tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70972472131101843052024-03-06T13:37:22.269+08:00Fly on the Fourth WallReviews of the Singapore, London and New York stages and where else the wind blows melynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15864437871228457537noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7097247213110184305.post-12235507720875069962017-05-28T09:24:00.002+08:002017-05-28T10:01:24.784+08:00Strapless: A Failure of Narratives — Royal Opera House, 23/25 May 2017I'm a big fan of Christopher Wheeldon's work. Which is why I'm dedicating an entire review to try and unpack why Strapless irks me so.<br />
<br />
<b>Strapless' Two Narratives</b><br />
Strapless tells two stories — that of Sargent's repressed fantasies, and Amélie's salacious outing. The story opens on Sargent painting Pozzi, where the audience spies traces of his true sexual orientation in the tender way he positions Pozzi. Amélie enters soon after, and Pozzi is passed over to serve as her plot device, by sleeping with her and laying the groundwork for her debauchery. In the following party scene, we are introduced to Sargent's relationship with Albert, and have a fleeting development in Amélie's plot as she decides to commission a work from Sargent.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://cvj1llwqcyay0evy-zippykid.netdna-ssl.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/dm-strapless-natalia-osipova-edward-watson-touch_1000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://cvj1llwqcyay0evy-zippykid.netdna-ssl.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/dm-strapless-natalia-osipova-edward-watson-touch_1000.jpg" data-original-height="775" data-original-width="800" height="310" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Parallel storylines for Amélie and Sargent. Source: DanceTabs</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Next we come to the pivotal moment of the piece — where Sargent can only muster inspiration by imagining Albert in the place of Amélie. This presumably is what causes him to paint her strapless, his brush tinged with a lingering lust. Finally, at the piece's premiere, all goes to hell and Amélie's reputation is tarnished, while Sargent walks away unsullied. It is this contrast (I assume) that is meant to carry the emotional weight of the piece.<br />
<br />
There are two main reasons why the narratives fall short of their emotional promise: a lack of stakes, and an absence of touchpoints between the two storylines.<br />
<br />
<b>Insufficient Stakes</b><br />
The first error is mostly committed by Sargent's storyline — where there are never any stakes established for his potential outing. Perhaps one is to assume the backdrop that being gay was a grievous social transgression then, but the dangers of this are never made clear in the piece. Sargent flirts quite casually with both Pozzi and Albert, such that you assume his impunity from the beginning. Hence the unfolding of events in the ballet have almost no bearing for him — it becomes a terribly banal, straightforward story of Just another day in the life of John Singer Sargent.<br />
<br />
The stakes seem clearer for Amélie, as a socialite with all her standing to lose. However, right from the get go, Wheeldon establishes her as an adulterer, indicating that she was perhaps already well on her way to becoming a pariah. The stakes of the painting itself are therefore brought lower, when her eventual outcasting appears inevitable.<br />
<br />
Consequently, for both Amélie and Sargent, the audience is never able to truly invest in the rise to the climax and the fallout from it, as there are simply no relevant stakes at play.<br />
<br />
<b>Inconsequential Touchpoints</b><br />
The second key way the piece suffers is that the narratives fail to effectively interweave. For two narratives to do so, they should share touchpoints that serve as a turnkey for both — such as (1) both undergoing the same initiating event but arriving at different outcomes; or (2) both starting from different places to come to the same eventuality. Such interweaving allows two divergent stories to resonate, where the audience gains a greater appreciation for the significance of factors in one story because of the counterexample provided in the other. In the case of Strapless, the audience must ideally walk away with an understanding of what factors in Sargent's life enabled him to escape the fate of social exile that Amélie could not.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://cvj1llwqcyay0evy-zippykid.netdna-ssl.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/dm-strapless-matthew-ball-edward-watson-natalia-osipova-duet_1000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://cvj1llwqcyay0evy-zippykid.netdna-ssl.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/dm-strapless-matthew-ball-edward-watson-natalia-osipova-duet_1000.jpg" data-original-height="549" data-original-width="800" height="219" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ineffectively intertwined. Source: DanceTabs</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Unfortunately, Strapless only manages a superficial tethering of the story lines — where as much as both characters appear in the same time and space, their stories fail to interweave in any way that is material to the trajectory of each.<br />
<br />
For example, while Amélie and Sargent may begin with the same touchpoint of Pozzi, whom both use as an object of sexual desire, their interactions with him do not appear to be the reasons why Sargent's and Amélie's fates diverge, since both had illicit dalliances with him. Therefore, Pozzi serves as an effective foil to establish who the characters are, but does not serve the purpose of starting the characters on meaningfully divergent paths.<br />
<br />
More likely, the cleaving event is meant to be the painting itself — the third scene, where Sargent substitutes Amélie with Albert for inspiration. However as much as this (supposedly) may be a pivotal moment for Sargent, where he perhaps embraces the truth and immutability of his feelings for Albert, this moment has no meaning for Amélie. She is merely a prop in this revelation for Sargent, and as such her own journey makes no progress.<br />
<br />
I wonder if Wheeldon in fact meant this, where the weight of the story lies in how Amélie's fate was simply collateral damage in another man's selfish satisfaction. But to make this of consequence to Amélie's narrative, he has to show just how much this event matters to her — perhaps by removing her as the third wheel in the pas de trois, and elevating her half of the story with a solo, where she rejoices at the painting's completion, assuming it will only bring her greater social stature.<br />
<br />
<b>An Inexplicable Conclusion</b><br />
Ultimately, because of these various shortcomings, the audience is never able to understand why the painting matters at all. The stakes that it is meant to be invested with are never well established, dulling the purpose of the story. Furthermore, the story is complicated by two narratives which are unable to bring each other any closer to meaning — but again, with no stakes at play, there simply is no meaning to hammer home. Consequently, Strapless really has nothing to say.<br />
<br />
There are a couple of ways I suppose the piece might have been fixed. Certainly, the dichotomy of Sargent's and Amélie's fates... the seemingly unwarranted furore over a simple strap, etc. are fascinating raw material. If Wheeldon is still hoping to anchor the piece on why their fates diverged, he might perhaps consider the answer that Amélie's adulterous misdeeds were well known, while Sargent's were not. He might then have built the corps around them to indicate that the public was more aware of one than the other, such that the blame of the piece reflexively fell to Amélie in the end. Rather than building up Amélie's social capital (e.g. through her solo prior to the unveiling) only to artificially contrast her downfall (because the audience knows she was an adulterous pariah already), the piece might focus on how Sargent and Amélie managed the public's perceptions of them quite differently.<br />
<br />
Or, they could have simply pulled a <i>Symphonic Dances </i> — and built moves that flow so seamlessly with the music, and are so intoxicating to the senses, that no one could bother any less about a story that begins with a bold overhaul of gender norms, only to end with surprising misogyny. (I shall get to you later, Liam Scarlett. Perhaps.)lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15864437871228457537noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7097247213110184305.post-56529588833505622422017-01-29T07:05:00.000+08:002017-04-08T04:36:52.645+08:00Layers and Permutations of Lises and Pauls -- Les Enfants Terribles, Barbican Theatre, 27-29 Jan 2017<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.theartsdesk.com/sites/default/files/images/stories/DANCE/Jenny_Gilbert/Les%20Enfants%20Terribles.%20%C2%A9ROH,%202017.%20Photographed%20by%20Bill%20Cooper..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://www.theartsdesk.com/sites/default/files/images/stories/DANCE/Jenny_Gilbert/Les%20Enfants%20Terribles.%20%C2%A9ROH,%202017.%20Photographed%20by%20Bill%20Cooper..jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Source - <a href="http://www.theartsdesk.com/sites/default/files/images/stories/DANCE/Jenny_Gilbert/Les%20Enfants%20Terribles.%20%C2%A9ROH,%202017.%20Photographed%20by%20Bill%20Cooper..jpg">The Arts Desk, Bill Cooper</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
This piece confused me.<br />
<br />
So I would have been fine if it was meant to be an eclectic pastiche of pretty sights and sounds. But with director cum choreographer Javier de Frutos intimating that each of the 4? 5? Lises and Pauls were supposed to represent different facets of this doomed sibling duo, I kept looking for deeper meaning in the clash of identities, only to constantly come up empty.<br />
<br />
It was fairly simple at the beginning, where the different pairings of Lises and Pauls adopted much of the same characterizations, flirting innocently and then dangerously in the bathtub together. All pairs had the same costumes, the same props, the same steps, and I could deal with this nice colouring around the edges of each character, which was quite à la Matthew Bourne's <i>Song Without Words</i>. (de Frutos clearly has a knack for painting a scene with movement, able to deftly control the ebb and flow of motion, and accentuate subtleties in the score.)<br />
<br />
But the moment Jennifer Davis and Gyula Nagy come on stage, singing Philip Glass' very literal libretto, they cannot help but strike an extremely different note from the dancers around them. Their threads of the storyline are transparent and pointed in a way that the dancers' motions cannot be, and so they end up drawing much of the attention. Thus as much as the publicity posters and the order of the curtain call try to tell me otherwise, Edward Watson and Zenaida Yanowsky are not the key players of this piece.<br />
<br />
In some ways, I can see how they were designed to be so. Though Davis and Nagy are literal and obvious, they are flatter because of it. One can suppose that in contrast, Watson and Yanowsky represent the deeper and more fascinating subconscious of the characters that are both aware of and conflicted about the true danger of their game. Davis and Nagy portray childish petulance from start to finish, but Watson and Yanowsky express delicious love, malice, regret, despair, insanity. However all of this is shunned to the sidelines, obscured behind other performers, or simply done away with too quickly. Even when they <i>are</i> the highlight, their choreography is far too poised and statuesque to be as earthy and real as the characters they supposedly represent. So if they are indeed meant to be the richer body of the piece, this is done quite ineffectively.<br />
<br />
Regardless, the question of who carries the meat of the storyline is moot by the end of the piece, because as time goes on each performer acquires such different movement, props, and costumes that keeping track of what the point of it all is becomes a bit hopeless. As such, my fancy flitted to the one stable character of the piece -- that is, Jean Marc Puissant's gorgeous set. It mostly comprises a fairly minimalist set of 5 sliding walls with modular steps, but onto these are projected beautiful displays that range from a whimsical sideways Eiffel tower during Paul's sleep walk, to a trypophobia-inducing collage of eyes during the children's first game. To be fair however, it does brink on over-busyness just like the rest of the piece -- where the performers are constantly shifting set pieces, picking up errant socks, or locking down a shaky wall mid-choreography. It was even the source of a full-on interruption of the performance on premiere night, where one wall piece wouldn't budge and the scene had to be repeated from the beginning.<br />
<br />
All in all, maybe the point is to confuse. Or the point is to walk away flooded with a nice mélange of sights and sounds. But I can't help but think that with a story as poignant as <i>Les Enfants Terribles</i>, I should at least feel something by the end of it. And in particular, knowing what the combined dramatic prowess of Watson and Yanowsky might have done in different hands, the most coherent feeling I leave with is sadly one of disappointment.lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15864437871228457537noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7097247213110184305.post-101771059367522492016-06-13T04:13:00.000+08:002016-06-13T15:58:38.205+08:002x3 > 6 at the Obsidian Triple, Royal Ballet, 11 June 2016<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s not often that I’m in London long enough to enjoy two
casts of the same show. So it was a delight to discover that in watching both
Obsidian Triples on the Royal Ballet’s last day of the season, I got to see
what felt like 6 entirely different pieces.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://static01.nyt.com/images/2016/05/31/arts/31mcgregorA/31mcgregorA-master768-v2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://static01.nyt.com/images/2016/05/31/arts/31mcgregorA/31mcgregorA-master768-v2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image credit: Andrej Uspenski</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Obsidian Tear</i>,
Wayne McGregor’s new piece, swung my opinions the most from
cast to cast. In the matinee, led by Lukas Bjørneboe Brændsrød, Nicol Edmonds
and Benjamin Ella, the story came across as one in which Brændsrød and Ella
were lovers, torn apart by society. Their movements were complementary; their
pas de deux conversational. <o:p></o:p></div>
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However in the evening’s performance, led by Matthew Ball,
Calvin Richardson and Edward Watson, Ball and Richardson presented a striking
similarity in physique, which suddenly implied that they were two halves of the
same person – with Richardson the tender hearted core of Ball, which he
eventually could not live without. Compared to the afternoon’s portrayal, their
movement geometries were much more alike, and their interactions more of
self-recognition than of love.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
My second viewing also had the advantage of familiarity – I
was able to follow more of what was happening, and soon discovered the unique
characterizations of the different dancers. Some have mentioned Watson as a
type of devil character encouraging Ball to abandon Richardson. However there was
an interesting nuance to this, where it was Eric Underwood whom Watson first
incited, in a very intimate pas de deux where he literally rubbed his influence
off on the former. Underwood was then the one who marked Richardson, ultimately condemning
him. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The other key revelation of the evening’s version was Calvin
Richardson – an astonishing young spark who gave a remarkably honest and brave
performance. He embodied McGregor’s choreography perfectly, finding its
softness in a way I’ve not seen other Royal Ballet dancers able to do before,
and grounding the moves in an emotional truth. I am very much looking forward
to seeing him again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7257/26703108713_137161877c_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7257/26703108713_137161877c_b.jpg" width="279" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image credit: Dance Tabs</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The interpretations in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Invitation</i> were also wildly different between afternoon and evening. It
surprised me how much there is to the ballet – it gets unfortunately
shortchanged in summary when the description jumps to the rape scene.
