The Masters Series, Queensland Ballet

Queensland Performing Arts Centre, Brisbane, May 17 and 18 (matinee)

Old politicians are never the ones who die in battle, are they? Jiří Kylián’s Soldier’s Mass (1980) isn’t the only ballet to illustrate that poignant truth but it is one of the most affecting.

With Bohuslav Martinů’s anguished Field Mass (1939) ringing in their ears, 12 young men face war and their fears. They are seen at first swaying from side to side in front of a blue sky with a curved red horizon line (Kylián designed set and costumes). Here they stand, buffeted by fate and heading for a conclusion that is never in doubt.

QB Soldiers Mass. Photo Darren Thomas

Queensland Ballet in Soldier’s Mass. Photo: Darren Thomas

The distinction between the soldiers they are forced to be and the community they once were is constantly blurred as formal battle formations give way to group folk dances and gestures of tender support.

As the dance goes on the sky gradually, inevitably darkens. To the sound of martial trumpets, drums that crack like bullets and a stirring male choir, the men advance and retreat, gather and disperse. They fall then rise and fall again as death repeatedly takes its toll. Individuals emerge momentarily from the pack but are inexorably subsumed back into it. They can’t escape their destiny and you would need a heart of stone to remain unmoved.

Martinů, who was born in Czechoslovakia as was Kylián, wrote this music in 1939 after the Nazis invaded his homeland as an act of support for the Resistance. As Soldier’s Mass comes to its end, red light stains the men’s light-coloured shirts. They take their shirts off and throw them to the ground. They won’t be needing them anymore.

On opening night and at the next day’s matinee the Queensland Ballet men looked spent at the end of this wrenching half-hour, as well they may. They danced Soldier’s Mass with affecting seriousness and purpose, even if the commanding, weighty groundedness of Kylián’s style wasn’t entirely captured by everyone.

QB Serenade. Principal Artist Lucy Green (2)Photo Darren Thomas

Principal artist Lucy Green in Serenade. Photo: Darren Thomas

Soldier’s Mass closes QB’s triple bill. The women of the company (and a few men) open it with George Balanchine’s glorious Serenade, a love letter to the language and history of classical dance. Serenade (1935) is a balletomane’s dream with its references to Giselle, hints of Swan Lake and homage to Balanchine’s own Apollo, made in 1928. And has any other choreographer made fifth position of arms and feet look more radiant? (It’s a rhetorical question.)

Serenade was the first ballet Balanchine made in the US and is famous for its incorporation of errors made by his student cast – a late arrival, a fall. It was reworked several times to reach its current sublime form and is now unthinkable without the floaty, romantic Karinska costumes designed in 1952.

The QB women – 20 of them – were lustrous at both performances I saw, particularly Lucy Green as the Russian Girl in the first cast. The downside on opening night (fixed for the Saturday matinee) was a persistent buzz in the sound system that did no favours to the recording of Tchaikovsky’s Serenade for Strings. There was, unfortunately, no live music for this program.

Serenade and Soldier’s Mass bookended American choreographer Trey McIntyre’s new The Shadows Behind Us, a minor work in which six glamorous couples enact romantic entanglements.

McIntyre’s busy vignettes mix ballet and ballroom and have lots of quirky moves and complicated, often awkward-looking partnering that may have looked more persuasive had there been a better fit between dance and music. It was a treat, though, to be introduced to American jazz singer Jimmy Scott (he died in 2014).

The Shadows Behind Us is set to half a dozen popular songs, given slow, torchy treatment by Scott, who had a condition that delayed his development, leaving him with a voice akin to that of a female alto. The selections include Unchained Melody, Our Day Will Come and, disconcertingly, Exodus, a song written for the film of that name about the founding of Israel.

QB Shadows Behind Us. David Power and Darcy Brazier. Photo Darren Thomas

David Power and D’Arcy Brazier in The Shadows Behind Us. Photo: Darren Thomas

A disconnect between song and dance can be artistically fruitful (as with Merce Cunningham and John Cage) but here the juxtaposition felt inert and immaterial. It made sense to read in the program that McIntyre “doesn’t really listen to the lyrics in pop songs”. The Shadows Behind Us may have been rather more memorable if he had a different view.

The best duo by far is that for two men to Sometimes I Feel like a Motherless Child, danced with a satisfying combination of power and grace by David Power and D’Arcy Brazier (at the first performance) and Pol Andrés Thió and Suguru Otsuka (at the matinee).

