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Had other circumstances prevailed London could have seen the world premiere of Irek Mukhemedev’s Spartacus in the Albert Hall. However an opportunity to travel 6,000 miles to see Hong Kong Ballet was amply justified by the production notwithstanding the difficulties faced by a small, company in less than ideal conditions. It is too subtle and detailed a work to be swallowed up by the broad brush of an arena ballet, although it would be exciting in a smaller-scale in the round venue. As one may expect of one of the greatest exponents of the role in the Grigorovich version and an intelligent man of the theatre, Mukhemedev’s production makes up in choreography and dramaturgy what it lacked in company size, experience and facilities.

Mukhemedev goes to the roots of the original (now lost) Jacobsen production in that he uses the Rafaello libretto, well-known in the Soviet Union, and interesting elements of the original score. The libretto fares better than the score which, although works as set pieces, loses the original leitmotif and natural progression by mixing and cutting much in the same way as the Seregi production (originally produced in Hungary and now danced by the Australian Ballet). The luxury of an orchestra may possibly smooth some of the sutures but it still has the capability of making the pulse race even when recorded.

Irek Mukhamedov in the Hong Kong Ballet studios
© Conrad Dy-Liacco

The passage of time makes snippets of film and photographs of the original Jacobsen production seem rather like a dated Hollywood Biblical epic; the set seeming to overwhelm the dancers and the attempted naturalism looking painfully creaky. This production restores the attempt of the original at representation with great success. Charles Cusick Smith’s set is terrific, creating both grandeur for the Colosseum and a sense of claustrophobia for the gladiators’ quarters. The opening and interval cut out cloth of a gladiator’s mask looms over the audience and was the cause of several appreciative comments amongst the audience during the run. The centrepiece of the set is undoubtedly a stunning skull gauze which is lit to great effect throughout to emphasise the all-pervasiveness of death and reminds us from the very beginning that there will be no happy ending. The skull appears to be etched into the very fabric of the wall and the use of gobos and depth of lighting make it appear to transmute and dissolve in an almost hallucinogenic manner. This is a society where death is very much at the forefront of everyday life: the writing, or in this case the image, is quite literally on the wall.

There were some production problems; the width of the rather cinematic Sha Tin Town Hall stage displaying the sagging of the skycloth, poor flying technique resulting in clunking, bouncing cloths and some strange lighting cues, particularly during the last performance. However they were more than offset by the energy and obvious commitment of the dancers, not least Eryck Brahmania who took over the role of the second cast Spartacus to great effect at very short notice.
 

Spartacus (Eryck Brahmania) is revolted by the lack of respect for human life
© Conrad Dy-Liacco

From the opening mis en scene, the structure of Roman society is immediately apparent. Patricians mix with freemen, the mothers of whom shield their childrens’ eyes from the soldiers and slaves. The use of the Saturnalia (Supplementary Number 4 on the Algis Zhuraitis Melodia recording) is utterly apt for the grotesque decadence of Sulla and the senators; how marvellous to hear these long hidden sections from what was originally four hours of music. Stephen Jeffries trod a successfully fine line between caricature and character, setting the scene for Sulla’s death at the end of Act I which itself drew a parallel between the overstuffed complacency of the Roman regime and the threat that Spartacus posed.

The strata of society is literally lined up for view in the Colosseum. The fights in the arena are heart stopping, bodies dragged off unceremoniously as they are dying. As the first gladiator dies, the remaining nine close in, with perfectly tense music, to see if he will arise again and attack. One’s mind fills in the missing blood-and-sweat soaked sand and groans and cheers of the crowd as, one by one, the gladiators kill and are killed to leave Spartacus as the sole victor. The gladiator who threatens Sulla is dispatched swiftly by the ever-present military. Just one gladiator is left dying slowly upstage as the black cloth flies in to reveal Spartacus as an individual for the first time.
 