Ironically, it was that scene which was the least poignant for me, because of
the far more engaging and intricate character developments that preceded it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thomas Whitehead’s Husband in the afternoon was your classic
perverted sociopath – not shedding an ounce of feeling from start to finish. He
only knew possessions, not emotions – and The Girl was to him like a porcelain
doll to be added to his chilling basement collection. He touched her tenderly
at first, careful not to damage the packaging – then finally decided To hell
with it, this one I actually want to enjoy, and ripped apart the packaging like
a rabid dog.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Olivia Cowley also gave a notable interpretation of the Wife
in the afternoon. It could be her likeness in age and demeanour to Yasmine
Naghdi, but I immediately saw The Girl buried inside her Wife. She had a
strange look of recognition upon seeing her Husband’s interaction with the
Girl, appearing to know from the start exactly how events would unfold. Her pas
de deux with the Boy felt like a reminiscence to a time when she herself was innocent, and she was merely trying to recapture a young love that was never afforded
to her. God, that hurt to watch.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Instead of reopening old wounds, the evening’s performance
cut entirely new ones. Its brand of anguish was rooted in how the poison of a
loveless marriage could come to destroy the innocence in its path. Gary Avis
and Zenaida Yanowsky portrayed a Husband and Wife whose pursuit of an outward
decorum had left all their arguments unresolved, festering into a deep mutual
hatred. Their disdain for one another was apparent from the moment they entered
– as Avis sauntered callously away mid-introduction, you could cut Yanowsky’s
irritation with a knife. The hatred was spread thickly onto their pas de deux,
as they pushed each other away as violently as propriety would allow. These two
incredibly powerful dancers brought so much history and subtext to their
partnership, even when standing still, that I truly felt the urge to tell them
to slow down and stop yelling at each other.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Boy and Girl then entered into this mire, and the
resulting interplay was remarkably rich. Vadim Muntagirov soaked up Yanowsky’s
predation with such painful innocence; and Yanowsky’s pride was palpable as she
lured him in. Hayward flitted haplessly from Muntagirov’s clumsy affection to
Avis’ serene gravity; and Avis became increasingly amused by her flirtations,
repeatedly shaking his head subtly to both chide her and express his disbelief
about his growing power over her. It was a treatment so disturbingly gratifying
that despite the occasion, I began to grin widely, suddenly beside myself with
admiration for this magnificent company.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
With Yanowsky, Avis and Hayward in particular adding so much
texture to their interpretations, there was simply too much to take in. At some
point, after trying desperately to watch the Wife watching the Husband watching
the Girl watching the Boy, I had to give up. What I can capture within my
limits as an audience member is far smaller than what these artists give on
stage; and what I can put into words, even less. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7110/26714538994_311141379b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7110/26714538994_311141379b.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image credit: Royal Opera House</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I lie – I actually only saw 5 ballets, because <i>Within the Golden
Hour</i> was so surprisingly soporific that I tuned out equally in the afternoon
and evening performances. Both casts were stellar of course in their execution,
but something just didn’t hit home with Christopher Wheeldon’s choreography. It could be
the God-awful costumes, as has been commented – but for me it was largely the
lack of an underlying movement theme. Nothing keeps the piece together – it is
simply a series of charming, but underwhelming, vignettes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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Anyhow. Dear Royal Ballet: I will miss you sorely this summer, even
more than I already miss you from living oceans away. But come hell or
highwater, I will always find my way to Covent Garden.<o:p></o:p></div>
lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15864437871228457537noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7097247213110184305.post-45418942444149545272016-06-11T07:25:00.001+08:002016-06-13T03:10:01.446+08:00Fascinating New Feelings at The Winter's Tale, Royal Ballet, 10 June 2016<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://cvj1llwqcyay0evy.zippykid.netdna-cdn.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/04/dm-winter-edward-watson-zenaida-yanowsky-compassion_1000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://cvj1llwqcyay0evy.zippykid.netdna-cdn.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/04/dm-winter-edward-watson-zenaida-yanowsky-compassion_1000.jpg" height="255" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image credit: <a href="http://dancetabs.com/2016/04/royal-ballet-the-winters-tale-london-2/">DanceTabs</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
At about 30 odd viewings and counting, this ballet really should not surprise me. Yet it not only did; it recaptured me wholeheartedly and brought me to the edge of my seat, wringing my hands until they paled.<br />
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Back in its 2014 premiere, <a href="http://www.flyonthefourthwall.com/2014/05/the-winters-tale-royal-opera-house-1-8.html">I was already won over</a> -- in fact, it was that very ballet that reawakened this blog, to give words to the many emotions that were overflowing from me, out of the theatre, and onto Bow Street. But since then, The Winter's Tale has been doing some very interesting evolution -- bringing out more of the emotional complexity that I loved in the original, resulting in an interpretation that is now far more human, far richer and beautifully <i>uncomfortable</i>.<br />
<br />
The thing most clear now is how flawed Leontes is. Before, he came across as simply mad, which, to be honest, was a characterization almost too vanilla for Edward Watson. His anger and jealousy were unwavering, but because of that, uninteresting. In this new run, however, these emotions slowly grow on him. Watson doesn't rise straight to a gut-clenching, arm-twisting fervour in his solo -- instead, he is visibly cautious, confused as much as he is angered by the possibility of Hermoine's infidelity running through his mind. Even as he accuses Polixenes and Hermoine, he backs off every few steps to tease that perhaps he has calmed himself and is thinking clearly once more. He keeps vacillating in the conclusion he has drawn -- such than when he finally reaches for the knife, his murderous intent feels like a clear <i>choice</i>, not something he was driven to in a frenzy.<br />
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Consequently, Leontes becomes highly unlikeable. Before, he was just plain mad, to an almost forgivable degree. I mean, it happens to us all the time -- something snaps, everything becomes a blurry red haze, and we emerge on the other side friendless, childless, wifeless (or something to that effect). But for him to actually have a moment where he considers the baby, stirring hopeful excitement from Paulina; or for him to stare long, hard and almost gentle at Hermoine during her plea -- well then it makes me hate him to the core when he finally condemns his wife regardless. He is weak and unkind -- his actions resulting from a shallow need to preserve his pride.<br />
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Not only do I despise Leontes, it appears none of the other characters can stand him either. No one can bring themselves to smile at him throughout the ballet. Paulina turns her head away in disgust as he walks past her during the trial; Polixenes leans reflexively to run away when their paths cross again. Mamillius too (played again by the increasingly mature Joe Parker) clearly knows which parent to sidle up to.<br />
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Even the end is discomforting in this respect because it is clearly not a redemption for Leontes. It's been 16 years already but Hermoine is still disdainful of him -- she repeats her pleading arabesques almost to test if he is still the same insecure bastard inside. It is so much to Lauren Cuthbertson's credit that this scene sits as unsatisfyingly as it does -- she is now the one to vacillate whether she will hate him or tolerate him for the sake of their daughter. Zenaida Yanowsky (of course, that magical creature) likewise imbues Paulina with that uncomfortable tension, where it is clear that at not one moment does she forgive Leontes, nor is she trying to help him through a difficult time. There is no care in her embrace or her cradling of his head -- there is only a deeply buried rage that she has turned into resignation, to do a great duty of love for Hermoine, and transform him as much as possible into a better man while she waits in hiding.<br />
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Thus tonight, I am left full of angst. And I absolutely love it.lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15864437871228457537noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7097247213110184305.post-55337629190999672572016-01-13T21:37:00.003+08:002016-06-13T16:30:03.582+08:00ElizabethEvery time I leave a ballet, I marvel at what it has done to me. Some do a little, the worst do almost nothing at all, but the best -- the very best -- render an undeniable transformation. I write reviews as some attempt to capture this change; it is a desperate compulsion I feel after each piece to explain what I have experienced, that I might process why it engaged me so, and perhaps even pen it in a way that someone else might engage vicariously. But in many ways there is a necessary structure to this, a manner of informative exposition that pithily captures what occurred on stage, but so poorly captures what occurred inside me.<br />
<br />
As such, this review, I write for myself. But perhaps, it is written for you too. Here is what it feels like to watch <i>Elizabeth</i>.<br />
<br />
The quiet before a performance is one of my most favourite parts. Almost anything can happen. And even if you know what's supposed to happen -- who enters when and what the choreography is -- this is the point at which you surrender judgment, logic, thought, experience. In the social contract of the theatre, you give yourself to the performers, and enter the unknown. Raphael Wallfisch takes his place in the darkness on stage right, and Zenaida Yanowsky, Sonya Cullingford, Laura Caldow, Julia Righton and David Kempster arrive at their opening positions centerstage. Then, just before the first word is spoken, the first note struck or the first movement made -- in Wallfisch's poised bow and Yanowsky's parting hands -- I see a glimpse of where they will take me and the thrill of it is nearly giddying.<br />
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The story quickly unfolds, and I take in everything that Will Tuckett is saying to me. The language is foreign and fast but I grow to decipher it. I learn to toggle my attention between dancer and actor; I learn to connect them with the ticks he has given both, where Cullingford and Yanowsky wring their hands in the same way; I learn his syncopation of the movement between Yanowsky and Carlos Acosta, where in solos and even in pas de deux, they always mirror or wait on the other's move -- discovering this means that Elizabeth and her lovers are always out of phase.<br />
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I learn it sooner than I realize, suddenly able to translate his movement into not only thought, but feeling. I'm grinning the way Yanowsky is as she coyly references her bedroom affairs, or frowning the way Acosta is as his proposal is rebutted. My whole body tenses as Yanowsky watches the she-wolf Lettice Knollys, relaxes as she finds a nook in Acosta's neck to rest in, then soars as he lifts her in a pas de chat across the stage. My body has found an empathy with the movement -- and with that comes a power which is no longer in the hands of the choreographer or performers. Empathy is the point at which the audience takes over to multiply every emotion seen on stage by a hundredfold, with the joy and pain we have had in our own lives.<br />
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It is the authenticity of the performer that can bring the audience here -- one who is selfless enough in their performance to give everything to a character, and in so doing, give it away. Some dancers take the journey alone, creating a vision that the audience can find beautiful and admirable, but cannot live. But that is not the case with these performers, and especially, <i>especially</i>, not with Yanowsky. They bring the entirety and gravity of the characters' intentions into every part of their body as they move. Merely a glimpse in their direction and I cannot tear away, caught in the wellspring of emotion they have triggered.<br />
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And just when I am most deeply in their hold, Tuckett brings the piece around full circle. This point exists in almost every piece -- a special juncture at which it turns around and reflects upon itself, ready to unravel its true meaning and bring the weight of its message down upon the audience. As Acosta and Yanowsky dance their last two pas de deux, they replay much of the same movements from their scenes before. Elizabeth tries to revive Devereux's limp body to hold her the way others had; Acosta kisses a dying Elizabeth's hand as Dudley did, bringing a final rejuvenation that gives her the peace to let go. The symmetry of these scenes are their source of amplification, echoing the depths of what Elizabeth has lost and learnt to live with. There is far too much to speak about in these final moments of the ballet, as the volume of emotion I have built up through its course collapses in on itself.<br />
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The time here is both incredibly cacophonous and incredibly quiet. In the intensity of the emotion I find a space I rarely have the chance to visit. Not in the daily goings on that move too fast for emotions to be had let alone understood, nor even in the times of reflection where trying to understand an emotion somehow distorts it. Here, in the darkness of the audience and the light of the stage, I feel like someone has shaken me by the shoulders and told me who I am. I feel like I have been asked many deep and piercing questions that I haven't had the time to process, and I have answered as viscerally as I can through emotions I did not know I possessed. I feel like my mind has connected to my heart through a path I never knew existed, sending a shock through the rest of my body. I feel I've been helped to finish a sentence I never thought I had to say.<br />
<br />
And then the moment ends, the lights raise, and the magic is broken. Yet it is somehow even more magical to realize it was made by the human hands that take their curtain call in front of you. I am exhausted, content, exuberant, refreshed, and I leave the theatre somehow more certain of who I am.<br />
<br />
<br />lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15864437871228457537noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7097247213110184305.post-87024380785688267992016-01-10T22:26:00.002+08:002016-01-13T21:38:39.565+08:00Elizabeth, Will Tuckett, Linbury Studio Theatre, 8/9 Jan 2016<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/royaloperahouse/23619901044/in/photostream/" title="Zenaida Yanowsky in Will Tuckett's Elizabeth © ROH, 2016. Photographed by Andrej Uspenski"><img alt="Zenaida Yanowsky in Will Tuckett's Elizabeth © ROH, 2016. Photographed by Andrej Uspenski" height="400" src="https://farm2.staticflickr.com/1666/23619901044_57e78642f8_h.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-right: 1em; margin-top: 1em;" width="300" /></a>
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This winter, the dark and austere Linbury Studio Theatre is an unlikely window into a beautifully painted picture of the life of Queen Elizabeth. With a small but powerful team, Will Tuckett brings <i>Elizabeth</i> to life through a stunning trifecta of movement, music and text. </div>
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Zenaida Yanowsky fills the room with Elizabeth's regality from the moment the piece begins, pacing hastily onstage with her posse in tow. In her posture, expression and intricate regalia, she is an immediate queen. Yet this is swiftly undone as we dive straight into Elizabeth's last days. Laura Caldow, Sonya Cullingford and Julia Righton provide a powerful narration of Elizabeth's failing health and final lamentations of loves lost, which Yanowsky visualizes with desperate reaches, empty gazes and aching backbends. The portrait of a proud but exhausted and lovelorn queen emerges, as Tuckett lays the foundation to tell her story through the relationships that have tried her so. </div>
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Scene by scene, we are taken through each affair -- from Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, to Duc D'Anjou of France, to Sir Walter Raleigh, to Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex. Carlos Acosta dances all of these in turn, instinctively infusing every character with a unique presence and style of movement. Dudley is warm and gentle towards Elizabeth, D'Anjou is foolish, Raleigh is pompous and Devereux severe. Acosta transitions effortlessly through this gamut of personalities, and whether he is curving his body with a shy and sheepish grin, or beating his chest with a rallying cry for rebellion, he is a consummate entertainer.</div>
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/royaloperahouse/24222014086/" title="Zenaida Yanowsky and Carlos Acosta in Will Tuckett's Elizabeth © ROH, 2016. Photographed by Andrej Uspenski"><img alt="Zenaida Yanowsky and Carlos Acosta in Will Tuckett's Elizabeth © ROH, 2016. Photographed by Andrej Uspenski" imageanchor="1" src="https://farm2.staticflickr.com/1525/24222014086_93f2e22dec_h.jpg" style="clear: left; float: right; margin-left: 1em;" width="40%" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script>
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Each of these men captures and breaks Elizabeth's heart in increasingly deeper ways. It is ever captivating to watch Yanowsky as she transforms Elizabeth through each transgression. At first she is young and love is trivial, shrugging off the notion of marriage and letting Dudley's betrayal slide off her back. She is above love -- wedded to her kingdom, as Cullingford narrates so, and Yanowsky casts an imposing silhouette caressing her coronation ring. But she soon succumbs deeply to love upon meeting D'anjou, whose charming and ingenue ways soften her heart, only to cripple it when he dies in battle. A beautiful change in the architecture of the piece happens here -- the older Righton takes over from Cullingford as Elizabeth's voice, the choreography loses all of its cheekiness, and Yanowsky becomes cold, serene and hardened. Elizabeth ages greatly with this loss.</div>
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Then, despite initial skepticism, she lets her guard down and welcomes Walter Raleigh into her life, who turns and betrays her through affairs yet again. And finally Devereux betrayes her through rebellion, forcing her to order his execution. This final loss fills her with regret, which we see embodied in a stunning pas de deux between Yanowsky and Acosta. Elizabeth revives Devereux's body, hoping wistfully to have compromised that she might have enjoyed love. Yanowsky's dancing is beautifully and painfully contradictory, filled with anger at both Devereux and herself, as she leans into Acosta then furiously pushes away. She ends with desperate kisses onto his body, only to have him die once more. The piece then bookends with the repetition of Elizabeth's own death scene.</div>
