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Ballet PreljocajMay 2002 London, Sadler's Wells by Lynette Halewood |
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The Rite of Spring is a considerable challenge to take on for any choreographer, all that raging power. Preljocaj’s take on this seems to be not the pagan fertility rite, but rather sex. The six couples writhe together, tear each others clothes off, run about in preening display and combat, until one woman finally gets to be stripped naked and thrash about inside a ring of dancers as if possessed, though she fails to finally die at the conclusion of the music. I think we are supposed to find this rather shocking and ‘provocative’, that word so beloved of dance publicists. I didn’t find it shocking, but in many ways rather predictable after the first tem minutes or so, and in its way deeply conventional in its view of male and female sexuality. The women writhe and moan but would never of course make the first move, they have to be chased by their caveman partners, be pinned down and have their clothes ripped off and given a good seeing to. More enthusiastic coupling follows at intervals. It was somehow predictable that it would be a woman who would end up without her clothes – it wouldn’t be a man, would it ? .Ultimately, Preljocaj doesn’t have anything particularly original or interesting to say about carnal urges: he just illustrates them. The dance was intermittently successful in matching the score, with some passages of real power at the darker moments, with some frenzied rolling and slapping of the floor. But the quieter moments in the score seemed to be less well handled, and by the end the degree of repetition in the moves was becoming irritating. The dancers threw themselves into this with the required ferocity and commitment, and it’s a shame that the programme gives no details of them beyond the bare listing of their names. The programme notes I must say are some of the most pretentious I’ve ever read. Here’s a taster, describing the costume designer for Rite of Spring: ‘…he has lent his signature to a highly personal ready to wear collection. He has designed and guided it, instinctively open and generous, yet with a disciplined approach. He does not seek to stand out nor to fascinate. His collections are made to be shared, for pleasure and for communication. He has totally integrated his roots and with that – goes forward. He gives of himself, revealing part of his mystery yet never betraying his being , as if his soul had been screened by the textile itself’. It carries on for another few paragraphs, but you get the drift.
Sadlers was very full in the stalls on the opening night, but, oddly, the cheaper seats upstairs were the most empty I’ve ever seen there. Sadlers refused to open the bar on the second circle before the show as they didn’t think there were enough seats taken for it to be worthwhile. The audience was very appreciative though
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