Sulla (Stephen Jefferies) and his wife Valeria (Faye Leung) are giving a party at their apartment, Egyptian Slaves dance as part of the entertainment.
© Conrad Dy-Liacco

It is Spartacus the man that shines throughout. His horror at the carnage in the arena is tempered by his young, masculine pride at being the victor, lauded by his peers, the populace and the patricians. There is a bitingly ironic moment when Crassus is about to congratulate him but is interrupted by the celebrations of the townspeople as they hoist Spartacus onto their shoulders and claim him as their own.

Grigorovich’s Spartacus embodies the horrors of slavery as he wraps his chains around his neck in despair and resolves to escape and find his wife. Mukhemedev’s Spartacus comes to his realisations in stages, more of a man, less of a symbol. Once the taste of victory is over, his options back in the training school are narrow - one day he will not be the victor but the vanquished. After the gladiators’ uprising, the destruction and appropriation of the emblems of authority were a disturbing reminder of recent events in nearby Bishkek when young men took over the Kyrghiz parliament building. Once free, Spartacus is able to fantasise about his life as a man, dreaming about Sulla’s widow Valeria until he is finally able to consummate his love in an all too brief encounter, a tender and beautiful pas de deux with subtle lifts and gentle intertwinings.
 

Crassus (Liang Jing) and his courtesan Evibida (Jin Yao) in HKB's Spartacus
© Conrad Dy-Liacco

The sexuality is apparent throughout, whether in the largely unrequited dreams of Spartacus or in Evtibida’s seductions of Crassus, Spartacus and Crixus. The pas de deux are beautifully constructed and present several challenges to the dancers. At all times, the choreography serves the storyline, Evtibida being casually rolled over by the feet of her bored lover Crassus, a move echoed later in her death as Crassus steps callously over her dying body. This too is Evtibida’s tragedy; she is trapped in her position as courtesan as much as Spartacus was trapped in his position as a gladiator. Her treachery and scheming are limited tools for exercising control over her life and give rise to some sizzling dancing, especially from Jin Yao in the first cast. The pas de deux where Crixus is tragically seduced would make a wonderful gala presentation, almost a balletic Apache. Who can blame Crixus for choosing the promise of a full life and fail to contrast his desires with Spartacus’ lonely position as leader?

There are lighter moments. The five satyrs in particular deserve mention. Bacchanalian delights who bump, grind and balletically conga their way in the arena and at Sulla’s villa to the delight of the audience. There is also a rather over long section danced by Egyptian slaves. It is a little puzzling that Mukhemedev chose the Dance of the Nymphs (Side 6 Number 21 on the Algis Zhuraitis Melodia recording) rather than the Egyptian Dance (Side 1 Number 4). This might perhaps have been an opportunity for several dances using a wider variety of music available. He did however, as did Grigorovich, pick up on the conscious Greek elements in the music which is most apparent in the dances between Spartacus’ men and the shepherds. There is a particularly pleasing double rond de jambe en l’air, kneeling motif initiated by Crixus and Spartacus that develops into a company finale for Act II.
 

Spartacus (Nobuo Fujino) challenging Crassus (Liang Jing) to settle matters in single combat
© Conrad Dy-Liacco

Valeria is presented with a dramatic challenge in realising her role; she is set apart by her position as Sulla’s consort and this is illustrated neatly by Mukhemedev’s use of piqués and delicate pointe work. She is then set apart by being fantasy image for Spartacus in all but one scene. Both Faye Leung and Crystal Costa made the most of their opportunity to develop a character in the encounter pas de deux. It is not to the detriment of the production to draw comparisons with Giselle, particularly at the end as Valeria bourées on the Appian Way with the mourning women. The decision to cut the requiem and end with the image of the thousands crucified along the spine of “Italy” enabled Spartacus to be seen again in context or rather, not be seen as his body was never found after the final battle.

The elementary emotions arising from sex, death and life make this production as raw as Hemmingway’s bull ring, the choreography as dense and intense as anything McMillan produced. Grigorovich is one to watch if you want to learn the lessons of Spartacus’ political importance (and have a jolly good sniffle); Irek Mukhemedev’s is the one to watch if you want to get inside the skins of the characters and gain some understanding of the human achievements and dilemmas faced by the seemingly immortal warrior.