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The whole affair is a complete symphony for the senses. The actors narrate almost every move, such that the audience both sees and hears directly of D'anjou's innocence as Acosta leaps jovially, or is provided the voiceover for Elizabeth's thoughts as she rages at Raleigh's betrayal. Oftentimes it is extremely direct, with both actor and dancer standing side by side, delivering dialogue through both word and gesture. There is even the occasional interaction between actors and dancers, where Acosta and Yanowsky respond defiantly to information from the actors that both Dudley and Raleigh are married. Through this all, the music provides yet another level of narration, where the masterful Raphael Wallfisch on the cello raises the tension, or baritone David Kempster eases with his voice.</div>
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/royaloperahouse/24222016906/" title="Zenaida Yanowsky and members of The Royal Ballet in Will Tuckett's Elizabeth © ROH, 2016. Photographed by Andrej Uspenski"><img alt="Zenaida Yanowsky and members of The Royal Ballet in Will Tuckett's Elizabeth © ROH, 2016. Photographed by Andrej Uspenski" imageanchor="1" src="https://farm2.staticflickr.com/1661/24222016906_91bff1da64_h.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-right: 1em;" width="50%" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script>
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Yet because of how complete it is, it is also lacking. Almost every thought and emotion is told to the audience, such that there is little left to infer, and because of that, little room through which one can dive deeper into the piece and have it engage deeply with one's soul. Dance, in particular, is something that typically leaves a huge space between then performer and the audience -- and the entire art form is then about the interpretation that is built therein. Even the performers themselves seem somewhat stunted, robbed of the ability to interpret a story in their own way, now that they are given a play by play of which expression to deliver. The most engaging were the pas de deux -- protected islands of just music and movement, that were prefaced by a concept in the text, but then richly interpreted in infinitely more dimensions through Acosta's and Yanowsky's powerful pairing.</div>
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Most of all, though appealing to the senses, there is no overwhelming <i>reason</i> in the piece to separate the dancers and actors so. If one was Elizabeth's inner voice and the other her outward personality, it may have made sense; if one the voice of reason and the other the voice of passion, that would have worked as well. Yet the decision of when to speak or dance each phrase seemed driven sadly arbitrarily, or worse, by whenever a water break or costume change was required.</div>
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As such, the piece is a beautiful one, but one that lives only in the space of 90 minutes, and leaves me quickly thereafter -- a hopeless contrast to <a href="http://fot4w.blogspot.co.uk/2014/11/manon-zenaida-yanowsky-roberto-bolle.html">my last visit to Covent Garden</a>, which a year later, still resonates more strongly then the piece I left last night.</div>
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lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15864437871228457537noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7097247213110184305.post-15021403392230369642016-01-08T11:12:00.001+08:002016-01-08T11:33:55.415+08:00The Nutcracker, New York City Ballet, Lincoln Center, 29 Dec 2015<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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You can tell the quality of a Nutcracker by its snowblowers. In the Lincoln Center, snow doesn't just fall straight down from the rafters -- instead, it is blown gently by fans in the wings, that mix the snowfall into a beautiful flurry. As the corp de ballet posé pirouette and coupé jeté en tournant, so do the bits of snow spin in turbulence. A thick sheet eventually covers the whole stage, capturing Marie and her prince's footprints as they journey toward the land of sweets.</div>
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It's perhaps an odd and superficial way to judge a ballet, yet this level of care and detail is entirely telling of the New York City Ballet's magical production of the Nutcracker. In everything from the staging, to the acting, to the dancing, it is clear that no stone has been left unturned. While I usually can't wait for the festivities of Act I to be done with, I found myself unexpectedly enraptured in the childrens' interactions. Every child had such different ways of teasing one another and reacting with their parents. Some were naughty, some were shy, and you could even see a mini-story unfold as children learnt their lessons over the course of the party. Come the battle between rank and rodent, I was again delightfully entertained. Groups of each broke off into complex tactics, leaping over and pouncing at one another, to the point that I actually began to fret for the Nutcracker prince.</div>
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Once the snowflakes came on stage, the richness of acting gave way to a richness of choreography. Balanchine's gift of visualizing music brings Tchaikovsky's grand score to life, lending a unique emotional quality of mystique and treachery that a winter journey for a small child dressed in a nightgown really should have. As the key changed from minor to major, so did the corps' movements change from frantic to languid. It is stunning choreography that had me at the edge of my seat, straining my eyes to soak in as much of it as possible.</div>
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With its short vignettes and lack of a story, Act II didn't have as much of a chance to set itself apart from other Nutcrackers. The Spanish had flair; the Chinese were sharp and cheerful; Mother Ginger was as horrifying as the day I ran out from under her skirt many lifetimes ago. There were some unique touches however, the most charming of which being the addition of a small flock of confused sheep to the Mirlitons; and the most mind-bending of which being the Sugar Plum Fairy's slide across the stage in an arabesque on pointe. My jaw literally dropped as Gonzalo Garcia, holding Tiler Peck steady in an arabesque, began to drag her slowly across the stage. Her arabesque remained completely steady as her whole body was displaced. It is difficult to describe because it is simply beyond ballet's vocabulary.</div>
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With its debut in 1954, this production of the Nutcracker is said to have sparked off the worldwide trend of staging it as a Christmas tradition, and it is not difficult to see why. Joy flows off the stage with every leap and bound, filling the audience with the spirit of the season.</div>
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lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15864437871228457537noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7097247213110184305.post-78160670337744465292015-09-09T07:27:00.002+08:002016-01-08T11:36:03.592+08:00An American in Paris, Broadway, Palace Theatre, 5 Sept 2015<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The pursuit of education means that for the next year or so, I will have the amazing arts scene of the American East coast as my muse! To kick off the transition, I headed straight to Broadway for <i>An American in Paris</i> as the perfect piece to bridge my British and American artistic experiences.</div>
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The remarkable visuals in this musical reaffirm my faith in the powerhouse trio that is Christopher Wheeldon, Bob Crowley and Natasha Katz. As the set pieces swirl about the stage, amidst projected sketches of the Paris skyline and a sea of dancing Parisiens, I cannot wait for my fellow audience members to know the magic I have known. Crowley and Katz create backdrops that are, as usual, incredibly grand yet never overwhelming. Large wooden boats hang down over a digital Seine at Lise and Jerry's first date; arcs set with triangles conjure the Chrysler building as Henri conjures dreams of Broadway. While at first it seems like every scene has a brand new set, it is really a collection of building facades that have been cleverly permeated and refreshingly lit, and modular walls that form any kind of alleyway or room.</div>
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Within this setting, Wheeldon choreographs like never before. One could hardly guess this is his Broadway debut, as he deftly punctuates script and song with movement. He introduces a unique style of dance that is blend of ballet and broadway -- a kind of pizzazz-laden elegance that flows perfectly from the music, and impresses even in the abstract hilarity that was the gag piece "The Eclipse of Uranus". Wheeldon also makes excellent use of one of my favourite features of his choreography -- small, token moments that have disproportionate volume. This is exemplified best by Lise's introduction, where a single sustained arabesque amongst swaying pedestrians shows immediately how special she is to Jerry.</div>
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However despite the visual spectacle, what I sadly found lacking in <i>Paris</i> was character development, leaving my emotional engagement about as muted as Lise was. Leanne Cope certainly has no trouble singing, yet she was given curiously few lines of song or spoken word. While she spoke primarily with her beautiful lines and winsome lyricism, it wasn't enough for me to understand Jerry's, Henri's, and even Adam's infatuation with her. In addition to this love square, writer Craig Lucas also embellished the story with new characters and motivations, such as Henri's family and their role in the war, or his own secret musical ambitions. While these were well-intentioned touches, which did succeed in lending this adaptation individuality, the amount of time dedicated to pure dancing means everything else must be left rushed or half-cooked. Fortunately however, Jerry Mulligan was duly moulded into an endearing casanova, primarily thanks to a winning performance by Garen Scribner.</div>
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The performance received a standing ovation at its end, something I suspect it gets at most showings, with audience members raving about the beautiful choreography. I gave my ovation surprisingly begrudgingly however, as I left feeling so unlike my Wheeldon experiences of the past. He has certainly mastered the look of a broadway blockbuster, but it was a safe bet on his dance prowess. It is of course a logical introduction, but I look forward to future productions that I'm sure will pack a far more solid punch as he feels his way around.</div>
lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15864437871228457537noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7097247213110184305.post-70252068072600053882015-06-04T18:25:00.000+08:002015-06-05T14:27:53.658+08:00Swan Lake, St Petersburg Ballet, Marina Bay Sands Theatre, 1 Jun 2015<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://irinakolesnikova.com/imgs/photogallery/gall_11/photo_47.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="http://gidbn.sites.caxton.co.za/wp-content/uploads/sites/96/2014/10/swan-lake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img alt="Photo from: http://durban.getitonline.co.za/2014/10/06/st-petersburg-ballet-theatre-returns-south-africa-next-year/" border="0" src="http://gidbn.sites.caxton.co.za/wp-content/uploads/sites/96/2014/10/swan-lake.jpg" height="355" title="Photo from: http://durban.getitonline.co.za/2014/10/06/st-petersburg-ballet-theatre-returns-south-africa-next-year/" width="640" /></a></div>
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I began to brace myself the moment the curtain rose, revealing four pairs of jarringly unpointed feet in petit allegro. I had heard little about St Petersburg Ballet before this, knowing only that they were a <a href="http://www.straitstimes.com/lifestyle/theatre-dance/story/backstage-the-st-petersburg-ballet-theatres-swan-lake-production-20150">uniquely independent Russian company</a>, that their production of Swan Lake had been selling out in Paris and London, and that here too in Singapore I was watching one of two shows they added last minute after the first five had sold out. </div>
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But as the festivities of Act 1 unfolded, and the corps continued to dance and socialise as if all the alcohol just ran out, I sank deeper into my seat, disappointed. Siegfried, too, danced by Dmitriy Akulinin, emerged soon after as a lacklustre prince, competent but not compelling in his execution. It seemed that the company was surviving on hype, and the ever-reliable sales formula of Swan Lake. The strange choice of the Sands Theatre as well, with its popcorn that went decently with musicals and rock concerts, but most questionably with a white swan pas de deux, made the whole affair gimmicky.</div>
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Act 1 did lend some saving graces however -- while the company's men left much to be desired (searing in the memory of piqu<span class="st">é</span>s as gentle as pile drivers), the ladies showed off sure technique and beautiful arabesques. Another standout for me was Andrei Fedorkov as the Jester, who bounded on stage at just the right time to revive the quickly waning energy. His leaps were clean and impressive and his whims charming, and I breathed a sigh of relief. But they were too few and far between -- tired from a long day, I took the shocking liberty of a nap.</div>
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But from this torpor I was jerked awake by Irina Kolesnikova. She presented nothing short of a vision as she made her entrance, arms sweeping mystifying arcs through space and filling the music to its brim. I fell deeply and immediately in love with the rippling of her movements, where every motion literally started from the centre of her being and unfolded towards her extremities -- conjuring imagery of the gentle crashing of waves upon a shore. She was powerful yet gentle, in turn tearing majestically away from Siegfried, or brushing a port de bras tenderly across his face. <a href="http://fot4w.blogspot.sg/2015/03/variations-on-odette-biomechanical.html">For all the hours I’ve spent in Odette’s thrall</a>, watching interpretation after interpretation of the same motions ad nauseum, I was not expecting to be so taken aback by the unique grace and grandeur of her Swan Queen.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Irina Kolesnikova, photo by Konstantin Tachkin</td></tr>
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Her Odette was so entrancing that at the close of Act 2, I thought her Odile would surely fail to impress by comparison, but I was gladly proven wrong. Rather than being a simple puppet of Rothbart’s, her Odile took charge of and took much delight in the trickery herself -- displaying obnoxious relish as she mimicked Odette's dainty poses or egged Siegfried on. She mirrored Odette’s touch to Siegfried’s face, but this time moved in disarmingly close with a withering stare, as if musing “I wonder which part of you I shall devour first”. Her vigorous movement was also the antithesis to Odette’s languid manner – with crisp jumps and brisk fouett<span class="st">é</span>s proof of the range of technical excellence at her disposal. Many a double pirouette decelerated like fine machinery into a slow and controlled third that made my jaw drop to the floor.</div>
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It was these feats and delicate interpretations that almost, but unsuccessfully, masked the absence of a soul in the production – not only in the overall cast, but less noticeably, in Kolesnikova as well. While her movements might have come physically from the heart, they did not emotionally. It was as if she had written a very convincing script with her body, exquisitely designing where each part of it should go, but was miles away as she read it. There was the flinch of panic but not panic itself, the yearning neck of sadness but not sadness itself. The lack of a live orchestra for this traveling production also mean she has likely been perfecting her routine to the same music for quite some time now, which is perhaps why she is so comfortable within the timing but sadly, perhaps also a little jaded. The perfection she yields is almost mechanistic, and it is regrettably the absent sincerity that allows me to walk away from this love affair.</div>
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Furthermore, with the removal of all mime, there was no immersive backstory along the lines of “over there is a lake of my mother’s tears”, and an alternative libretto was used (<i>ETA: a popular one in Russia, it seems</i>) such that Siegfried prosaically saves the day by tearing off one of Rothbart’s wings and beating him with the bejeweled thing. Rothbart’s illusion of evil was already tenuous enough, from having been dressed up in a unitard and bedecked with rubies and galea-esque plume, coming across far less fearsome than flamboyantly fabulous. The kids behind me roared with laughter, and I too struggled to contain it.</div>
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On that note, I left the theatre feeling uncharacteristically tickled, mostly unmoved, but on the whole, still profoundly grateful for the chance to have witnessed Kolesnikova’s exquisite interpretation. With St Petersburg’s small repertoire I can’t imagine she’s been stretched much, and hope for the chance to see her wield her talents in quite different ways in the future. </div>
lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15864437871228457537noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7097247213110184305.post-50450927953004908082015-05-17T19:30:00.001+08:002015-05-19T22:23:45.346+08:00Le Corsaire, English National Ballet, Esplanade Theatre, 15 & 16 May 2015<div style="text-align: left;">
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A whirlwind tale, a desperate romance, bellicose battles and heady harems -- consider me properly swashbuckled by the English National Ballet's triumphant return to Singapore after 46 long years. What kept the company away I don't know, but I hope the cheers and shouts at everything from the simple perfection of crisp double pirouettes, to gravity-defying pas de chats en tournant, will bring them back as quickly as possible. I am not done adventuring with this merry band of buccaneers.</div>
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Le Corsaire is a terrific potpurri of sights and sounds. No less than 3 choreographers and 10 composers are credited in the programme as having added to this work since its inception in 1856, as it fell in and out of favour over time, finally arriving in fine form as Tamara Rojo's first full length commission at the ENB in 2013. The story darts this way and that, following the intrepid Conrad as his love Medora is captured, rescued, then captured again, and rescued some more, in time for them to anticlimactically sink together beneath the seas.</div>
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Each plot twist allows for refreshingly unique choreography, with the pirates clashing swords to their temps levés, or the dreamscape of Pasha's wives bourréing with their flower garlands -- all set against the rich colours and textures of Bob Ringwood's full bodied backdrops. Where the mix of creative wellsprings could have perhaps led to chaos, the result is instead harmonious, with showy choreographic moments complementing more sensitive ones, and measured use of cymbals and clarinets. Perhaps one unifying aid is a generous helping of allegro throughout the piece, stringing everything together with a buoyant consistency.</div>
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I would say most of this harmony however, comes down to how ENB has assembled Corsaire with impressive care. With their interpretation of a light-hearted bumbling Pasha, a cheeky Medora who swipes his staff away, and a useless Conrad who sniffs a poisoned rose not once but twice, one is not lost in the veering story as you feel these are simply the kind of antics these silly pirate types get up to everyday. And with Rojo's request for "a full period production as though it was staged in the 1850s with illusionistic painted scenery", the piece is firmly grounded in a traditional setting that gives it a strong overarching voice. ENB Orchestra's Music Librarian Lars Payne also put much care into reconstructing the original score, and it is in such dedicated touches of authenticity that Corsaire never loses its centre of gravity.</div>