The work looks attractive, with its women in knee-length party frocks with voluminous underskirts and men in suits minus shirts.

The Masters Series ends May 25. This is an expanded version of a review that appeared in The Australian on May 20.

Benedicte Bemet’s Giselle

The Australian Ballet, Sydney Opera House, May 8

For many ballet-lovers the second act of Giselle is what brings them back repeatedly and Maina Gielgud’s much-revived production for The Australian Ballet doesn’t let them down. She created it in 1986, which means that more than a few generations of TAB dancers have been schooled in its mysteries. Gielgud’s dedication to and understanding of the soft, ethereal Romantic style is complete and the Sydney season now coming to an end shows that even though Gielgud wasn’t able to oversee these performances – Giselle was a late addition to the program – the women currently in the company (and therefore the audience) have been well served by the ballet staff.

TAB_Giselle_Benedicte Bemet_credit Kate Longley5

Benedicte Bemet as Giselle for The Australian Ballet. Photo: Kate Longley

It’s the first act, though, where a dancer creates the role, not so much through her dancing but her acting: the arranging of her skirt on the bench so Albrecht initially has no room to sit; the “he loves me, he loves me not” plucking of petals; how she tells Hilarion she does not, in fact, return his affection; the way in which her weak heart makes her falter; her reaction to the nobles, and in particular Bathilde, who interrupt the villagers’ harvest celebrations; her reception of Bathilde’s gift of a pendant; the losing of her reason; and much more.

All these moments between the dancing coalesce, or should do, into a whole and believable character, every idea of a piece with the next. (That doesn’t mean Giselle can’t do contradictory things but if she does, they must be understood as part of that young woman’s make-up rather than notions the dancer rather fancies and didn’t want to leave out.)

Principal artist Kondo was TAB’s glorious opening night Giselle in Sydney, reviewed here. A week later I returned to see senior artist Benedicte Bemet in the role.

TAB_Giselle_Benedicte Bemet_credit Kate Longley

Benedicte Bemet in Act I of Giselle. Photo: Kate Longley

Bemet’s Giselle was in some ways quite conventional. It is far from unusual to see the village girl played as very, very young, sweet, pure and innocent. Bemet’s gift is in the detail and her ability to be entirely in the moment. Not to see her thinking, but to see her being. I know this production well and yet in Bemet’s performance the arrival of the Peasant pas couple came as a surprise, as if Giselle had just that instant thought of asking them to dance. This immediacy was evident in her triumphant first Aurora too.

TAB_Giselle_Benedicte Bemet_credit Kate Longley1

Bemet with Cristiano Martino as Albrecht. Photo: Kate Longley

Bemet’s Albrecht was fellow senior artist Cristiano Martino (both were promoted recently), who proved an excellent match. He was an openhearted man clearly intoxicated with Giselle and too young to think about the consequences. The relationship was utterly clear and yes, simple, but not simplistic.

It felt absolutely right. As did, to give one example, a partnering choice in the second act that replaced a difficult lift with one less treacherous. Giselle didn’t float above Albrecht’s head as if about to fly into the aether, a heart-stopping move when achieved flawlessly (bravi Kondo and her Albrecht Chengwu Guo) but disconcerting when not. Here, Martino held Bemet’s waist, raised her vertically, and she softly curved her upper body over his. I have no way of knowing whether this was an artistic decision or a practical one but it felt intimate and loving. Just right for this Giselle and this Albrecht.

Giselle, The Australian Ballet

Sydney Opera House, May 1

Graeme Murphy fell ill earlier this year and was unable to complete his new ballet, The Happy Prince, in time for its premiere in Melbourne, which was to have been in March. It was then to be performed in Sydney (it is now likely to be seen in 2020). Alexei Ratmansky’s Cinderella (2013) and Maina Gielgud’s Giselle (1986) were rushed into the Melbourne and Sydney schedules respectively – safe choices and understandable ones, given both ballets were staged recently.

