members with no prior knowledge of Giselle must be very hard pressed to work out what is going on; I myself, having seen the ballet at its premiere, had no idea the Wilis were in a disused factory until I read the programme. A very well-seasoned and knowledgeable critic for a revered London broadsheet, a veteran of this and the numerous other incarnations of Giselle we have seen in London over the decades, turned to me at the interval and said, “can anyone tell me what on earth is going on with this plot?”
Nevertheless, the ballet is a huge success wherever the company takes it, thanks to the above-mentioned creative skills and several superlative performances. Erina Takahashi and James Streeter as Giselle and Albrecht draw every ounce of nuance from the choreography, creating a palpable bond between them and an atmosphere of tension with the cohort of dancers on stage. Ken Saruhashi’s Hilarion is created with tremendous feel for artistry and one of the most charismatic stage presences in the business. Emma Hawes is a commanding Myrtha. Every dancer commits to the performance utterly, always a strength at ENB.
So, a great asset to the company’s repertoire, and a must-see for anyone who has the chance. You’ll experience the melding of great artistic talents, but read the programme notes before curtain-up.
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London City Ballet: Resurgence, Sadlers Wells, London September 11th, 2024
By Amanda Jennings
Dance Writer
+44 7879632546
Joseph Taylor and Isadora Bless in Concerto.
photos by Ash Photography
No praise is high enough to describe the magnificence of Christopher Marney’s achievement in resurrecting London City Ballet, the much-loved touring company started by Harold King in 1978 with short lunchtime performances at the tiny Arts Theatre in Covent Garden. Harold took the company onward and upward through nearly two decades: by the time it was forced to close for financial reasons in 1996, Diana Princess of Wales had come on board as Patron, and the company of 32 dancers had toured all over the world. It was the first ballet company that Marney saw as a child. Marney’s charming, persuasive personality, and his passion for the art form, are resonant of Harold King’s own, and these characteristics have stood him in excellent stead in his efforts to get the new company up and running. Since their initial performances in Portugal in July, they’ve toured around England and to China, and when the current run at Sadlers Wells ends they’re off to perform at the Joyce Theater in New York. In today’s tremendously difficult economic climate the materialisation of a new ballet company on the British scene feels like nothing short of a miracle, but Marney recognized the gap left on the theatre circuit for a mid-size company, and leapt in to fill it. <
Marney’s refined good taste has led him to build a cohort of 14 dancers who balance and complement each other. All are capable technicians with individual artistic qualities, and they include the luminaries Alejandro Virelles, an ex-principal with the National Ballet of Cuba, English National Ballet, Bayerische Staatsballet and Staatsballet Berlin; Joseph Taylor, principal with Northern Ballet and Cira Robinson of Ballet Black, with Alina Cojacaru as guest star. The good taste spills over into programme curation, five works, old and new, each well-made and engaging.
On opening night at Sadlers Wells the audience included former LCB dancers and many luminaries of today’s dance world, alongside dance writers and the core of London’s avid ballet-goers. The atmosphere was buzzing, and as the curtain rose the air of expectation reached a high pitch—would we be disappointed? Of course not.
After a short but beautifully made film about the original company and its history, the dancing began with Ashley Page’s Larina Waltz, a technically challenging piece that is always fascinating to watch with its intricate footwork and changes of direction. It held no fear for the cast of five couples, who sailed through it cleanly and stylishly. Alejandro Virelles shone, and I picked out the elegance of Ellie Young, and the technical accomplishment and charming stage charisma of Arthur Wille, winner of the Youth America Grand Prix in 2022.
Marney is keen to show lesser-known work by Kenneth MacMillan, and here we saw Ballade from 1972, made for Vyvyan Lorrayne, Stephen Jefferies, Paul Clarke, and Nicholas Johnson, and performed only once. Centered on a female lead (Cojocaru) pursued by three would-be suitors (Taylor, Virelles, and Nicholas Vavrecka, all excellent), there is plenty of lovely fluid choreography that, as always with MacMillan, perfectly reflects Faure’s gorgeous music.
Arielle Smith, a formidably talented young choreographer, made a world premiere for the company, Five Dances. Each of the titular dances has a unique flavour, allowing individual interpretation by each dancer and enabling the audience to connect with them on that individual basis. Much of Smith’s work to date has been based in joy, and this is no exception, the choreography full of blithe joie de vivre as well as joie de danse. Like Marney, Smith has excellent taste and chooses collaborators cleverly, so Five Dances is set to the engrossing John’s Book of Alleged Dances by John Adams, costumed by Emily Noble in warm, uplifting colours, and lit in scrolling, vibrant shades that enhance every aspect of the work. Again, all danced excellently, but a solo by Wille was particularly striking.