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If ENB proves itself true to form in its productions, so it does as well with its dancing. Every company would appear to have its own signature -- from what I have seen, the Royal's is <a href="http://fot4w.blogspot.sg/2014/05/the-winters-tale-royal-opera-house-1-8.html">its dramaticism</a>, the Paris Opera Ballet <a href="http://fot4w.blogspot.sg/2012/01/paris-opera-ballet-giselle-esplanade.html">its immaculate corps</a>, and now for the ENB, it is an incredible control in their technique. Every single dancer on stage has this in spades, executing perfect pirouettes, holding eternal balances, adding just the right resistance to each adagio, and closing surely and neatly on every single jump -- a degree of core strength I suppose I could have surmised from the costumes' terrific display of abs. I couldn't help but put on my <a href="http://fot4w.blogspot.sg/2015/03/variations-on-odette-biomechanical.html">new found ballet-engineering hat</a> and note that there's also a very unique flavour to their movement, in the form of a distinct deceleration then acceleration at the end of every motion, as if each pose came with a triumphant exclamation point.</div>
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And at the pinnacle of this technical excellence is of course Tamara Rojo, whom I gladly saw not once but twice due to Alina Cojocaru withdrawing for personal reasons. Her reputation precedes her, so there is really nothing more to add other than that I was checking for strings attached to the rafters in the roses she held during her preternatural Act 3 balances, and that I audibly exclaimed "What." after her endless sequence of double and triple fouettés. Not that I could be heard, amongst all the other astounded audience members around me. Just as Medora teased Pasha, so was Rojo teasing Gavin Sutherland's (very excellent) orchestration in her Act 2 solo, in a game of chicken almost, as to who would restart the music or end the balance first. The only short hiatus in my engagement was unfortunately the Act 2 pas de deux, which looked so MacMillan in its choreography, but rendered sadly none of its emotions. Fortunately the weight of the piece wasn't pinned on any real emotional depth, or this would have been the kicker for me.</div>
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Despite Rojo's talent and presence, Isaac Hernández, Cesar Corrales, Yonah Acosta and Fernando Bufalá still nearly managed to steal the show each night. The height of Acosta's pas de chats as Ali was unrivaled, and the number and variation of Corrales' and Hernández tours and battus en l'air were beyond my balletic vocabulary to describe, from my never having seen such a spectacle before. Corrales as Ali on the 16th night was almost giddy with delight in challenging himself to do 10 (or was it 11, or more?) pirouettes, and Bufalá was also not to be outshone as Birbanto on the 15th, spinning like a top with such cool confidence. Corsaire is very much a stunt piece for the men, but Shiori Kase was also remarkable as Gulnare on the 16th, moving easily from quick and sharp allegro to smooth and steady pirouettes -- yet another example of astounding ENB control.</div>
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Rarely does a piece so lift my spirits with the incredible and pure joy of dance. I'll never give up the Royal because of its dramatic bite, but with all the superlatives I just peppered into this review, I daresay ENB has offered up some strong competition for my next visit to the UK.</div>
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lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15864437871228457537noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7097247213110184305.post-7100655638624970822015-03-06T23:28:00.001+08:002018-06-17T23:36:00.868+08:00Variations on Odette: A Biomechanical Review of Swan Lake<div style="text-align: justify;">
After experiencing an amazing bout of ballet in 2014, I was inspired to put together the random skills I have, and offer a fresh perspective on the art form I love most. Friends also started asking about how one might begin to appreciate it, thus here is my best effort to do a very different kind of review -- a <i>biomechanical</i> review -- to lend both new insight and introduction to ballet!<br />
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<i><b><span style="font-size: large;">What Makes a Swan Queen?</span></b></i><br />
I have always loved classical ballet because of its fascinating duality. It is a highly structured art form, with a fixed vocabulary of steps that is centuries-old -- yet within this rigidity is in fact room for incredible flexibility, interpretation and artisty. Shades of variation exist in every performance that can make the audience's heart leap or gut clench, even in works like Swan Lake that has enthralled ballet-goers for 138 years.<br />
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What is it that makes every performance of Swan Lake unique? What makes one Swan Queen garner reviews such as "intensely dramatic", and another "touchingly vulnerable"? How can one dance "with bravura", versus "poise and subtlety"? How is it that audiences talk of discernible 'American' or 'Russian' or 'English' styles? My engineering insides hoped that Biomechanics would lend an answer (...perhaps because to a hammer, every problem is a nail!).<br />
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<i><b><span style="font-size: large;">What is Biomechanics?</span></b></i><br />
Biomechanics can be defined as an engineering study of the human body, where movements are described in great numerical detail. By obtaining data on where each part of your body is at all time, you can determine metrics such as the angle of your knee joint as you walk, or the speed of your arm as you throw a ball.<br />
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Biomechanics has been used in ballet to do everything from research how weight is distributed inside a pointe shoe, to how hip anatomy can affect the maximum height of a <i>développé</i>. Here, I hoped it would lend a new lens through which to appreciate ballet, eyeing out nuances in style that I wouldn't normally be able to perceive as an audience member. Thus, I set out to analyse the biomechanics of 4 magnificent Swan Queens, in an attempt to see what made each one so unique.<br />
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">The Chosen Ones</span></i></b><br />
The first Odette I chose was <b>Zenaida Yanowsky</b>, in the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MucYTES91wI">Royal Ballet's 2012 production</a> of Swan Lake. (As this blog would perhaps betray,) her dancing captivates and moves me in ways that I feel compelled to better understand. Next I chose another much-loved, technically-astounding, Royal Ballet principal, <b>Marianela Núñez</b>, in the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BBz14YvKwZQ">RB's 2009 production</a>. These two dancers would provide an interesting contrast for how styles vary even within the same company.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Swan Queens chosen for analysis: Svetlana Zakharova, Zenaida Yanowsky, Margot Fonteyn, Marianela Nunez</td></tr>
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The next Odette was <b>Svetlana Zakharova</b>, a Russian dancer at the Bolshoi Ballet and La Scala Theatre Ballet, renowned worldwide for her prodigious extensions. Here, her <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQeDE9VUtbk">2005 performance at La Scala</a> would give insight into the difference in styles internationally. Finally, the last choice was none other than <b>Margot Fonteyn </b>of the Royal Ballet, perhaps the queen of 20th century ballet, and one of the foremost ballerinas of all time. The performance I chose dates back to <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XWtOeyB9aY8">1960 at the Royal Ballet</a>, allowing yet another comparison, for dancers in the same company separated temporally.<br />
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<i><b><span style="font-size: large;">Doing the Math</span></b></i><br />
With my Odettes chosen, I dove straight into the analysis. Since this is written more for a ballet audience (or ballet audience-to-be!) I skip through the computational details -- but would love to hear more from you if you have thoughts or questions about it!<br />
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In (very) brief summary, what I did was convert 2D videos of the performances into 3D models of each dancer. I extracted the performances I wanted off YouTube, which was part of the White Swan Pas De Deux in Act 2 -- the first time Odette and Prince Siegfried dance together. I then <a href="http://youtu.be/jflFSdKR8tQ">wrote a programme</a> to break each 20 second video clip down into a series of 100 pictures, in which I could identify a set of key points on each dancer's body. Armed with an arsenal of trigonometry, I used these key points to 'back-calculate' where the dancer would have been in real life, and therefore got data on their joint angles and velocities.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUEEHudLinHfDAc79-lteOgcy9TwLkEcLvo0jzx2cneSZAAOJWu1dIzsjeoc18d19PW5G_vYyDq6gMruXzSXpIkl2Xh2fXAwl3I8HO-WuUwcC7j7Ue7YoRMxNrdwVpGNcEXcZPWYxOJOgo/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-02+at+11.21.35+pm.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUEEHudLinHfDAc79-lteOgcy9TwLkEcLvo0jzx2cneSZAAOJWu1dIzsjeoc18d19PW5G_vYyDq6gMruXzSXpIkl2Xh2fXAwl3I8HO-WuUwcC7j7Ue7YoRMxNrdwVpGNcEXcZPWYxOJOgo/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-02+at+11.21.35+pm.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Locating each dancer's joints manually using a custom-made interface in Matlab</td></tr>
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Suffice to say, it was a Huge Effort. When this kind of analysis is done in <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rpr1SIvL4Gg">sports</a> or <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aO7MPaHMGWs">movies</a>, the athlete or actor is usually wearing reflective markers that help a camera to automatically locate where all their joints are. But with no likely way of convincing the Royal Opera House to add these shiny silver balls to all their costumes, I had to manually 'find' Odette in each video frame, marking what I thought was a knee, elbow, chin, etc.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQRhJytAs2fGMGmB5El7-Wb-by1Kd2DVBaLePS_5Cw8KBzVLYIEdwqv2crcsFbqGgIcUZ5a0lMOpGiANJPiRGFnGEz4vNcBInj-4umQYiwI0ZpS0xhbqlX96mQ72RjkyDq0y3N7bKVOGaB/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-02-01+at+12.54.19+pm.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQRhJytAs2fGMGmB5El7-Wb-by1Kd2DVBaLePS_5Cw8KBzVLYIEdwqv2crcsFbqGgIcUZ5a0lMOpGiANJPiRGFnGEz4vNcBInj-4umQYiwI0ZpS0xhbqlX96mQ72RjkyDq0y3N7bKVOGaB/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-02-01+at+12.54.19+pm.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption">Even Siegfried has trouble locating her</td></tr>
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Mountains of white feathers later, I hope you enjoy the results below as much as I enjoyed making them!<br />
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">The Biomechanics of a Swan Queen</span></i></b><br />
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<b>The Choreography</b><br />
Before even taking a deeper look into the movements, the choreography itself was unexpectedly different between the four Pas De Deuxs. The graphic below helps to show the different steps chosen by each dancer and their approximate timing within the score, in the specific excerpt that I analyzed.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">The steps performed within the chosen extract of the White Swan Pas de Deux, and their corresponding timings in the score.</td></tr>
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In general, all start with an <i>allongé</i> as Odette pulls away from Prince Siegfried. Each turns to varying degrees, with Zakharova also adding a small <i>arabesque</i>. As they move to the next step, the <i>développé devant</i>, Fonteyn goes straght into the <i>développé</i>, while Núñez and Zakharova insert a <i>retiré passe </i>en route, and Yanowsky does a small but distinct fourth. The subsequent <i>cambré </i>into Siegfried's arms is kept largely the same, but with slight deviations in the angle of the body. Fonteyn in particular, does more of a side than back bend, and notably, falls into someone else's arms altogether.<br />
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The final step is again performed quite differently, with Yanowsky and Núñez doing a <i>penché</i>, Zakharova adding a <i>fondu;</i> and the step is absent altogether in Fonteyn's version, replaced instead by a 'loving embrace' with Siegfried. Overall, Fonteyn's excerpt is also markedly different in terms of speed. Back in 1960, the same segment concluded within a speedy 11 seconds -- practically double-time of the other 3 performances!<br />
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These variations in the steps can come about as producers in different companies and eras stage their own versions of Swan Lake -- sometimes editing the choreography to add whole new steps, such as the <i>penché</i> in the modern stagings. Each dancer however, makes their own subtle choreographic choices as well, such as whether to do a <i>retiré passe</i> or a fourth -- so as to adapt the steps to their body type, strengths, or to say different things with their movement.<br />
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Though small, these choices can produce such varied interpretations of the same role, and the resulting story that is told. Yanowsky, with her deeper <i>allongé</i> than the rest, and the effect of cutting her flow of movement as she stops in fourth, comes across as a far more hesitant and skittish Odette than Fonteyn, whose body remains much closer to Siegfried in the <i>allongé</i>, and leans into Siegfried at the end. The resulting impact is a Fonteyn-Odette who is vulnerable, seeking protection; and a Yanowsky-Odette who is far flightier, <a href="http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/theatre-dance/reviews/swan-lake-royal-opera-house-london-2194282.html">"yearning for freedom [in] every step"</a>.<br />
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<b>Joint Range of Motion</b><br />
One of the most common things people identify when watching a ballet is just how high the dancers' legs go. In biomechanical terms, this is known as their joint range of motion (or ROM), describing how many degrees the joint can rotate through. When Sylvie Guillem does her famous <a href="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/474x/b2/3f/77/b23f77baf0c88a9e94778196e5adb257.jpg">6 o'clock <i>developpé</i></a> for example, she's exhibiting a huge hip ROM.<br />
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The following graph shows a sample of the dancers' joint ROMs over the course of this extract of choreography. Note that this is far from comprehensive though -- not only are there hundreds of joints in the human body, each joint has different component angles. Hip flexion, for example, refers to joint movement only in the <i>devant</i> and <i>derrière</i> directions, while hip abduction refers to movement in the plane of an <i>a la sèconde</i>. Neck rotation is the head shaking 'no', while head flexion is it nodding 'yes'.<br />
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Though there's quite a bit of information in the graph, one observable distinction is that Fonteyn has a much lower ROM in her legs than the other dancers. This is in fact the result of a trend which <a href="http://journals.plos.org/plosone/article?id=10.1371/journal.pone.0005023">Daprati et al. at UCL</a> did such an incredible job analysing a few years ago -- where modern dancers' limbs have taken on greater and greater heights, in response to audience's preferences for certain geometric shapes.<br />
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But while the trend has been towards greater leg ROM, it is fascinating to note that Fonteyn had a far more generous use of her torso and neck than today's dancers. She exhibits a greater overall trunk rotation (the twisting angle of the torso between shoulders and hips), trunk flexion (which increases with hunching), as well as increased neck flexion and rotation.<br />
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Looking at the ROM for individual steps also teases out additional insights -- in executing the <i>developpé devant</i>, for example, Zakharova does her reputation for <a href="http://dancetabs.com/2014/07/bolshoi-ballet-swan-lake-new-york/">"achingly long lines"</a> justice, raising her leg the highest at 148 degrees (a good 32 degrees higher than Fonteyn's). Núñez, however, exhibits the greatest split ROM (measuring the angle between left and right thighs) at a full 180 dergrees in the <i>penché</i>, as shown below. What's also clear from the graph is her incredibly expansive use of arms -- a perfect example of the <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/stage/2010/mar/07/marianela-nunez-profile">"sensuous breadth of her upper body"</a>.<br />
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<b>Joint Velocity</b><br />
In some ways, joint ROM is something that can be discerned fairly directly by the audience. More imperceptible, however, is the metric of joint velocity, measuring how fast the dancer's limbs are moving with respect to one another. It's a messy lump of information, but the graphs below give a quick visual summary of each dancer's joint velocities as they come out of the <i>cambré</i> to execute the <i>developpé</i> -- highlighting some unique traits such as how Fonteyn and Zakharova complete most of the motions earlier on in the step.<br />
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<b>Joint "Arrival" and Musicality</b><br />
In looking at joint velocity, I became particularly keen to explore the specific question of joint arrival. How does each dancer decide when to "arrive" at each step, i.e. reduce their joint velocities so as to place themselves in each pose? Do they tend to arrive on the note itself, or after? Does the whole body move as one piece, with all joint velocities going to 0 at once? In a sense it corresponds with the oft-critiqued quality of a dancer's musicality -- which, though <a href="http://www.theballetbag.com/2011/06/09/musicality/">no one really has a definition for</a>, could potentially be seen in a new light with these numbers.<br />
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As it turns out, each dancer rarely came to a complete stop in executing each step -- meaning that while some joint velocities would go to 0, most would only slow down, before picking up speed again to go into the next step. As such I found the 'local minimum' for each value of joint velocity -- referring to the minimum speed that the joint reached when it was near the completion of the step. Again, it's a mass of points, but I've highlighted some joints in colour, and plot them relative to the dotted lines, which indicate when the music is played for each step.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3zqAsSnHa_ABsHvNfPfiUQxyQPy3g5h4bMV3NlX2zYA-_Pi2tWs-i_xoWLe6EsTuNlOKrlxAhxTedtFFs9uXg3qo5tUfTgGBfm9rTiCLri1BIFYVlLVsX4_TkG4XxF-ZOzRgzhXOwX2Xd/s1600/JAM-all(wbg).png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3zqAsSnHa_ABsHvNfPfiUQxyQPy3g5h4bMV3NlX2zYA-_Pi2tWs-i_xoWLe6EsTuNlOKrlxAhxTedtFFs9uXg3qo5tUfTgGBfm9rTiCLri1BIFYVlLVsX4_TkG4XxF-ZOzRgzhXOwX2Xd/s1600/JAM-all(wbg).png" width="496" /></a></div>