Giselle 1pm

Ako Kondo and Chengwu Guo in Giselle. Photo: Daniel Boud

Ako Kondo’s gentle, thistledown Giselle captivated from the moment she appeared. She seemed scarcely to touch the ground, levitated by her love for Albrecht. When she went mad she seemed even less substantial, sinking to her knees as if weightless. Kondo’s interpretation was delicately drawn and full of fine, illuminating detail – the shy, brief touching of hands with Albrecht, her quiet awe in the presence of Bathilde, the heartbreaking way in which she told Hilarion she didn’t love him, forced into a declaration her sweet soul shrank from making. Principal artist Andrew Killian is a highly experienced Hilarion who on this occasion appeared much more vulnerable than usual, a portrayal that meshed beautifully with Kondo’s approach.

She undoubtedly benefited from Leanne Benjamin’s insights. The former Royal Ballet principal artist was guest coach for this season.

As always, Olga Tamara was superb as Giselle’s mother. She is marvellous in the mime, which is the audience’s bridge from the first act to the second. It was also good to see the Peasant pas de deux pleasingly integrated into the action. It can often seem rather dull, overlong and extraneous but one felt that Jill Ogai and Marcus Morelli – Ogai in particular – were part of this community. With her natural, earthy quality Ogai would be an interesting Giselle.

Giselle 1pm

Ako Kondo and Chengwu Guo. Photo: Daniel Boud

Chengwu Guo’s Albrecht was danced gleamingly although his acting was less layered in the first act than Kondo’s. The moment when Albrecht recognises the necklace his betrothed, Bathilde, has given Giselle went for little and appeared to be completely forgotten the next second while the upstairs-downstairs relationship with his attendant, Wilfred (Timothy Coleman, excellent), was sketchily rendered. Guo was more convincing in the second act as he tenderly supported Kondo, who was entirely of the air and at one with the melting Romantic style that gives Giselle its enduring appeal.

The women of the company were entrancing as the wilis in Act II and perhaps would have been more dramatically forceful had Nicola Curry as their queen, Myrtha, registered more forcefully herself.

Giselle 1pm

The Australian Ballet in Giselle. Photo: Daniel Boud

During this season of Giselle The Australian Ballet is also performing in New York at the Joyce Theater’s Australia Festival, presenting a mixed bill from May 9-12 featuring three of TAB’s four resident choreographers. Stephen Baynes’s Unspoken Dialogues and Alice Topp’s Aurum will be joined by a new work from Tim Harbour. With part of the company out of town a handful of more junior dancers will be seen as Hilarion, Myrtha and in the Peasant pas at some performances. It’s worth scanning the casting to see who and when.

Giselle ends on May 18.

Verve, The Australian Ballet

Sydney Opera House, April 5

The Australian Ballet’s contemporary triple bill Verve, having a Sydney season this year after its premiere in Melbourne last year, presents works from the company’s three resident choreographers, each with a distinctive style that serves the program well.

Veteran Stephen Baynes, who has held his post since 1995, is a classicist who puts his women on point and on a pedestal. Tim Harbour, who was appointed in 2014, offers hard-edged abstraction. Alice Topp, named a resident choreographer last year, makes work with emotional and sensual appeal. (Each was, or in the case of Topp still is, a dancer with the company.)

Harbour was nurtured through TAB’s Bodytorque new works program – where has that gone? – and so was Topp, with an eye-catching series of works that marked her out as a real talent. She was rewarded with a mainstage work in 2016, Little Atlas. Her latest, Aurum, is a significant step forward.

TAB_Constant Variants Verve_Ako Kondo Andrew Killian Cristiano Martino_photoDaniel Boud (2)

Ako Kondo, Andrew Killian and Cristiano Martino in Constant Variants. Photo: Daniel Boud

Verve opens with Baynes’s elegant Constant Variants from 2007, danced to Tchaikovsky’s Variations on a Rococo Theme. Its world is one in which partners address one another in a courtly fashion and women, who exude an air of containment and mystery, are admired by men as if they are precious jewels.

On opening night Ako Kondo took the role made on Madeleine Eastoe and made something different of it. Jon Buswell’s soft lighting summons thoughts of dim cloisters and Eastoe’s gentle radiance glowed like a candle in the dark whenever she appeared. Kondo has a different kind of appeal – more sophisticated and less knowable.

Harbour’s Filigree and Shadow, first seen in 2015, finishes the night with a frenetic – and, it must be said, formidable – display of athleticism. Eight men and four women stride on and off to a thunderous score by 48nord, looking in spectacular form as they fling themselves across the stage or at one another. On opening night the eye was particularly caught by Dimity Azoury, Jill Ogai, rising talent Shaun Andrews and Brett Chynoweth, who was made a principal artist last year and not before time.