Kenneth MacMillan’s Concerto is, of course, familiar, and much loved. Here the second movement pas de deux was given a streamlined, elegant account by Joseph Taylor and Isadora Bless, a dancer with mesmerizingly beautiful legs and feet. The closing piece was Marney’s own Eve, and I was delighted to have the chance to see this again, having loved it when it was shown in 2022. Marney says that he does not intend to use the new London City Ballet as a platform for his own work; he may well be subsumed in directorial and administrative tasks in these early stages, but I hope that later on he will choreograph, as he has interesting talent in this area and allows his passion for the art form to shine through his work. Eve is beautifully constructed, using different styles of movement for Eve and the Serpent, and depicts the interaction of two intellectually independent characters, the Serpent’s manipulative skills matched by Eve’s insightful decision-making; she’s not the embodiment of original sin but someone using her humanity, with its strengths and weaknesses, to find out about the world. She and the Serpent proceed through their negotiations, and are finally joined by Adam, and a cohort of shape-shifting beings representing the journey on which she (and humanity) will now embark. The piece is a triumph of depiction of the human condition. The music, by Jennie Muskett, melds seamlessly with the choreography, and I love the costumes for the central characters, Eve in a corseted, nude-coloured gauzy dress with pointe shoes, the Serpent in a red unitard and a gothic-style greatcoat that adds to his sinuous, sinister grandeur. Cira Robinson and Alvaro Madrigal drew out every nuance of their characters.
What a pleasure to witness the rebirth of a popular company, accomplished so artistically with sleek professionalism. Congratulations to all concerned, and we look forward to following the company’s progression.
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Into the Music
by Alastair Macaulay
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The title of Birmingham Royal Ballet’s triple bill Into the Music addresses the issue that, for many people, is fundamental to dance as art: the harmony between sight and sound, and specifically the response of choreography to music. The programme, which opened in Birmingham last month and runs all this week (November 2-5) at Sadler’s Wells Theatre, is also an important introduction to the taste of the Birmingham Royal’s new artistic director, Carlos Acosta, who, taking the job immediately before the 2020 lockdown, has still achieved relatively little. The three scores are agreeably played by the Royal Sinfonia, conducted by Koen Kessels. The final work is to Beethoven’s Symphony no 7, which Wagner called “the symphony of the dance”; it introduces many of us to the choreography of Uwe Scholz, who made more than a hundred ballets* (mainly in Zürich and Leipzig) before dying in his forties in 2004.
There are, however, pervasive problems. Each of these ballets is choreographically horrid - each a different kind of horrid - and in two cases vile. They are delivered with over-emphatic facial expressions that further undermine the choreography, powerfully communicating the dancers’ belief that the choreography cannot be trusted to make its own expressive points. And these ghastly facial exaggerations are surely Birmingham Royal characteristics that pre-date Acosta.
Jirí Kylián’s Forgotten Land (1981) and Scholz’s The Seventh Symphony (1991), both of which had their premieres with the Stuttgart Ballet, are over-scaled responses to important works of classical music. Forgotten Land is to Benjamin Britten’s Sinfonia da Requiem. (Why did Scholz title his Beethoven ballet The Seventh Symphony as if there were no seventh symphonies but such composers as Haydn, Mozart, Schubert, Mendelssohn, Bruckner, Mahler, Shostakovich?) It’s hard to spot a small step in either Kylián’s or Scholz’s ballets. The Seventh Symphony has a very few passages of footwork that do not stretch above the waist, but also all the evening’s most appallingly over-scaled images.
Ballet is an art of spatial complexity and three-dimensional plasticity - and yet both Forgotten Landand The Seventh Symphony are made with minimal use of diagonals in either space or use of the body: horizontals and verticals are almost all you see. When you see The Seventh Symphony starting with the same choreographic device as Forgotten Land - numbers of dancers all facing upstage, backs to the audience - you wonder why on earth Acosta had the daft idea of putting them on the same program.