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I was fascinated to see how unique each dancer was in their timing and velocities at the point of arrival. Núñez's arrival velocities come closest to zero, meaning that every joint will essentially stop as she moves through the step, even if at different times. She can choose, however, to do more 'transitory' steps, as evinced by her <i>penché</i> where less of her joints come to a stop. As for Zakharova, her joint arrivals tend to be clustered together in time, arriving very close to the note itself, going cleanly from pose to pose -- perfectly mirroring the review that she <a href="http://www.wsj.com/articles/ballet-review-swan-lake-1406069475">"[hits] isolated climactic effects without notable through-lines"</a>. Fonteyn, with her joints that tend to keep moving through the note, is perhaps demonstrating here what contributed to her reputation as an <a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/obituaries/culture-obituaries/dance-obituaries/7285394/Dame-Margot-Fonteyn.html">"intensely musical dancer"</a>.<br />
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And I was most intrigued to discover in this graph much of what has been reviewed of Yanowsky's dancing -- as seen above, her moves ride the tail of each note, where <a href="http://www.ft.com/cms/s/2/8be93b84-392d-11e0-97ca-00144feabdc0.html#axzz3TNNu4two">"the score's impulses [become] her impulses"</a>. Her joint arrivals are also spread out longer in time, perhaps driving other reviews that she <a href="http://www.ft.com/cms/s/2/8be93b84-392d-11e0-97ca-00144feabdc0.html#axzz3TNNu4two">"draws the choreography in beautifully sustained lines"</a>. What is interesting to note as well is that her neck joint consistently retains the highest velocity and never stops, passing through each step independent of the rest of her body -- a feature I began to suddenly see in many of her other performances, now that I knew to look for it.<br />
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">More Than Just The Biomechanics</span></i></b><br />
After all the numbers and graphs I've just thrown at ballet, it is perhaps ironic to say that the very last thing I want to do is bring objectivity to such a beautiful art form. But the fact is that no numbers will ever describe how Fonteyn would somehow command attention in her absolute stillness; how Roberto Bolle, Nehemiah Kish, Thiago Soares and Michael Soames fall deeply in love with Odette; how Marius Petipa formed patterns with the corps de ballet that make the music swell with their energy. This is, at the end of a day, a mere 20 second extract of stick figures, tugging on the coat tails of a 2.5 hour stunning work of moving art.<br />
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My hope is that this biomechanical review gave you some new things to appreciate about ballet! If you're new to ballet, I hope you watch lots of YouTube and eye out which aspect of different dancers' styles jump out at you, and use that as a starting point to find out much more about the art. You can discover a lot about its history and the thought behind each production on the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/user/RoyalOperaHouse">Royal Opera House's fantastically prolific channel</a>. I also love reading others' opinions on forums, blogs or twitter (where you can actually follow the Royal Ballet's run of Swan Lake right now with #ROHSwanLake)!<br />
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"Art is a lie that makes us realize truth" -- and perhaps by seeing it mathematically, emotionally, through others' eyes, one might realize more and more of it.</div>
lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15864437871228457537noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7097247213110184305.post-25145491998331773732015-02-20T10:30:00.002+08:002015-02-20T10:34:04.885+08:00The Sleeping Beauty, Tokyo Ballet, Tokyo Bunka Kaikan, 7 Feb 2015<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.nbs.or.jp/english/contents/OK_tyobar067_eff.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://www.nbs.or.jp/english/contents/OK_tyobar067_eff.jpg" height="400" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dan Tsukamoto and Mizuka Ueno, photo by Shinji Hosono</td></tr>
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A recent getaway to Japan meant I got to catch the Tokyo Ballet performing this classic -- supplementing an Eastern flavour in my ballet diet that's been sadly missing. This production was staged by Valdimir Malakhov (who also danced Carabosse), with Mizuka Ueno as Aurora and Dan Tsukamoto as Prince Desire.</div>
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This review is a light one, mostly because I somehow remained helplessly disengaged throughout the piece. Usually when I've watched a performance, words come pouring out, tumbling over each other in a race to describe the emotions I've just felt and spectacle I've seen. Reviews like <a href="http://fot4w.blogspot.sg/2014/09/the-chorus-oedipus-victoria-theatre-23.html">The Chorus</a> write themselves in the space between ordering and getting my food; ones like <a href="http://fot4w.blogspot.sg/2014/11/cassandra-ludovic-ondiviela-lindbury.html">Cassandra</a>, while sitting on a cold bench in Covent Garden waiting for Manon to start. But other times -- as with this production -- the piece is merely... <i>passable</i>, and offers no easy way for my soul or psyche to enter.</div>
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It's perhaps because I've seen Sleeping Beauty too many times, and there was nothing remarkably new about this production (except for a shockingly pink colour palette). I must also learn to stay away from a ballet I find to be terribly lacking in the dramaticism I usually crave, has a storyline I find completely inane, and that appears to benefit little from varying interpretations. (Perhaps I should also stop watching ballets within 12 hours of getting off a plane.)</div>
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Regarding the dancing, Mizuka Ueno was technically excellent, but she has a style of attack and sharpness in her movements which I somehow felt were unsuited to Aurora, whether in birthday, dream, or wedding mode. I'm probably reading far too much into it but it made Aurora come across very petulant, to the point that I was satisfied when she was pricked and put to sleep. All in all she was great, but simply not my cup of tea in this production.</div>
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Dan Tsukamoto as Prince Desire (/Florimund) was also technically proficient, but I found his performance to be underwhelming. He was stable, had height, confident partnering, but I suppose I've come to expect a certain level of showmanship. The jumps in his solos were clean entrelacés, without the multiple battus often squeezed out of the Prince's short time in the limelight. Even Ueno had the same no-nonsense approach to Aurora's famous balances -- cleanly, but very quickly, transitioning from one suitor's hand to another, with no long grand breath-suspending hold in between, even though it was clear she could have managed it.</div>
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The only one who really caught my attention was Malakhov himself as Carabosse (whom I didn't recognize until reading the programme after, as the star of my much-loved and worn DVD of Mauro Bigonzetti's <i>Caravaggio</i>.) His gestures were evil, alluring, interesting, reaching the distance to my 2nd level seat which none of the other dancers had been able to traverse. Interestingly, I found his curse scene to be almost a second-to-second and sentiment-to-sentiment match to <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q74fEYxMsuk">Monica Mason's</a>.</div>
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As for the rest of the cast, none were too outstanding, especially with the more than occasional premature falling-off-pointe during a pirouette, to the point that my friend expressed "concern for their safety". We found Bluebird and Florine to be standout however, both having a breathtaking lightness and fluidity, but sadly I couldn't decipher who they were from the Japanese programme.</div>
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In conclusion -- that's it, no more Sleeping Beauty for me.</div>
lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15864437871228457537noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7097247213110184305.post-43572409751684453502014-12-31T01:44:00.001+08:002015-01-02T16:08:02.473+08:00The History of Singapore Part 2, Dim Sum Dollies, Esplanade Theatre, 22 Dec 2014<div style="text-align: left;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Dim Sum Dollies: Pam Oei, Selena Tan, Denise Tan</td></tr>
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To cap off a delightful year in the audience, I caught the Dim Sum Dollies, with their new show <i>The History of Singapore Part 2: The Growing Up Years</i>. The Dim Sum Dollies are a trio that began doing locally-themed comedy musicals in 2002, and have become a regular fixture of popular culture here. I'd never seen them before, and was happily surprised to find that their audience had grown from the small Esplanade Recital Studio back in 2002, to weeks of sold out shows on the main stage.</div>
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As the title suggests, this is another autobiographical sketch of our sunny island set in the sea. They run through a quick montage of what apparently happened in Part 1 -- going from the first founding of this 'Singa Pura' (or 'Lion City') by one Sang Nila Utama in 1299, to British colonisation in 1819, World War II, and all the way to our independence in 1965. Part 2 thus starts with the Dim Sum Dollies fawning over the newly elected party, and progresses in high octane energy, colours, singing and dancing, towards our most recent public debates. </div>
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Unfortunately, for a Singaporean, watching a show about Singapore, made by Singaporeans, I found the whole affair surprisingly inaccessible. I have to attribute it mostly to the fact that I simply didn't live through a lot of it. It would seem that many of the historical vignettes were written for an older crowd, who would get a lot of insider jokes that simply hadn't trickled down a generation. Sure, I know Changi airport opened in 1981, but no social studies text of mine really dwelled on the apparently disdainful reactions of neighbouring states at the time, which was what the humour decided to focus on. References to the many public mascots in the 70s and 80s espousing values such as productivity, cleanliness, personal savings, etc. were completely lost on me because most had disappeared from media by the time I was sentient. Hence I likewise spent that segment blinking in confusion as other members of the audience laughed heartily.</div>
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As history moved into more familiar territory however, I continued to find the references extremely random and obscure, and thus decided that much of the problem lay in the writing itself as well. Despite living through, and myself debating in class, about whether to open our first local casinos in the 2000s (for all the revenue but societal degeneration it might bring), I found the jokes to be simply un-amusing, and brought further down by meaningless song verses that sprang out of nowhere in vain attempts to rhyme.</div>
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If the random (or rather, <i>chapalang</i>) historical references weren't an obstacle enough, I ran up against a linguistic barrier as well. The Singlish spoken locally is an amazing mixture of just about every racial group's tongue -- primarily English, complemented with Mandarin, Malay, Tamil, Hokkien, etc. But while I speak it everyday, I unfortunately don't know enough of each language to catch the long phrases the Dollies would break into, and could see much of the audience leaning over to translate jokes to others as well.</div>
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The greatest barrier in understanding this piece however, was one of perspective. In such a short time, Singapore has done a profound number of things. Armed with heady ambition and a wicked efficiency, we've built things, built them again, spawned industries, risen ranks, about-faced from third world to first in under 50 years. The result: a country that has grown faster than our understanding of it. Thus, the narrative or perspective of public issues is so diverse such that when the Dollies talk of Lee Kuan Yew's successes, I truly don't know if they're being satirical or reverential. There are also so many different issues percolating, that when they talk about the protest at Hong Lim Park, I really don't know whether they're referring to the one about foreign talent, or government investment, or LGBT. </div>
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But I digress -- this has now turned into a commentary on Singapore, rather than one on art. Yet, like every society before and after us, is art not the means by which we discover who we are?</div>
lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15864437871228457537noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7097247213110184305.post-12458983937750592862014-12-22T23:39:00.000+08:002014-12-23T08:04:29.482+08:00Mad Hatter's Tea Party (Live Stream), Lindbury Studio Theatre, 18 Dec 2014<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://cvj1llwqcyay0evy.zippykid.netdna-cdn.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/12/dm-mad-turbo-lizzie-gough-tommy-franzen-group_1000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: justify;"><img alt="Photo by Dave Morgan" border="0" src="http://cvj1llwqcyay0evy.zippykid.netdna-cdn.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/12/dm-mad-turbo-lizzie-gough-tommy-franzen-group_1000.jpg" height="282" title="Photo by Dave Morgan" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The cast of Mad Hatter's Tea Party. Photo by Dave Morgan.</td></tr>
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I shall never tire of singing the praises of the Royal Opera House. The company has been blazing such a trail into social media and cinema, spreading an appreciation of the arts through every platform possible. For far-flung-fans like myself, this literally means the world -- where the subtlest emotions on a stage far away can cross the 10,000km distance to move me. I was lucky enough to be in Covent Garden twice this year (for a <a href="http://fot4w.blogspot.sg/2014/05/the-winters-tale-royal-opera-house-1-8.html">Wheeldon Extravaganza</a> and the profoundly phenomenal <a href="http://fot4w.blogspot.sg/2014/11/manon-zenaida-yanowsky-roberto-bolle.html">Zenaida Yanowsky Manon</a>), but ROH further filled the rest of my year to the brim: with live streams of La Traviata, Moved by Myth and the incredibly insightful World Ballet Day. Even something as simple as their Twitter hashtags have helped me to enjoy every show vicariously. Through these efforts, ROH is reaching not only dispersed ballet and opera die-hards, but entirely new audiences as well.</div>
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Their final gift this Christmas season was a live streaming of ZooNation's Mad
Hatter's Tea Party -- the first full length hip hop commission by the
Royal Ballet, which is meant to complement Wheeldon's Alice currently on the main stage. If hip hop and the Royal Ballet sound odd together, Director Kate Prince explains it best: "when the music plays, however you dance, you've just got to respond to how you're feeling." </div>
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In this Alice-verse, our favourite characters are all patients in a mental institution, with an uncannily common experience of a place called Wonderland. The protagonist is Ernest, their therapist, played by Tommy Franzen (whom I came to know from Kim Brandstrup's hauntingly beautiful <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RYlzo9KDgLI">Leda and the Swan</a>). Act 1 has a biographical solo for each character: a possessive pair of Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum dance-battle it out for a rattle, a sultry Queen of Hearts with supposed anger management issues comes off strangely more man-eater than manic, a confused Alice has an identity crisis, and a twitchy White Rabbit has OCD. Corey Culverwell as the White Rabbit was the most impressive of the Wonderlanders -- performing a skittish, neurotic piece of lyrical b-boying that conveyed his exhausting obsessions. With Culverwell just 18 years of age as well, all I wanted to do was give this ingenuous, troubled rabbit a hug. Duwane Taylor's Chesire Cat was another highlight, switching between cool head-bobbing to Reggae, and popping to heavy electronic beats, as he brings his fellow patients to a frenzy.</div>
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In the face of this chaos, Ernest is a bewilderingly useless, if not detrimental, therapist. He plasters a superficial antidote over Tweedle Dee/Dum's possessiveness by giving each a rattle, essentially enables Alice by ingesting her potion and cupcake, and utterly baffles me by drawing a picture of a rabbit to quell the White Rabbit's OCD. I suppose this ineptitude is just what causes his own descent into Wonderland, as he loses control of first the room, then his mind, at the end of Act 1.</div>
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As he unravels, Franzen proves what an authentic dancer he is. His body fights with itself as he tries to stay immune to the insanity, his legs begin moving as if independent of his body as they acquire a taste for Wonderland, and he gnaws at his sweater vest in frustration. He ends Act 1 by moving into a slow mixture of popping, b-boying and general flailing that is truly quite heart wrenching. In the first half of Act 2's garden tea party he comes across completely stoned, dancing with the same intriguingly passive somnambulism that he demonstrated so well in Leda. It truly is as if he's dancing while fast asleep. Finally, he strips off all his clothes just as he strips off reality, exposing some funky polka dot boxers and bumblebee singlet that unlock his inner Mad Hatter, giving in to Wonderland with a joyful abandon. Boy, do I love good dance actors.</div>
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Most integral to the evening's amazing performance is its riveting music. The surprisingly versatile band (with composers Josh Cohen and DJ Walde) invents a unique sound for each character and place, traversing every genre with songs that are upbeat and contemplative in turn, and which you can't help but want to dance to. Their greatest creation is a piece for the Dormouse, here a puppet emerging from a teapot, lamenting about how narcolepsy just gets in the way of life. It was awesomely trippy, and not just because it was 4:30am in Singapore by that point in time.</div>
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All in all, it was an utter delight. While I didn't always understand the characterisations or the storyline, it's a small matter in a piece that's mostly meant to get you pumped up and transport you to the colourful, energetic world of Wonderland. A terrific Christmas gift from ROH. And as if live streaming it wasn't enough, they've also made the whole invigorating performance available on demand. Enjoy it <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X30IuBo76UQ">here on YouTube</a>!</div>
lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15864437871228457537noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7097247213110184305.post-7819413495829560352014-12-12T23:45:00.001+08:002014-12-12T23:50:09.248+08:00Don Quixote, Singapore Dance Theatre, Esplanade, 6 Dec 2014<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.singaporedancetheatre.com/images/sub/performance/2014/headers/Don%20Quixote%20-%20Rosa%20and%20Peng.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.singaporedancetheatre.com/images/sub/performance/2014/headers/Don%20Quixote%20-%20Rosa%20and%20Peng.jpg" height="400" width="285" /></a></div>
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The Singapore Dance Theatre premiered Petipa's Don Quixote last weekend (between them and the Royal Ballet, this is an oddly fashionable Christmas choice this year!), adding their first new full length ballet in seven years. It was staged by ex Royal Ballet Principal Cynthia Harvey (whose dancing I've become quite fascinated with after <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J0X24z4xjVE" target="_blank">a few short clips on Youtube</a>), and Saturday's first cast had Rosa Park as Kitri, and Chen Peng as Basilio (pictured).</div>