TAB_Filigree and Shadow Verve_Marcus Morelli and Brett Chynoweth_credit_Daniel Boud

Marcus Morelli and Brett Chynoweth in Filigree and Shadow. Photo: Daniel Boud

Topp’s Aurum is inspired by the sophisticated Japanese art of kintsugi, by which broken ceramics are made whole again with gold lacquer. The use of gold honours the value of the original piece and at the same time highlights the damage suffered. The cracks show and become part of the piece’s history. Topp sees an analogy with human relationships. There will be breakages and flaws; and while restoration is possible, nothing will be exactly as it was.

Aurum is danced by five couples wearing simple white garments of Topp’s design. The mood is intense and yearning, supported by the rippling, swelling music of Ludovico Einaudi, a Topp favourite, and Jon Buswell’s golden lighting.

TAB_Aurum Verve_Kevin Jackson and Robyn Hendricks1_credit_Daniel Boud (2)

Robyn Hendricks and Kevin Jackson in Aurum. Photo: Daniel Boud

Aurum is at its best in the smaller moments – a man and woman stand in separate pools of light far from one another and raise an arm in farewell, a woman’s head rests on a man’s chest as if she is listening to his heartbeat, the shadows of two men seem to take on a life of their own, a man leans backwards and a woman cradles his head. When the group dances in unison the effect is undeniably rousing but the meaning less clear than the touching duos danced so tenderly on opening night by Kevin Jackson, Robyn Hendricks, Adam Bull and Coco Mathieson. The first three are principals artists while Mathieson is still in the corps. Her fervent commitment was outstanding.

In a big coup for Topp so early in her mainstage choreographic career, Aurum will be seen at New York’s Joyce Theater next month as part of its Australia Festival, alongside Baynes’s Unspoken Dialogues (from 2004) and a new work from Harbour.

Verve ends in Sydney on April 25.

Bonachela/Nankivell/Lane, Sydney Dance Company

Roslyn Packer Theatre, Sydney, March 27

Bonachela/Nankivell/Lane ushers in Sydney Dance Company’s 50th anniversary celebrations with three works that foreground the dancers. There are appealing but unpretentious costumes and no sets. There are bodies in motion, music and lights, although perhaps a few more blackouts than desirable on one night.

The relative simplicity could be seen as offering a too-limited palette or a strong organising principle, depending on taste. What isn’t open to question is what makes the biggest splash on the program.

As it did when first seen in 2017’s New Breed season, Melanie Lane’s WOOF sweeps all before it. Who knows what the title means? Who cares? Now a touch longer, WOOF ends well before you want it to, testament to its appeal. It gets the job done in 26 minutes and they whizz by as if half that.

WOOF_190325_0033_web_byPedroGreig

Sydney Dance Company in Melanie Lane’s WOOF. Photo: Pedro Greig

WOOF is futuristic in tone and has some kinship with Anne Washburn’s play Mr Burns, which uses The Simpsons as a uniting force in a post-apocalyptic world. Lane’s touchstones are Renaissance art, classical ballet and contemporary clubbing, mashed together as 12 women and men group, splinter and regroup to a score by Clark’s score that starts with cello and inexorably goes digital.

Even at its most eccentric – that would be the hip-swivelling prancing on demi-pointe – WOOF has glamour to burn. No one in the cast exemplified that more on opening night than Chloe Young, haughtily swishing her long, blonde ponytail.

Lane’s vision doesn’t encourage individuality and emotional connection but it is impossible to remain unmoved by her final, transcendent image. Verity Hampson designed the marvellous lighting and Aleisa Jelbart the costumes that slowly take on humanising messiness as blacking on the dancers’ arms and hands transfers itself to their bodies.

Opening the triple bill is Gabrielle Nankivell’s Neon Aether, a trip through space set to Luke Smiles’s fabulously clanking, whooshing, beeping score. A woman dressed in red (Harriet Oxley designed the costumes) is the enigmatic central figure in a piece that evokes the vastness of the universe and our need to engage with it.

NeonAether_190325_0869_hires_byPedroGreig

Gabrielle Nankivell’s Neon Aether. Photo: Pedro Greig

As with WOOF but with entirely different atmospherics and dynamics, Neon Aether shows groups of people gathering and scattering. Some watch others from the shadows; sometimes all are together as a vulnerable group of individuals; at one point all join hands and circle – an image that never fails to summon thoughts of connection and safety. There is overall, however, a strong sense of vulnerability. Ariella Casu seared herself into the memory as the woman in red, alone at the end in hazy light, buffeted by cosmic forces.