The late Clement Crisp, dance critic to the Financial Times for decades, enjoyed comparing Kylián’s brutalist, unsubtle, over-intense choreography to the torments of the dentist’s chair. Crisp was by no means wrong about Kylián, and yet Forgotten Land is the most evening’s refined work. Only in Forgotten Land , for example, do we see partnering as something two-way, with women sometimes supporting men. Although Kylián’s women are too often lifted, propelled, and supported by their men in huge shapes, these shrivel beside the epic horrors of Scholz’s Beethoven amipulations.
Or do you like Women As Bendy Toy choreography? Well, it’s a regrettably large genre, with the Stuttgart Ballet a leading proponent for overt fifty years (and the Royal Ballet at Covent Garden catching up more recently). If so, don’t miss The Seventh Symphony.
To a minor transitional passage of music in the first movement of The Seventh Symphony, multiple women, in the splits on the floor and with heads down, are dragged horizontally onto and across the stage by their men. (Few images of the systematic degradation of women have dismayed me more.) To a gentle, poignant melody later in the work, a ballerina is brought onstage with her legs wide apart carried overhead. This isn’t “into” the music; it’s offensively against it.
Wagner was no dance expert, but his “symphony of the dance” remark about Beethoven’s Seventh regrettably inspired many fatally over-ambitious choreographers (including Leonide Massine and Twyla Tharp) to burn their fingers on it. Many of us especially love the sublime Adagietto second movement of Beethoven’s Seventh, where Scholz’s anti-humane use of dancers, both militaristic and marionette-like, proves especially galling.
In what ways does Acosta think Morgann Runacre-Temple’s Hotel is “into the music”? This foolish piece is chiefly an essay on the meeting of live film and choreography, but its music, by Mikael Karlsson, is trivial, tepid, semi-jazz, largely applied as a film score, as imposed atmospherics. The story is silly, a camply surreal essay (very sub-Matthew Bourne - imagine a bad imitation of his superb Play without Words) about guests and hotel staff and - oh no - food poisoning. There are no interesting steps or configurations. The film technology, sometimes suggesting multiple locations, is the only feature of note.
In Hotel, Beatrice Parma (the Assistant Manager) and Tzu-Chao Chou (the Manager) direct knowingly wide-eyed gazes both at camera and at audience: film sometimes expands their faces to stage height. Chou plays the fourth movement of “The Seventh Symphony” with epic-scale smiles of roguish flirtation, while the very pretty Céline Gittens maintains the same big smile throughout the first movement. Most of the dancers follow suit: this Birmingham broadcasting of facial coquetry could not be worse for Beethoven.
Alastair Macaulay, 2022
*This figure has been questioned by observers of Scholz’s professional career.
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1: Yijing Zhang and Brandon Lawrence (Birmingham Royal Ballet) in “Forgotten Land” by Jiri Kylián. Photograph:Johan Persson.
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2: Mathias Dingman and Miki Mizutani (Birmingham Royal Ballet) in “Forgotten Land”. Photograph: Johan Persson.
3: Céline Gittens and Tyrone Singleton (Birmingham Royal Ballet) in Jirí Kylián’s “Forgotten Land”. Photograph: Johan Persson.
4: Birmingham Royal Ballet in Jirí Kylián’s “Forgotten Land”. Photograph: Johan Persson.
5: Céline Gittens and Tyrone Singleton (Birmingham Royal Ballet) in Jirí Kylián’s “Forgotten Land”. Photograph: Johan Persson.
6: “Hotel” by Morgann Runacre-Temple (Birmingham Royal Ballet).
7: Matilde Rodrigues in “Hotel”.Photograph : Johan Persson.
8: Three members of the hotel staff perform grand jeté croisé en attitude en avant In Morgann Runacre-Temple’s “Hotel” (Birmingham Royal Ballet). Photograph: Tristram Kenton.
9: Uwe Scholz’s “The Seventh Symphony”As danced by Birmingham Royal Ballet. Photograph: Tristram Kenton.
10: Birmingham Royal Ballet in “The Seventh Symphony” by Uwe Scholz. Photograph: Johan Persson.
11: Karla Doorbar and Gus Payne (Birmingham Royal Ballet) in “The Seventh Symphony”. Photograph:Johan Persson.
12: Yuki Sugiura and Daria Stanciulescu in “The Seventh Symphony”. Photograph: Johan Persson.
13: Uwe Scholz’s “The Seventh Symphony”, danced by Birmingham Royal Ballet. Photograph : Johan Persson.
First published by "Slipped Disc" on November 3, 2022
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