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Funnily enough, this is only the second time I've seen the Singapore Dance Theatre in 9 years, despite it being the sole classical ballet company in Singapore. (In fact, the last full length ballet of theirs I saw was one I was actually in...!) The company changed quite drastically in the time that I was living overseas -- seeing a new artistic director, a new generation of dancers, and a renewed focus on local modern choreography. Lacking the familiar taste of the company which I in many ways grew up with, I came back and satiated my dance appetite with younger companies instead, but am now finding my way back to this old friend.</div>
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Unfortunately, I found the reunion sadly underwhelming. I'd never seen or read Don Quixote before, and suspect that a lot of the confusion I felt came rather from the inanity that is Don Q rather than the staging, which is a shame. The ballet appears to run two parallel narratives -- that of Don Q and his intrepid imagined adventures, and the simple story of village love between Kitri and Basilio. The piece tries hard to connect these disparate elements from the beginning by having a prologue scene where Kitri and Basilio somehow find their way into Don Q's sitting room, while pursuing Sancho Panza who is pursuing a chicken. Though the programme booklet took pains to spell this out, I simply could not understand what was happening on stage at all. The other attempt at intertwining the storylines, where Don Q takes Kitri to be Dulcinea, is equally incomprehensible.</div>
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I suppose all these are concerns I really should take up with Petipa. However given that they must make do with this odd backbone of a storyline, I feel like any company bold enough to tackle it must be adept enough to relay the story's subtleties, so as to prevent the whole piece from devolving into a random assemblage of variations. The dancers themselves must make the story and its undercurrent of humour come to life, but SDT unfortunately fell quite flat in this respect. Much of the corps looks nervous and self conscious on stage, and of the leads only Park and Akira Nakahama as Cupid seem to possess the requisite dynamism and lightheartedness of the piece, but it's not enough to carry the rest of the cast with them.</div>
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The company only really began to shine through in Act 2's dream, when all the theatricality had been stripped away. Much as I remember it to be, this is a beautiful and poised company, in that they specialise in the more pristine aspects of classicism. Saccharine sweet flower waltzes, doleful swans and willies, tend (or at least tended) to be much more their thing. The dryads therefore proved much more familiar and enchanting territory. Then in the tavern, the awkward characterisations and waning energy of the corps return, but it is thankfully saved by Park and Chen executing a tickling faked death.</div>
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Act 3 is then also rescued by Park and Chen's excellent wedding pas de deux. Both are technically on point but sadly the same cannot be said for most of the rest of the cast. Throughout the piece there were common trips and misplaced landings, and many even looked disinterested to be there. One of the few who actually possessed visible stage presence was the background but distinctively noticeable Stefaan Morrow, an apprentice with the company whom I look forward to seeing more of in future productions. Singapore's talented dancers have sadly been a rare breed, but this tide is hopefully about to turn, following the new options made available in arts educations and arts careers several years ago. The first wave of that initiative should be graduating now, and it will be very interesting to see the careers they pursue.</div>
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On the whole, I was perhaps too demanding of my evening and couldn't stomach Petipa's classical abstractions, especially after diving straight into it from MacMillan's realisms. All the same I do think it's a good idea for the company to keep its focus on modern choreographies, and wait for a stronger crop of dance actors before attempting the more intricate full length ballets in the future.</div>
lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15864437871228457537noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7097247213110184305.post-69792943110452767182014-11-04T07:54:00.000+08:002014-11-05T08:20:54.697+08:00Manon, Zenaida Yanowsky & Roberto Bolle, Royal Opera House, 1 Nov 2014<div style="text-align: justify;">
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1 November 2014 was truly a night to remember at the Royal Opera House. Ballets like this don't come around very often, and the cheering, stamping, standing audience at the end of the night knew it well. It was a night so amazing that it feels almost vulgar to pin it down to words and dare write about it, yet it must be preserved for posterity somehow.</div>
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Zenaida Yanowsky and Roberto Bolle gave a performance that was beyond description. They wove a love between Manon and Des Grieux that was so earnest, intricate and captivating, keeping the audience breathless for every second they were on stage together. From the moment they locked eyes in Scene 1, they fell convincingly deeper and deeper in love with every step they took together. Where there might have been <a href="http://fot4w.blogspot.sg/2014/10/manon-zenaida-yanowsky-royal-opera.html" target="_blank">doubt about Wednesday's love</a>, here their repeated stolen glances, nervous joy when finally they met, and triumphantly exuberant first pas de deux, all made their passion abundantly clear.</div>
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In fact not only were Manon and Des Grieux falling in love, but so it seemed Yanowksy and Bolle were as well. One could see their thrill exuding with every perfectly spun pirouette, and their confidence growing with every breathtaking lift and throw. They upped the ante with each verse of the music, giving more of themselves to each other. As Yanowsky leans into him more daringly at the end of each arabesque, or pushes more fervently off his hand for a spin, Bolle meets her touch eagerly, powerfully launching her off again then catching her with an ever dependable stability. As much as they are in perfect physical synchronization, accelerating and decelerating together through the nuances of the Massanet score, so are they emotionally, gasping and almost laughing as they play with each other, casting gazes that look longingly as if into each other's souls.</div>
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Such magic can only be created by two principals clearly at their prime. Sure enough in their impeccable technique years ago, every extra moment on stage has evidently gone towards building a formidable library of expression that they both wield profoundly. For Yanowsky, I know her prowess well, yet she gave a performance this night that was more real and textured than I've ever seen. Markedly more confident at the start than she was on Wednesday, she fires out of that carriage with a gust of innocent enthusiasm, that's nestled in many subtle glances of familiar joy with her brother or gentle eye rolling at his machinations. Then towards Des Grieux's love through the night, her world visibly stops the first time she sees him; she reverses the partnering in the bedroom pas de deux with such playful invitation; her body softens as she gives in to his anguished solo in Act 2. What was a rare and special treat as well was to see how differently she handled subtleties in this performance versus the last, showing how she is not only inventive but responsive as a dance actor.</div>
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For Bolle, my first viewing of him on stage was treated to a remarkably sensitive theatricality. He is less bold in his expressions than Yanowsky but that is by no means ineffective here. He is a shy and beguilingly earnest Des Grieux, whose gentle pirouette into a kneel at the end of his Act 1 solo was so endearing that I perhaps fell deeper in love with him than Manon did. And I was astounded by the way he handled his righteous morality in Act 2, where he perfectly balances his incredulousness at Manon's susceptibility to materiality, his desperate desire to have her see the light, and his anguished sorrow for failing to treat her with anything but tender care. Thus in their combined maturity and thoughtfulness, that interacted so as to be more than the sum of its parts, the audience had no choice but to fall into their world, and both cherish then suffer together in their torturous emotional journey.</div>
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The rest of the stellar cast seals the deal. Laura Morera turns what could have easily been a token foil into a character with deep complexity, and it's a shame that much of this is seen best at the fringes of the stage. She is resilient despite Lescaut's callous treatment, and dedicated in her cautioning Manon against her dangerous materialistic descent. Carlos Acosta is delightful again as Lescaut, perhaps even more on point with the comedic timing, and more calculating in his dealings with Monsieur GM than the last night. And to his credit, Will Tuckett is downright repulsive as GM. One somewhat bone-chilling moment is when in the Act 2 pas de trois, Manon's skirt falls accidentally over his face. Once he finds his way out of it, he has an unexpectedly frightening look of satisfaction. Finally, Gary Avis is perhaps more ruthless as Gaoler, and paired with Yanowsky's all too realistic acting, I believe my heart actually stopped beating then. The energy was as infectious to the audience as to the entire cast, with every slight display of dancing or acting rich and provocative. I lament with other viewers that there was simply too much to see in this ballet!</div>
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As the evening wends its way to the final swamp pas de deux, the magic is unassailable. Here Yanowsky and Bolle cap the performance of a lifetime, hurtling themselves at each other in yet another profound showing of technical and emotional excellence. She limps about the stage then sets her eyes on him, is renewed with vitality, and runs full tilt for the clean perfection of one, two, three spins, to be brought lovingly back down by him. He pushes her head up carefully with his shoulder, then finds her dead with a pang of shock that reverberates through the auditorium, and he clutches her visibly mouthing "Manon, Manon."</div>
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It's back to Singapore for me, but this time I left my heart in Covent Garden.</div>
lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15864437871228457537noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7097247213110184305.post-15839086598801166492014-11-02T01:04:00.002+08:002014-11-03T11:27:37.745+08:00Cassandra, Ludovic Ondiviela, Lindbury Studio Theatre, 31 Oct 2014<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A piece about the perceptions of mental illness, Cassandra is clearly a labour of love for its creators Ludovic Ondiviela, Ana Silvera and Kate Church. They each have had personal experience with mental illness -- an intimacy with the raw material which truly shows in the sensitive and beautiful way they've presented the subject.</div>
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Cassandra is understated. It tells the simple story of a Daughter grappling with mental health issues, and explores the reactions of the people around her. You're brought through the arc of her condition's progression, starting with a guileless pas de deux of young love, to the onset she clearly finds both terrifying and confusing, to medication, and finally admission. The structure is straightforward, with each stage of degradation furnished with Cassandra's take on the situation, echoed by that of her family, lover, doctor. </div>
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The point of this piece is not to be outlandish. It's to explore psychosis rather than exploit it, and so it isn't paraded around the stage in the almost exhibitionist manner it is in works like Giselle or Metamorphosis. Madness here is treated with reverence, as if it really did bring the prophecies of Ancient Cassandra. Ondiviela's subtle steps are the key to this. Olivia Grace Cowley's arabesques that stretch and then restrain themselves tentatively, Gary Avis' fingers that shiver independently at the end of outstretched hands, Mara Galeazzi's foot that hooks itself into Avis' knee while the rest of her tears away -- these intricate touches of Ondiviela's bring an air of quiet desperation, of fragile minds that both wish to belong and set themselves apart. </div>
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Ondiviela is an extremely special choreographer. His steps have such an intriguing quality of duality that works perfectly here. It is both cogent and yet unpredictable, both soft and solid. He clearly has a physical language of his own, one that appears to have a broad vocabulary that will provide much room for expansion and permutation in the future. Moves appear random yet there is a discernible pattern and intention behind them -- it's almost as if his trademark is in the velocity and relative motion of the limbs rather than in the placement of them. Through this he seems to have found a direct emotional tap, where each move is such a clear representation of the dancer's emotional state. As such, simplistic movements like how Cowley's hands palm and stretch across her 'hospital bed' could've moved me to tears, and Galeazzi's perch on Avis' back caught my breath. Neither does this attention to detail come at the cost of the whole -- each segment fits together, varying to just the right degree to be unique but conforming, and story lines and emotions flow sensibly. An impressive feat indeed for his first full length ballet. I very much look forward to his future endeavours, even on the same topic, as one can tell he's not done telling the story yet. If there's one possible improvement on the evening, it's that perhaps it was treated too beautifully and superficially -- it can afford a deeper upheaval. It doesn't have the full bodied feel of a full length ballet yet, but of course that will come in time. </div>
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But Ondiviela doesn't achieve this debut mastery on his own, he has generous helpings of interpretation from Cowley, Galeazzi, Avis, Paul Kay, Thomas Whitehead and Yuhui Choe. The moves fall beautifully on each of them, and Avis and Galeazzi in particular have the maturity to lend subtle layering to their movement, where their struggle and concern in treating Cassandra becomes self evident. I so wish I'd seen the Royal Ballet when Galeazzi was around more.</div>
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The collaboration between Ondiviela, Silvera and Church (also Becs Andrews and Paul Keogan for set and lighting) is also stunningly symphonic. Dance, music and film fit perfectly as if drinking from the same waters of inspiration. They complement each other yet also tell their own story -- Silvera with a vocal overlay that represents Cassandra's inner voice and film snippets that visualize her obsessions. The effectiveness of the combination is such that the onset of Cassandra's first episode is eerily familiar -- anxiety is something my mind used to dabble in, and that sudden shrinking away of the world, the grist-like quality of the film, the sound even, are pretty dead on. This team must certainly create together again.</div>
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Their most poignant message comes edgewise at the end. Here the Mother and Brother are on either side of Cassandra, caught up in their own quiet lamentation about the situation. They struggle with themselves, and for the first time the music and the moves see unprecedented discordance. It borders on chaos and ugliness -- they reveal a madness of their own. But just as it reaches its height, it becomes overlaid with the music's main (and highly danceable, by the way!) riff -- as if saying that one can always brush these oddities under the rug or force them into comprehensibility by imposing a familiar tune or mental framework on them. It's exactly as they question in the programme -- is insanity only the things we find unfamiliar?</div>
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lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15864437871228457537noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7097247213110184305.post-48251323108679383552014-10-31T19:23:00.001+08:002015-01-16T12:05:00.013+08:00Manon, Zenaida Yanowsky & Matthew Golding, Royal Opera House, 29 Oct 2014<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Wednesday's penultimate Manon marked the return of Zenaida Yanowsky to the role -- a French courtesan beguiled by love and money, toward a tragic end. That role <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/stage/2005/nov/07/dance" target="_blank">for which she won unanimous enthusiastic reviews in her 2005 debut</a>, and <a href="https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=503732113063780&id=362275870542739" target="_blank">which she herself's been eagerly waiting to reprise</a>. That role which has thus become my holy grail of ballet -- ever since first chancing upon her in Sylvia March of '08, then reading about all her past performances, desperately going WHO IS THIS WOMAN.<br />
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The evening had been padded very nicely in advance. Roberto Bolle cast as her Des Grieux and Carlos Acosta debuting as her Lescaut -- a winning formula that sold out. But at the last minute, literally a day before, Matthew Golding had to replace Bolle due to a hand injury visible in <a href="https://facebook.com/Dancersdiary/albums/384063621757574/" target="_blank">their rehearsal</a> -- hopefully, in a bid to save him for their Nov 1 performance (we'll see how it goes tomorrow..!). <i>[<a href="http://fot4w.blogspot.sg/2014/11/manon-zenaida-yanowsky-roberto-bolle.html">Edit: one word - phenomenal.</a>]</i><br />
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As a result I wasn't sure what to expect on Wednesday. I had faith Yanowsky would more than deliver the emotional goods (extravagant plane-ticket-to-London-for-2-shows-faith) but with the change I wasn't sure how everything would gel together. Golding was apparently fantastic with Melissa Hamilton weeks before, but my memory of him and Yanowsky in Bayadere 2013 was really nothing outstanding -- and true enough, their characters' love turned out to be as inconceivable to me then as this time around. Yet instead of marring the show, which for a time the audience and I really thought it might, it ended up making for such a spectacular take on the ballet instead -- one that was no less emotional and heart wrenching. Here Des Grieux is more plot device than protagonist, as the story shifts its focus to Manon's own internal journey through the vicissitudes of a life she's done her best to make do with, but never escapes.<br />
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The Manon and Lescaut of Yanowsky's and Acosta's invention whom we meet from Act 1 are a pair well practiced in the lay of this self-serving land. They know to grab at what patronage you can to avert the vicious throes of poverty -- and have survived by perfecting the act that will sell her well to nobility. Lee McLernon commented on Twitter that <a href="https://twitter.com/bangorballetboy/status/527749468599635968" target="_blank">Acosta seemed too nice a Lescaut to ever sell his sister</a>, yet I saw it as simply a practical arrangement they've come to terms with to survive, that is quite independent of how they feel toward each other.<br />
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Thus she appears in Act 1 coming off the arm of "Old Gentleman", ever the innocent ingenue -- but it is an innocence that comes across as ill-fitting. Whether it was perhaps a function of Yanowsky's awkward unease as the show began or really a machination of Manon's character, it hinted that this version of Manon, and furthermore her affection for Des Grieux which grows from it, is perhaps just one of the many facades she knows well how to yield.<br />