Rafael Bonachela’s Cinco – for five dancers, naturally – is a beautifully detailed response to Alberto Ginastera’s second string quartet. Bianca Spender’s airy, fluid costumes and Damien Cooper’s lighting (he also lit Neon Aether) soften the sophisticated astringency of the music.

CINCO_Holly Doyle_Charmene Yap_Chloe Leong_Davide Di Giovanni_Riley Fitzgeralnd WT1_1891_Photo_Wendell Teodoro

Rafael Bonachela’s Cinco. Photo: Wendell Teodoro

While WOOF and Neon Aether encourage some degree of narrative speculation, Cinco is entirely abstract in nature, foregrounding the shapes dancers make, their relation to one another in the space and light and the ways in which movement and music interact. There’s a spectacular solo that, on opening night, displayed Charmene Yap’s creamy plasticity and fierce extensions. But all five – the others on opening night were Davide Di Giovanni, Holly Doyle, Riley Fitzgerald and Chloe Leong – were immaculate.

Nearly half the 19-member company is new this year, not that it shows. The look and feel are indisputably Bonachela’s SDC. He knows how to pick them.

Ends April 13. Canberra, May 2-4; Melbourne, May 8-11; tour to centres in Victoria, Northern Territory, South Australia and Tasmania, May 16-August 17.

A version of this review appeared in The Australian on March 29.

Dangerous Liaisons, Queensland Ballet

Queensland Performing Arts Centre, Brisbane, March 23.

Dangerous Liaisons is not suitable for children, advises Queensland Ballet. Too true. Sex is the currency in this world and there’s a lot of it. In the first few minutes of Liam Scarlett’s new ballet a couple copulates on a coffin, setting the tone for what’s to come.

When Pierre Choderlos de Laclos’s 1782 epistolary novel Les Liaisons dangereuses was first translated into English a frothy-mouthed commentator called it diabolical and disgusting. It remains a lust-driven immorality tale but that’s the least of a dance adaptation’s challenges today.

Dangerous Liaisons

Queensland Ballet in Liam Scarlett’s Dangerous Liaisons. Photo: David Kelly

This is a gorgeous-looking production (Tracy Grant Lord designed) and the beautiful bodies at QB are fully up to the task of conveying louche behaviour. Less easy is teasing out the twists and turns of a complicated set of intertwining goals, even in this slightly simplified version of Choderlos de Laclos’s merry-go-round.

Scarlett handles the broad outlines stylishly in the first new ballet he’s made for QB since becoming artistic associate in 2017. Vicomte de Valmont and Marquise de Merteuil, decadent, destructive aristos with far too much time on their hands, put their heads (and other body parts) together to amuse themselves and deliver retribution for perceived slights.

Merteuil wants revenge on the Comte de Gercourt, the man with whom she had eye-popping congress at the funeral which opens the ballet: she has sex over her dead husband’s body, if you will. But Gercourt quickly moves on, soon becoming engaged to sweet young thing Cécile Volanges. Merteuil is not pleased. What would please her is for Valmont to make a fool of Gercourt by bedding Cécile. If he does that, Merteuil has a little something for him.

Dangerous Liaisons

Alexander Idaszak as Valmont and Laura Hidalgo as Merteuil. Photo: David Kelly

The attraction between Cécile and the Chevalier Raphael de Danceny gives Valmont and Merteuil even more opportunity for meddling. At the same time busy Valmont has his eye on Madame de Tourvel, who is staying with his aunt and presents an irresistible opportunity for seduction. Tourvel’s reluctance only makes her more attractive.

For her part, Merteuil has a sheaf of sexual partners or prospects. How she feels about them depends on desire, whim or advantage in the game she and Valmont play so enthusiastically.

Staying true to Laclos’s structure, Scarlett weaves the writing, sending, intercepting and receiving of letters into the fabric of the dance. Whispered confidences and lurking figures in the background add to the texture of a hot-house society that can’t get enough of intrigue and secrets.

