Since leaving the Royal Ballet, Sylvie Guillem has moulded herself into a contemporary performer. This, in many respects, is what she always was but her new association with Sadler’s Wells seemed to set it in stone. Yet what hopes we may have had from such an association with the Wells – that it would mark the beginning of a new and fruitful epoch in Guillem’s already daring career – appear to have stagnated and since 2006, when Akram Khan created Sacred Monsters for her, she has been reduced to touring the globe (in a manner reminiscent of the long and arduous travels of Anna Pavlova) with the same two programmes, month in, month out. The result is legions of adoring fans and cash in the Sadler’s Wells coffers. But of Guillem’s artistic growth…?

Thus, she and Russell Maliphant arrived in Salford for a two night booking doing “their thing” and if there is anyone still unfamiliar as to what “their thing” is, let me tell you that it is some of the most hauntingly seductive of Maliphant’s choreography lit with superb intelligence by Michael Hulls. Hulls calls for a quality of darkness and light that is near impossible to achieve in certain theatres and auditoriums. (I recall that Guillem’s performance of Two at the Royal Ballet’s 75th Anniversary Gala was near-ruined by the draining of the lighting’s intensity so that that the absolute blackness became an off-grey) At the Lowry, with its matt purple interior, the effect of total blackness is achieved quite brilliantly and it counters the luminescence which Hulls’ spot-lights create. Guillem appears to be born from within it: in Two her torso hovers, dismembered in mid-air. Maliphant’s choreography is a devotion to a divinity, a captivating homage to Guillem’s extraordinary body as she extends her never-ending limbs into the infinity, which the darkness proposes, before snapping them back like a moth towards the light. As the work progresses her arms become ever-faster, ever-fluid and they fracture the darkness and the light so that she seems almost to glow. In Solo – Maliphant’s original creation for her – she embodies the spirit of Flamenco, her arms like waves in counterpoint to the stomps and curls of the feet. She has an effortless control of her limbs, pushing them onwards, upwards in seamless legato motion.

Maliphant too is an extraordinary performer, though one senses that the gruelling touring may well be weakening him. In Shift he dances with himself thrice, his shadows towering over him, before diminishing within him and in Push he is together with Guillem. There are moments in the work when it is almost traditional in its classical manners – the way in which as a Danseur he seems to bow before her – and this is emphasized by Guillem’s glorious classical sheen. At times Guillem is air-born – held aloft in Maliphant’s arms – at times she and he are of the earth and at times she winds around Maliphant’s torso like a chiffon scarf around his neck, binding the earth and the air. Muscular, sinuous – it is an “Agon” for two of the world’s greatest performers and as such it tests their strengths to the limit. That it continues to look remarkable after multiple viewings, is testament to their continued artistry. May there be more like this, and soon.

Dancers: Guillem, Maliphant

>That it continues to look
>remarkable after multiple viewings, is testament to their
>continued artistry.

I ddn't post after seeing this again at the Coliseum in April - but even there, a bigger stage, a vacuum of an auditorium, this was a show that worked its magic still.