RB 'Swan Lake' reviews RB 'Giselle' reviews 'Marguerite' reviews 'Tryst' reviews Cojocaru in reviews Kobborg in reviews Hatley in reviews recent RB reviews

Bringing a company the size of the Royal Ballet to Australia is a massive undertaking however one looks at it. In fact it is becoming increasingly uncommon for full companies to visit Australia other than as guests at major annual or biannual festivals, such as those held in Adelaide, Melbourne, Perth and Sydney. Even in these cases it is sometimes not the full company that comes, as was the case with the visit by New York City Ballet to the Melbourne Festival in 1997 when half the company came, the other half fulfilling a similar engagement elsewhere in Asia. More often than not festival visits are also exclusive to the city of the festival with exclusivity often built into the festival contract. Or, if it a major ballet company visits outside an important festival it is with something like a big arena production such as the Swan Lake and Romeo and Juliet brought respectively in 1999 and 2001 by English National Ballet.

The arena-style production and the exclusive festival event fulfil specific functions and have their own importance in the scheme of things, but are a long way from the kinds of tours that were more common in Australia in the 1950s and 1960s before the festival became such a ubiquitous part of the theatre-going scene, and before cash-strapped companies turned to the arena production as some kind of economic necessity. One feature of the older style tours was that companies didn’t share a theatre complex and didn’t have to compete with a bunch of other performers and events. Nor did they exhaust audience capacity with two or three shows and then leave till the next time. They were able to take up residence, show off a repertoire and become, if briefly, part of the dance-life of the city before moving on to do the same in other cities.

In Sydney in June 2002, the Royal Ballet did just that. The company settled into the Capitol Theatre, an old lyric theatre with a seating capacity of a little over 2000, which was restored in the 1990s to its former (somewhat over-the-top) early twentieth-century glory. The theatre is in the heart of Sydney’s Chinatown and, more so than the Sydney Opera House complex and the Sydney Entertainment Centre (home of the arena production), the Capitol is part of a regular rather than tourist area of the city. The surrounding streets hum with daily life (not always of the most salubrious kind) and the activities of the theatre become not so much an extraordinary event as a part of that city life. Even the gentleman who runs the specialty delicatessen opposite the stage door of the Capitol was regaling his customers with his thoughts about the Royal’s season.

The company stayed long enough, too, to present a repertoire that enabled audiences to see both something of the company’s history and something of its future: Swan Lake and Giselle to give a sense of the great classical tradition and to display the company’s approach to full-scale productions, and the mixed bill of works by Ashton (Marguerite and Armand), Tudor (The Leaves are Fading) and Wheeldon (Tryst) to show the company’s own British heritage as well as possible future directions.

That the company and its dancers seemed to be participating in the cultural and social life of a city, offering a sense of excitement and an arena for talk and discussion, is a wonderful boost for the art form and for those who follow it. But more than anything the Royal Ballet’s Sydney season was remarkable, and absolutely rejuvenating, for the strength of the dancing and acting and for the attitudes to production.

What struck me most forcefully throughout the Royal’s Sydney season was the quality of the dancing, in particular the ability of the dancers to engage the audience through expressive use of the upper body. Every one of the Royal Ballet’s dancers seems to understand that dance is a physical art not a visual one, and that every movement, small or large, should fill space and reach out to the audience. I loved that I could see volume in the simplest moves. Marianela Nunez, for example, can open her arms through first position to second and I can see the trajectory of the arms and the chest lift and expand as the movement occurs. So simple, yet so rare. I also loved that heads followed arms, that bodies dipped and swayed in a fulsome way, that the dancers used epaulement well, that steps had generosity. I loved that the choreography often seemed to be in slow motion - in Tryst in particular - because every part of it had such clarity. It is such a pleasure to see dancers moving in this way, as though their movements actually feel good on their own bodies and that they love that feeling. Why be a dancer if it doesn’t feel good?

A bit more specifically, I loved those swans in the corps in Acts II and IV of Swan Lake who ran across the stage with the chest leading. Not all of them did it in this way, which gave the corps a bit of a ragged look at times, but those who did underwent a transformation. That pushing forward and upward of the chest, with the accompanying lengthening and slight pull backwards of the neck, harmonised with the line of Yolanda Sonnabend’s long swan dresses with their deep V-front. Costume, body and movement became extensions of one another and a remarkable double image of long-necked-swan/sensual woman was set in place.

Something else that stuck me with some force was the classicism of these dancers. It was especially noticeable in Leaves and Tryst. They are such different works in so many ways, yet choreographically both put classical movement side by side with less classical movement. Leaves has overtones of folk dancing, Tryst turns bodies upside down. And when these non-classical movements are so noticeable so too are the classical passages, by contrast if nothing else. The Royal’s dancers have beautiful, pure, unfussy classical line. It is especially noticeable when sitting slightly off centre in the auditorium where it is easier to watch how, in arabesque for example, the pelvis tilts forward, the spine moves forward over the supporting leg, the back lengthens and the arms arrange themselves in a balanced way. Wonderful classical dancing! I was smitten.

I was also moved by the way the Royal Ballet is able to tell such a good story. Sylvie Guillem aside – and what a powerfully dramatic performance she gave in Marguerite and Armand – the Royal ballet dancers speak plainly. In Giselle when Hilarion comes downstage and compares the markings on the hunting horn and those on the sword he has obtained from Albrecht’s cottage there is no doubt what is going on in his head because it shows on the body. Even in the extended passages of mime, which are unmistakable features of both Swan Lake and Giselle, and which are often much less complex in productions by other companies, including those by the Australian Ballet, there is clarity of gesture and strength of message. Personally I prefer the mime passages to be slightly less complicated, but that’s a separate issue and doesn’t detract from the potent narrative I felt was being projected in the mime sequences.

This story-telling ability shows itself too in the way the dancers take on a role, in the way they connect with others on stage and project their characterisations into the auditorium. Is it because the company dances Ashton so much that they are able to be people rather than cardboard cutouts? Whatever it is it is such a joy to watch dancers behaving like the story is real to them.

Such a season!

The Highlights...

To die for: Alina Cojocaru’s double attitude turns in Giselle. So turned out, so light, so controlled. Divine.

Partnership of the season: Alina Cojocaru and Johann Kobborg in Giselle and Leaves. This partnership looks good physically and Cojocaru draws out a tenderness in Kobborg that adds an emotional dimension to the technical strength of the partnership.

Favourite moment: Belinda Hatley giving an audible whoop of excitement before launching in to a joyous, absolutely irresistible Neapolitan dance in Swan Lake.

Australian moment: Leanne Benjamin’s deliciously playful but very mature interpretation of the central pas de deux in Leaves.

Non dancing moment: The backcloth/lighting in Tryst, which had all the dramatic and expressive qualities of a Mark Rothko painting.

Most annoying comment: ‘Darcey Bussell fell over in the fouettes in Swan Lake on opening night.’ (What happened was that she turned 27 or 28, went for a big finish, did a triple pirouette, had too much momentum but couldn’t go for four, finished slightly off balance and ended the sequence with a bit of a hop as she put her back foot down). But what attack! She was ferocious.

Favourite comment: ‘I had the two best cries I’ve had for years.’ (On the Cojocaru/Kobborg Giselle).

Disappointment: Neither Jonathan Cope nor Massimo Murru as Armand could match the intensity of Sylvie Guillem’s Marguerite..

Dancer to watch: Corps de ballet dancer Lauren Cuthbertson who made her presence felt in a soloist role in Tryst.