Not everything is made clear enough, particularly in the plot-heavy first act. There was more than one confused soul in the audience wondering who was doing what to whom and why. As the synopsis is at pains to point out, Valmont’s prize for deflowering Cécile is one more night with Merteuil, with whom he was once intimate. How does one convey that kind of specificity in dance? And the scene in which Valmont gains entrance to Cécile’s bedroom needs major rethinking. Cécile is required to be surprised, reluctant, ravished swiftly and wanting more within far too few minutes. And was her mother preparing virginal Cécile for pre-nuptial dalliance? Surely not, but it definitely looked like it.

Dangerous Liaisons

Rian Thompson as Danceny and Yanela Piñera as Cécile. Photo: David Kelly

There are, however, juicy parts for a large number of dancers, even though the production itself is relatively small – there are 11 named characters and eight minor, unnamed ones. The thought occurs that Scarlett could have with profit put a few more household servants on stage (the reverse is true for his over-busy Frankenstein). Dangerous Liaisons is a work where watching, overhearing, lurking and gossiping have meaning.

As Dangerous Liaisons is a co-production with Texas Ballet Theater – there are no performance dates announced at this stage – the choreographer will have a chance to take another look.

Scarlett appears to have been much influenced by Kenneth MacMillan’s Manonbut he also creates splendidly individual movement languages for his protagonists. Merteuil and Valmont, who is the very definition of a fox in the hen house, grapple lasciviously, slink and prowl. Tourvel is the picture of radiant openness; Valmont’s valet Azolan a lively accomplice to his master; Cécile shy and innocent; Danceny youthful and ardent.

Valmont is also a generous patron of prostitutes, for whom Scarlett has fashioned a steamy, over-long scene. It gives the women who play servants something else to do in the ballet but the writhing does rather go on at the expense of better story-telling elsewhere. That aside Valmont is a marvellous role. Even more so is that of the ultimately destroyed Merteuil. She gets to wear the most ravishing frocks in jewel tones too (a particularly glamorous gown featured an underlay of acid green – just the right colour for this hardened schemer).

I saw Dangerous Liaisons at its first matinee, which featured principal artists Lucy Green as Merteuil and Victor Estévez as Valmont. There are no images available of them because they were third cast, which gives some idea of the depth in the senior QB ranks. I have no doubt Green and Estévez were the equal of the first two pairings. At the matinee principal Camilo Ramos was the gleeful Azolan and senior soloist Kohei Iwamoto romantic Danceny but they, like other leading dancers, take on more than one role during the run. QB artistic director Li Cunxin requires his dancers to take on big workloads and to be strong and adaptable actors.

The score was arranged by British composer and conductor Martin Yates from a large number of works by Camille Saint-Saëns and does its job splendidly, although “arranged” seems too weak a word for the achievement. As Yates writes in the program, he has created a new symphonic score from this material.

Queensland chamber orchestra Camerata is in the pit with QB’s music director Nigel Gaynor at the helm, although the ensemble could perhaps be better described as a small symphony orchestra for this season given there are more than 40 players. It sounded wonderful.

Dangerous Liaisons ends in Brisbane on April 6. Gold Coast, Cairns, Toowoomba and Mackay, June 14-July 6. The regional tour will be performed to recorded music.

A version of this review first appeared in The Australian on March 25.

Sydney Dance Company, New Breed 2018

Carriageworks, Sydney, November 29.

Holly Doyle’s sweet, sad, funny, goofy, utterly captivating Out, Damned Spot! is exactly why Sydney Dance Company’s New Breed exists and why it works. Doyle doesn’t have an extensive choreographic resumé but did have a big hit in this year’s annual season of short new works. She has an original voice worth nurturing.

NB2018_OutDamnedSpot_311_hires_byPedroGreig

Sydney Dance Company in Holly Doyle’s Out, Damned Spot!. Photo: Pedro Greig

New Breed falls happily between the glare of the mainstage, with all the attendant presumptions and expectations, and the studio settings where dancers are often seen trying their hand at choreography. New Breed participants are given top-quality, although carefully restricted, resources and have the great advantage of being seen at Carriageworks, a place whose raison d’être is the experimental and the new.

From its inception in 2014, New Breed has given opportunities to outside choreographers as well as SDC dancers and those independent dancemakers are almost always far more experienced than the company members. That decision by SDC artistic director Rafael Bonachela has paid off. The bar is set high and it’s gratifying to see that, mostly, the SDC dancers make a very good showing indeed.