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As much as this was my first time seeing the ballet, I at least had the distinct impression that Manon and Des Grieux were supposed to be desperately in love. At first I was truly disappointed thinking that the intended emotion of romantic highlights such as their first meeting or the bed room pas de deux had been sadly felled by their hasty rehearsals. Their affection seemed superficial at worst, ephemeral at best. They had little chemistry, and it would seem barely even eye contact, and it was only when they made out hungrily that I relented Fine, maybe she likes him. But all from his first unconvincing solo through to their clumsy embraces, literal collisions with furniture, and awkward lifts that seemed more cursory than central, I simply could not make myself believe. Such a waste of Yanowsky's return to Manon, I thought.<br />
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But the disappointment faded the moment Will Tuckett and Acosta came to join her in Act 1's pas de trois. This was actually the first properly rehearsed partnering we were seeing of the night, and as much as Yanowsky seemed to relax because of this, so did Manon appear to fall into a more comfortable habitat of coy teasing of a potential new patron -- a game she and Lescaut were clearly familiar with. Here was a glimpse at her truer self, not the facade thus far.<br />
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I honestly don't know how much Yanowsky might have planned before, how much adapts to fit Golding's interpretation of Des Grieux, or how much is plain accidental -- but the effect of Des Grieux as a passing fancy rather than soulmate was solid even if unexpected. Manon is simply never really in love (he, well, he's as infatuated as a prepubescent teenager), but is instead entertaining a fleeting passion because Hey, why not, Matthew Golding really is quite hot.<br />
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The concept of Des Grieux as merely a curiosity, a fleeting experimentation of Manon's affection, is solidified come the beginning of Act 2. The icy stares she fixes at him at Monsieur GM's ball almost yell "God, you miserable creature. Don't you know you were just a play thing?" And it had a hilarious parallel as if Yanowsky were glaring at Golding going "You. You dropped me in Act 1." And so she continues to ignore him, not even bothering to check her effect on him as some teases would do in just playing hard to get. This Manon truly does not care about him and any careless glances thrown his way thereafter are only as if to say "Goodness, you're still here?" She continues to flirt as easily as she does breathe, passing from man to man, (men who were each characterized exquisitely by the RB gentlemen.. Such perviness they exude so perfectly), expertly plying them with just the right perfume for their intoxication. The odd thing is, it's rare that I actually pay specific attention to Yanowsky's technique. There's just so much else going on in the rest of the emotional package that it makes more sense to focus on the impression of her overall motion and expressions. But an exquisite dancer she certainly is, and I must commend her heartily for her fluidity and control in this scene. I must also commend Eric Underwood, who handled her more noticeably deftly than the others, and <a href="http://fot4w.blogspot.sg/2014/05/serenadesweet-violetsdgv-triple-bill.html?m=1" target="_blank">perhaps really is the ideal partner I thought he might be</a>.<br />
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Manon's chameleon adaptability is especially evident in this act in an unexpected side show with GM, where she expertly toys with his affection and plays hard to get. This treat was thanks to heavily detailed interactions off to a side table where Tuckett and Yanowsky put really impressive care into crafting their relationship. As the act goes on though, you see Manon's veneer begin to shatter as GM takes increasing liberties, gaining in violence, and it is only in this aggression that there begins to parallel an increasing affection for Des Grieux.<br />
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This side story hence becomes the most convincing reason that Manon eventually chooses to run off with Des Grieux. It is not for true love, as the programme tries to tell me, but it is for nothing more than self preservation from someone who is obviously beginning to bite off more than she is comfortable with. Here Des Grieux offers the coincidental way out, someone foolish enough to play for Manon's love, which he doesn't know she'll never give. Even after their escape together she's so obviously difficult to pry away from her jewels. Sure she's grateful he was there, but it's as if her mind's already plotting the move to her next material anchor. I love most the part where they're just done embracing, then as she wraps around the bed post her eyes catch GM's bracelet, and you can practically hear the switch reverting her back to normal programming. Yanowsky's Manon really has no need of love, and it is never the cause of her downfall.<br />
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In fact it is clear that the only real gravity and love of her life is Lescaut. (A Lescaut who, I should mention, is a downright hilarious drunk.) Throughout the ballet, her most earnest motions and expressions are with him. Her running to him like a little girl in Act 1 is so genuinely unguarded; the break in her facade to smile at him when she first sees him in Act 2 is so distinct; her anguish at his death end of Act 2 is so laser sharp it sears the heart of every of the 2250 audience members.<br />
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This anguish is even far greater than the one she affords herself in Act 3. The Manon here truly is a shell of herself, completely drained with the death of Lescaut and the instant stripping of all the life she knew thereafter. Des Grieux really is nothing but a literal prop in these scenes -- she is so far gone she seems to barely register he's there except as a crutch, and perhaps the last glimmer of generosity she can die in peace with.<br />
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And it is in the moribund and completely hopeless way she drifts through Act 3 that my heart suddenly felt as though it was pelted with lead. The depressive scene is first set most effectively by Gary Avis as Gaoler, who plays his role so subtly that it becomes, ironically, deafeningly real. You can cut his misogyny with a knife, as he grabs randomly at deportees' throats and flings them aside. There's nothing more pointedly forlorn as these women who rise and fall with the gust of the wind, each gaining life only briefly enough for a futile solo protest against her circumstance. In this, I really noticed Francesca Hayward -- dancing for barely 30 second slots but so obviously expressive with her limbs. She is definitely one to bookmark for the future, and it's a shame I couldn't see her debut. (But hey now, one magical principal at a time please. I can't afford it.)<br />
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When Manon finally appears it is clear all is doom and gloom. I really appreciate the way MacMillan crafts the same step, a series of fifths back and forth on pointe, in all 3 acts, and done so differently each time to reflect Manon's circumstance. Here, her feet move lackadaisically, and the Yanowsky on top of them is practically crumbling over already. Yet when you think it can't get worse, thus ensues the most traumatic scene I've ever seen in a ballet -- what I hesitate to call a "pas de deux" between Gaoler and Manon. I almost had to look away because it was so graphic at times (Wow MacMillan, you really were a firestarter with this one), and I hate to think how disturbing rehearsing this scene must be. Regardless, kudos to Yanowsky and Avis because my body couldn't decide whether to retch or break out in tears there. I finally managed to conjure more positive feelings for Des Grieux when he gut him like a fish.<br />
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At the final pas de deux, the cap of the emotional roller coaster that the ever masterful Royal Ballet has created of the evening, one is nearly as drained as Manon. Yet Yanowsky and Golding throw themselves at their steps, and for the first time there truly is a paradoxical chemistry, where they both rail against the injustice they've found themselves together in -- him having been sucked in a giddy lovelorn spiral away from the convent and into destitution, her having finally tripped on a lifestyle that could never have been fully sustaining. Manon and her brother lived on borrowed time -- skirting the instability and absurdity of trying to ascend the social ladder beyond their means. Fate finally catches up and laughs at their attempts to be other than who they are.<br />
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While the spins and throws aren't death defying per se, the pas de deux is truly desperate and engaging, and an amazing recovery from the flubs of Act 1. Their bodies meld, suddenly familiar as if the evening's first acts were a refreshing rehearsal (which.. They probably really were), and it truly looks to be an effort to keep her alive. What I love, love about Yanowsky is encapsulated in this scene -- she isn't pulled up. Not to say she's slouching all over the stage, but she uses her back precisely and appropriately, not maintaining the constant poise as I have seen done so curiously in other versions. If the character is dying, she's dying. No two ways about it. Her beautiful extensions are not to impress the audience with her acrobatics but to convey the last bits of Manon's vitality stringing through her limbs. Yanowsky makes a reality of ballet, not art. Even then, life had a funny way of intertwining with art in this particular instance -- Yanowsky said she developed cramps in both calves (and here I was looking at her flexed legs in the final scene going, Well that's interesting choreography,) so was barely standing at the end of the ballet, and couldn't make some of the curtain call.<br />
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And thus Manon drops off the face of the Earth. I know I've said painfully little about Golding, because Yanowsky really did steal the night, but he truly impressed me in this scene. He is heartbroken, clutching at her desperately, willing her to live -- it is a generous outpouring of emotion. He's also a strong and imposing dancer, one all the more amazing for stepping in at the last minute.<br />
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All in all, this was a truly special night, despite the auspices otherwise leading up to and even during the show. By sheer expressive fortitude the evening triumphed, and the audience responded in overwhelmingly loud approval as Yanowsky made her tearful curtain calls, clearly emotionally and physically spent. As we all were.lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15864437871228457537noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7097247213110184305.post-54345239572153690892014-10-30T00:21:00.003+08:002014-11-03T11:28:07.409+08:00FAR, Random Dance Company, Esplanade Theatre, 14 Oct 2014<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Another illustrious choreographer brought in for this year's dans festival was none other than Wayne McGregor! McGregor's Random Dance Company made their Singapore premiere performing FAR, a piece about the Age of Enlightenment -- the scientific revolution that "emphasized reason and individualism rather than tradition".</div>
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McGregor's choreographic style is extremely unique, and very beautiful. Its hallmark is a melee of contorting limbs, with mighty extensions threading through one another to make each move look like a new bloom of the human body. Or rather, an inhuman body. This was Planet FAR; the Crazy Extensions Team; Yoga on Steroids; (Minimum Percentage Body Fat Pageant..) And it was wonderful to essentially see the choreography in 'true McGregor form'. What I've seen before was performed by the Royal Ballet, but here, with his own company that lives and breathes his choreography, it is perhaps a clearer glimpse into just how he likes his dance vocabulary articulated. </div>
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While I find his style a delight to watch, I'd never thought twice about how much underlying meaning or message it could convey. His pieces I've thoroughly enjoyed (on DVD) are Chroma, Limen and Infra, but it had never occurred to me to think deeper about them. </div>
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I was thus surprised that in FAR, I could enjoy not only his signature corporeal twists, but also an interesting symbolism in the 10 dancer's motions. The whole piece is parsed into several different segments, each of which experiments with different combinations of dancers and variations of the choreography which I can only describe as each having their own unique 'consistency'.</div>
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The most starkly different segment is the first, done in brown hues and flame; while the remaining (about 7 segments?) are white-lit by an impressive LED array. The differentiation is clearly meant to signify the before and after of the new Age. Within the Age then, McGregor experiments with different forms of human unity and separation. It reminded me most of atoms or molecules trying to bond and repel at the same time -- as if each segment was a new petri dish I was passing under a microscope. The movements are at first fairly disorderly, with no real discernible pattern. Then, when order first strikes, it is beautiful. There is repetition and symmetry against the LED background that turns into a regularly ticking counter, and this space of uniformity, speckled even with traditional ballet steps, is so rare here and in any other McGregor that it is arresting. (Interestingly, perhaps because this troupe is so rarely required to be in sync -- as in Petipa-quality corps in sync -- they are perhaps not as neat as they could have been to make the effect even more stark.)</div>
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Following this, the dancers try to form pairs, then trios, or more permutations of uniformity, but succeed and fail in turn as this Age experiments with the extent of its individualism. The movements also (furthering the Age of Enlightenment theme) find different types of reason to follow, where in one case the choreography changes to have a 'sticky' quality, with dancers' centre of gravity moving closer to the ground, and limbs peeling off the floor more consciously.</div>
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I need to also make special mention of one dancer who stood out markedly from the rest for me: Fukiko Takase. She caught my continued attention because her arms had such a unique quality I've almost never seen in any other modern dancer -- a control of them which perhaps surpassed that of her legs. In ballet class, I've always been told to 'resist' my leg as it comes in or extends, such as in a rond de jambe en l'air. But here was someone who did the exact same with her arms, and seemed to place them exactly and consciously in time and space, rather than carelessly or casually as counterweights to the rest of the body, as is typically the case. It seems a strange detail to focus on, and it took me a while to realize what was so different about her, but to me it enriched the choreography even more and perhaps gave McGregor much more limb to speak with. </div>
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Here's to much more McGregor visiting our sunny island again!</div>
lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15864437871228457537noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7097247213110184305.post-65683682320391343472014-10-13T21:50:00.001+08:002015-02-20T10:52:59.752+08:00Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake, Esplanade, 11 Oct 2014<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's time for the da:ns festival again in Singapore! They've consistently brought in stellar productions year on year (e.g. <a href="http://fot4w.blogspot.sg/2011/10/sylvie-guillem-6000-miles-away.html">Sylvie Guillem</a>, <a href="http://fot4w.blogspot.sg/2012/01/paris-opera-ballet-giselle-esplanade.html">Paris Opera Ballet</a>), and this time was no exception, with Matthew Bourne hitting the Singapore stage for the first time.</div>
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Bourne's Swan Lake is incredibly far from the original. I've only seen one other Bourne piece, Play Without Words, which struck me most for its layered complexity and depth. As such I was surprised at the amount of levity and humour in his Swan Lake, from the outright fumbling of the Girlfriend, to subtle eye-rolls of the dog walker. Yet, the piece is anything but superficial. While it may start with a good dose of slapstick humour, it follows the Prince to some dark places indeed in his battle against depression.</div>
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In fact, the piece was unexpectedly reminiscent of Mayerling. Much like Rudolph, this Prince lacks his mother's love, and tries to make up for it in similar ways such as wielding a gun and shooting an innocent bystander. The temptations of Odette and Odile are no longer about simple fairy-tale love, but are instead opposing sides of sanity. As Odette, the magnificent Jonathan Ollivier draws Siegfried away from suicide in a beautiful rendition of the white swan pas de deux. I had originally seen this in isolation as part of the recent Deloitte Ignite Moved By Myth (with Ed Watson as the Swan and Liam Mower as the Prince), and had mistaken it as straightforward homoeroticism. But rather than flirting with the Swan, I see the Prince is instead flirting with Reason.</div>
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Ollivier's Odile is even more alluring. He is steamy, sensual, and I love the cavalier way he enters the ball from the balcony. His wild, devilish seduction is the perfect counterpoint to the earnest Odette that eventually sacrifices himself for the Prince's eternal peace.</div>
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The best part about the piece for me was Bourne's fantastic use of the music. It's as if Tchaikovsky finally found what he was writing for, and you wonder what on earth Petipa was choreographing to all the while before. Bourne leverages the transitions in the music so appropriately, such that I can't imagine any other use of an upbeat segment in Act 2 but for a disco jive, and such that the stolen moments between Odile and the Prince at the ball truly feel like private segues Tchaikovsky wrote just for them.</div>
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Unfortunately however, the steps of the choreography just aren't my cup of tea. Despite how well thought out every detail is, the word "tawdry" kept coming to mind. I'm sure I'm just too uppity, or far too used to the classical Swan Lake, but I found the steps predictable, and oftentimes rather untidy. As good as the corps is, the costumes do them no justice as each white tassle shivers with every slight imbalance. Every head tick and arm flick is uncannily swan-like, yes, but I found an excess of it to cheapen the grandeur of the imposing corps. The couples' dancing in Act 3 was also too blandly lascivious, with hip gyrations so overused they came off hackneyed. I found that, as with Play Without Words, I much prefer the direction (if that's the right term) of the piece to his steps -- such as the emergence of the swans from under the Prince's bed, or the play with shadows and masks as the Queen and her lackeys visit the Prince in prison.</div>
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Thus on balance, it's back to Petipa for me. The audience loved it though, and the night ended in many curtain calls and ovations.</div>
lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15864437871228457537noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7097247213110184305.post-62545742111064298372014-09-24T12:26:00.001+08:002014-11-03T11:28:34.563+08:00The Chorus; Oedipus, Victoria Theatre, 23 Aug 2014<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