It’s no surprise, though, that the two New Breed works that have made the jump to one of SDC’s mainstage programs – Gabrielle Nankivell’s Wildebeest and Melanie Lane’s WOOF – are by independent artists. Wildebeest was in the first New Breed program in 2014 and was part of 2016’s main SDC season; WOOF, from last year’s New Breed, is on the big stage in 2019  and will be seen alongside new pieces from Bonachela and – hooray! – Nankivell.

It’s worth noting, too, that Larissa McGowan’s wildly enjoyable Fanatic, staged during SDC’s 2013 season, came out of a showcase for new work that Bonachela included in his 2012 Spring Dance festival at the Sydney Opera House.

In short, female contemporary choreographers rock. One could note that they are far from achieving parity with men if you look at Bonachela’s mainstage programming over his decade at the SDC helm, but he hasn’t pretended there isn’t a problem and he’s working on it. The showcase in which McGowan took part was an all-female affair, as is this year’s New Breed. People have to be seen to be noticed.

NB2018_Telopea_181129_158_hires_byPedroGreig

Telopea, choreographed by Janessa Dufty. Photo: Pedro Greig

And so to New Breed 2018. Doyle and Janessa Dufty came from SDC’s dancer ranks and were joined by independent choreographers Prue Lang and Katina Olsen. All the pieces were relatively modest in scale, using five or six dancers and nothing in the way of a set, but each had a strong, clearly expressed, individual style.

Doyle’s Out, Damned Spot! began with five people shambling on to the stage, mumbling. They were wearing hazmat suits, or something vaguely resembling them. For these women and men the thin, transparent material seemed to be more psychological crutch than anything remotely useful against dangerous substances. At the same time there was a gallant, sporty vibe going on as the group split and regroup, sometimes breaking into exaggerated dance or gymnastic moves. Whatever they were doing, it was them against the world, trying to save themselves from pollution of all kinds – external and internal.

Out, Damned Spot! was surprisingly moving and, even better, was a work that never signalled what it was going to do next.

Dufty and Olsen – she was formerly with Bangarra Dance Theatre – presented heartfelt works that drew on nature for spiritual nourishment and inspiration in very different ways. The shapes in Dufty’s Telopea, made for a woman and four men, echoed that of the flower and fecundity and regeneration were at the heart of Ariella Casu’s striking central performance. Singing live, the score’s composer, Tobias Merz, added to the warm glow of piece that was attractive but a little too conventional in form to linger long in the memory.

NB2018_MothersCry_181129_420_hires_byPedroGreig

Mother’s Cry, choreographed by Katina Olsen. Photo: Pedro Greig

Olsen’s Mother’s Cry was a lament for a lost planet but also consoling in its vision of female energy, wisdom and unity. There was the possibility of a different future when the six women of the cast gathered closely together, pulsating with life. The deliberately slow start to Mother’s Cry was wonderful. Olsen refused to rush, and in this one could see elements of her Bangarra background and her Indigenous heritage. Time is given its due as the fourth dimension; stillness is pregnant with anticipation; there is beauty and meaning in watching and waiting. In movement the women were both of this world and beyond it – sensuously physical but mysterious.

Prue Lang also looked ahead in time and space with the tautly constructed and coolly cerebral Towards Innumerable Futures. The well-travelled Lang is a long, long way from being a neophyte and her experience was abundantly demonstrated in the assurance and elegance of her construction.

Three women and two men were dressed almost identically from top to toe. They sported severely bobbed hair, form-fitting pants, slightly blousy tops and sneakers, and could possibly have served at some point on the Starship Enterprise in an anonymous capacity.  Lang constantly redefined the space and the dancers moving robotically, mathematically and enigmatically within it. They managed passing moments of connection but you’d place your money on the machines winning.

NB2018_TowardsInnumerableFutures_022_hires_byPedroGreig

Prue Lang’s Towards Innumerable Futures. Photo: Pedro Greig

Alexander Berlage was the expert lighting designer for all four pieces; Aleisa Jelbart created the brilliant costumes that so eloquently illuminated each choreographer’s vision. The music, all of it newly commissioned, was weighted towards atmospheric, drone-heavy electronic soundscapes. Ah well. It’s a change from the days when baroque faves or the works of Arvo Pärt were ubiquitous in contemporary dance.

As always the dancers were SDC company members, doing each choreographer great honour. It was particularly touching to see Doyle in Lang’s piece and the radiant Dufty in Olsen’s. A terrific night.

Ends December 8.