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In contrast to <a href="http://fot4w.blogspot.sg/2014/09/facing-goya-victoria-theatre-16-aug-2014.html">Facing Goya</a> I'd seen the week before (yes -- a terribly delayed review), which required quite a bit of concerted attention and post-processing to properly appreciate, <i>The Chorus; Oedipus</i> was an immediate and effortless delight. It's directed by Jae-Hyung Seo, written by Areum Han, composed by Uzong Choe and choreographed by Eun-Jung Jang. It was first produced by the companies LG Arts Centre and Juk-Dal in 2011.</div>
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So here's how the show was mysteriously advertised: as a K-pop musical rendition of Greek tragedy. It inspired terribly little confidence, and I nearly foisted the tickets on someone else. But the rather off-the-mark marketing simply meant that the evening was able to completely blow my expectations out of the water.</div>
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The most immediately unique aspect of the show is that the whole thing is conducted on stage. The normal seats are left empty and the audience sits with the cast on the stage itself, at the centre of which is a circular 'arena' on which most of the action takes place. Four pianos nearby provide the accompaniment, and the chorus, when not acting, takes a corner of the stage. Seo's rationale is to harken the piece back to its original Greek theatre format, for the "audience to vividly witness the downfall of Oedipus as closely as the citizens of Thebes did". It is for this reason also that he has highlighted the choral element of Greek theatre, to bring it back to its roots.</div>
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The show starts with the folks of Thebes lamenting the drought, and Creon suggesting that avenging Laius' death is the answer to the nation's and Oedipus' woes. The audience is quickly enraptured from the way the citizens swivel their chairs around the circular stage, following Oedipus as he proclaims his resolve. One is viscerally swept up in everything he says as the chorus shifts around him, reflecting their engagement in his words.</div>
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Another striking scene is where Oedipus visits the oracle, who reveals the disturbing truth that he was Laius' murderer. The cast transforms into the birds whose prophecies the oracle interprets -- flapping haphazardly and ominously around her. With their hands reaching up into the sky, fingers pointed like beaks ready to strike, they caw sharply with their desperate message of doom.</div>
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Simply everything was phenomenal. The acting incomparable, the singing emotive, the choreography complete. It was by the latter that I was really most profoundly impressed -- every movement was heavily imbued with meaning. There is a quickening of the heartbeat in the frantic fights and chases, a real haunting fear as Laius stalks eyeless and desperate across the stage, and a depressing calm as the abandoned baby Oedipus lays silently quivering on the ground. Of note, both Laius and baby Oedipus were played by Sun Pyo Kim, whose expressions and vocalizations were daring and exactly on point for each character or creature he donned.</div>
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Subtleties such as these were just a sample of the attention to detail ubiquitous throughout the piece. Not a single stone was left unturned, with every second rich in meaning -- each twitch of the suspicious eye, wiggle of the judgmental finger, or angle at which they turned their bodies away from Oedipus' heinousness. One such moment that stayed with me was where two of the cast are fighting, and one is pushed into a piano. As he falls on it he plays a discordant chord, marking the moment in the score as well as in action. Also of note, even before the show started, there were various complaints about how hot the theatre was -- but ushers explained that the temperature was at the request of the director, who presumably used it as yet another means to embed the audience in Thebes.</div>
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At the final moment, the curtain of the stage is raised, and Oedipus walks away through the empty audience seats, having banished himself from Thebes. The aisles are dotted with sign posts and random seats are spotlit. The moment he leaves through the theatre entrance, thunder sounds -- rain has returned as the prophecy foretold. And the audience leapt to its feet.</div>
lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15864437871228457537noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7097247213110184305.post-43988882197507731612014-09-15T13:05:00.003+08:002014-12-23T12:29:15.547+08:00Facing Goya, Victoria Theatre, 16 Aug 2014<div style="text-align: justify;">
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As a fan of Michael Nyman's, I was eager to watch his opera <i>Facing Goya</i>, especially following the <a href="http://www.straitstimes.com/lifestyle/theatre-dance/story/raves-facing-goya-the-us-20140527">ovations it received at Spoleto a few months ago</a>. I was also particularly intrigued to discover what a "science fiction opera" actually was. Debuting in 2000, with libretto by Victoria Hardie, and directed by Ong Keng Sen (a homegrown Singapore talent!), the opera explores the question of whether Francisco Goya's creativity might be recreated through science. The first half examines the validity of the prospect through 20th century craniometry; the second, through 21st century genetics. Thus the piece is a classic debate on Arts versus Science.</div>
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The choice of Goya as the piece's ambassador-for-the-Arts is driven by the legend that "Goya asked friends to remove his head prior to burial to prevent tomb thieves and early craniometrists from getting hold of his brain for research." Unfortunately for him, the Art Banker (played by Suzanna Guzman) has done just this, and despite her protestations, the skull lands in the hands of four craniometrists (<span class="st">Aundi Marie Moore, Thomas Michael Allen, Museop Kim and Anne-Carolyn Bird)</span> who attempt to diagnose its features for the source of Goya's creativity. Two of them expound theories on how relative proportions, or the size of features, imply kindness or intelligence or so on, while two fiercely contest them.</div>
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I confess that most of the abstruse libretto truly escaped me, except for the repeated references to Goya's "snub nose" and the virtuous qualities it thus implied in him. Hardie certainly made an effort to weave in many founding craniometrists and their beliefs, but unless I read the libretto dedicatedly, the specific debate is lost. All that's left is a general impression that craniometry was a science which, though now proven preposterous, was a handy tool for bigotry in years past.</div>
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And it is on this point that the first half ends summarily. As it draws to its interval, references to Hitler and his own beliefs in anthropometry's truth (thus Aryan supremacy) gradually increase, culminating in a slide show depicting the horrors of World War II. The message is clear -- this is what reducing the quality of an individual to his appearance leads to.</div>
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In the second half, the craniometrists transform into geneticists, with the whacky antediluvian antics of yesteryear replaced by today's cutting edge science. They embark on largely the same format of debate (but with wings now, instead of craniometry instruments, because I suppose pipettes and agarose gel would have been odd props. Then what of the glittering skulls that appeared later...? Never mind.) The intrigue is that while this debate clearly leads down the same path as before, we are far more tempted to believe in today's predictive capacity of genetics. After all, they foretell disease, and does dealing with disease not affect the personality? And so go several other arguments, which, when pitched in a scientific lingo more familiar to us, become more convincing.</div>
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Thus the piece very effectively juxtaposes scientific perspectives of yore and today, to conclude (for me at least) that humans are essentially dumb idealists, ever searching for a way to classify and segment those around us. (I am intentionally excluding analysis of the far-too-perplexing segue
where Goya reappears, in fully cloned form, and matador dress, to copulate
with the Art Banker.) While the science-driven typecasting of craniometrists may sound ludicrous and racist, we're essentially quite poised to do the same thing with genetics, in the search of yet a better way to explain the human condition. It's that need that will ruin us, not the science.</div>
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Just as subjective as the art science debate is, so was the reception to the opera divided. The evening was speckled with sporadic applause, as if the audience were unsure when or even if to clap. No standing ovation the night I went; and spying during the interval and after the show revealed more confusion about the piece than anything else. A further foray into reviews finds them equally ambivalent -- a <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2014/05/28/arts/music/the-operas-facing-goya-and-katya-kabanova-at-spoleto.html">"claptrap", according to the New York Times</a>, and attaining a <a href="http://www.ft.com/intl/cms/s/2/a35436ae-231a-11e4-8dae-00144feabdc0.html#axzz3DMA0bCB9">"new level of resonance", according to the Financial Times</a>.</div>
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Personal conclusion: I truly enjoyed the piece! It was definitely inaccessible at times, due to the libretto as mentioned (the first line is an unintelligible "Dogs drowning in sand"), odd plot points (Goya's revival), and inexplicable character choices (I'm not sure which side of the debate the Art Banker stood on by the end?). Even the music was occasionally cacophonous to me; its lack of obvious structure a jarring departure from MGV. All put together, it is indeed too slippery for the unaccustomed palette to grab hold of. But by the end, it met my standards for a unique and provocative work of art -- wherein it starts off as an apparent jumble of sights and sounds, but soon one can discover a theme, a pattern, very much of its own creation. I love a piece that can deliver its own voice and language like that, even if I've yet to make full sense of it. Coupled with the chance to dive into a philosophical reflection on science as a tool in the human search for meaning, I walked away officially provoked.</div>
lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15864437871228457537noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7097247213110184305.post-57192556156056299592014-06-18T10:23:00.002+08:002014-06-24T12:01:45.428+08:00Tosca, Royal Opera, 13 May 2014; & La Traviata, Royal Opera, 20 May 2014<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://yy2.staticflickr.com/7335/13957762249_7505ca81ea_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="https://www.flickr.com/photos/royaloperahouse/13957762249/" border="0" height="265" src="https://yy2.staticflickr.com/7335/13957762249_7505ca81ea_z.jpg" width="400" /></a>One genre of the arts I've only recently begun exploring is opera. Thus with not much experience to go on, I shall (quite belatedly) review my last two Royal Opera viewings together.</div>
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Segueing to a timeline of my limited encounters: My first opera ever was at about 10, watching a production of Carmen that came to Singapore. Thereafter I remained quite opera-free until a roomate in college, with a beautiful Soprano voice, reintroduced me to its amazing sounds. Later on I found myself strangely addicted to a piece on H<span class="st">élè</span>ne Grimaud's Reflections album, with Anne Sofie von Otter on a couple of Schumann's Op. 12 Lieders; then an Angelina Gheorghiu Puccini album became my unlikely work music; and finally I decided I might be ready for the real thing. I tested the waters with Les Troyens (slightly too deep waters to try wading in..!!) from ROH's nosebleeds in 2012; Die Zauberfl<span class="st">ö</span>te (a much better entry point -- hilarious and approachable) in 2013; La Rondine (slightly confusing and soporific, but a wonderful opportunity to catch Gheorghiu) in 2013; and finally Tosca last month, followed by the delightful YouTube telecast of La Traviata -- which, being a child of the interwebs, I will of course count.</div>
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The Tosca I saw was premiere night on May 13, with Oskana Dyka as Tosca and Roberta Alagna as Cavaradossi. I'd heard select Tosca arias from Gheorghiu's CD, so I knew I was in for a dramatic evening (i.e.:"Bang! Bang! Mario! Mario!") -- except that, as I sat there, it was so woefully and terribly undramatic. I thought it was just me and some miscalculated expectations, but soon enough Twitter confirmed Dyka's unfortunately dismal performance. (On this note -- I Love the '4D' experience ROH and its social media team have been providing me, where I can track the show both online and in real life, and catch nuggets of all the goodness I'm missing while in Singapore. Kudos to all there. Chris Shipman is the
name I always see..! Well done you.) It's a shame I can't find the original tweets anymore (they were hilarious) but some commented that they were leaving the theatre.. and indeed, the stalls were actually emptying out by the last act.</div>
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Dyka is a marvelous singer (as far as I can tell) but her acting was just completely flat, almost to the point of being a concave depression. Tosca is already a character that is so easily complex, with anguished decisions and a litany of trauma throughout the piece, so it's such a surprise that this wasn't properly exploited. I don't speak Italian, but after stabbing Scarpia, she might as well have been singing "Whoopsy Daisies..!". Indeed, the FT concurs that "<a href="http://www.ft.com/intl/cms/s/2/55e6a4e4-d9b7-11e3-b3e3-00144feabdc0.html#axzz34wuCezVZ">she is no actress</a>". Alagna redeemed some of the night for me, especially since he sung Act 3 with an injured nose. I'm no singer but that sounds like it would be inconvenient. Still, his character simply isn't interesting enough to save the show.</div>
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Another small saving grace was the gorgeous set, an advantage which opera has over ballet. Without the need for wide open real estate for leaping, there're opportunities to sing while upstairs, downstairs, behind a fence, on a ladder, on a table... A cheap (or maybe not so cheap) thrill but one I rarely get to appreciate on the stage. There was a particularly gorgeous statue in Act 2 which was sadly invisible under the low lighting, and an impressively ominous solid night sky which hung over Act 3.</div>
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Other than acting and sets, I really can't comment on much else. I don't know nearly enough to distinguish a Vagner from a Puccini from a Mozart musically, and I'm sure the translations give a poor representation of the libretto. I <i>do</i> know I appreciated the sounds of my next operatic experience much better though -- in the free-to-all La Traviata.</div>
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La Traviata was a revelation, made wonderfully available to all and sundry via ROH, BP, and YouTube on 20 May, with Ailyn Pérez, Stephen Costello, and Simon Keenylside. I'd actually only planned to sample a bit for the novelty of it, because it was obscenely early for me (3-6am..!!) on a work day, and because frankly I thought the story would be something I've seen before in the ballet version, and well, Moulin Rouge. But I became so unexpectedly involved in the story and the beautiful music that stay up all morning, and slack through my work day, I did.</div>
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One of the main reasons I enjoyed it was the simple technological nugget of subtitles. The thing I lament about opera in the theatre is, because I'm so unfamiliar with the story, I need to read a lot of the surtitles, completely missing the accompanying voice and expression as I do so. With the text superimposed on the screen instead, my operatic educational experience becomes focused, and I can spend real time examining everyone's acting (and, thanks again to technology, while nestled under the duvet).</div>
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And who I loved examining the most was Simon Keenlyside. My introduction to him was straightforward -- as Ms Yanowsky's husband. Being married, I essentially expected they would share a similar artistic dramaticism (such a shallow, but not totally off-base generalization), and truly, his roles move me as much as hers, even after discounting my bias factor. As the bumbling and sincere Papagano, he made the Zauberflöte I saw, and in Traviata, he stirred real disgust yet understanding in me for Papa Germont's selfish demands. But the whole performance was really made for me by Pérez -- I was simply dumbfounded during the Sempre Libera, and indeed felt compelled to 'volare' my soul and fly free. Her voice was just amazing, and the score commands such delicious vocal gymnastics.</div>
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My only complaint is one I must take up with Verdi -- that Violetta takes too damn long to die in Act 3, such that when she does, it's completely anti-climatic. I was somewhat expecting the build up to land me in tears but I think I burst out in laughter instead.</div>
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And with that, thank you ROH for making the arts so marvelously accessible. Hopefully with more such affordable viewings (I have my iPhone all ready to book Pl<span class="st">á</span>cido Domingo for a mind-boggling <span class="st">£</span>15 when booking opens today), my appreciation will blossom and more nuanced reviews will come in time!</div>
lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15864437871228457537noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7097247213110184305.post-19914561519907815342014-05-27T12:33:00.000+08:002014-06-24T12:02:38.813+08:00Serenade/Sweet Violets/DGV Triple Bill, Royal Opera House, 14 May 2014<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
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I had one of the best nights of my life watching the Royal Ballet's Serenade/ Sweet Violets/ DGV triple bill on 14 May.
I bought the tickets (and stayed in London a week longer than I needed to) specifically to catch DGV, which I've been waiting about 6 years to see, ever since first learning about Christopher Wheeldon. After watching some clips of the ballet back then, the music also struck me, and I can honestly say I've been listening to MGV on repeat since 2008.</div>
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Having the music so deeply ingrained beforehand, I had come to expect something stereotypically rhythmic, aggressive and perhaps a little repetitive -- and was truly delighted to find so much quiet space and fluid languidness in each of the 5 movements/regions of the piece. The start of it is beautiful and whimsical -- a "passenger corps" waves and jumps about in the backdrop, while Eric Underwood and Zenaida Yanowsky slowly twist their bodies, as if winding up to unleash the ferocity and purposefulness that then explodes in region 1.
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Zenaida's lines are sharp and her expressions stark. I didn't know what journey she was on but I wanted to head there too. Even for how biased I already am, I simply couldn't tear my eyes away from the way she struck at every step with deep seated purpose. As a result I really didn't pay much too much attention to Eric, but he was a delight to watch in his own right (I do love him in everything I've seen, especially Mr Caterpillar in Alice), and also looked to be a wonderful partner. Having never ascended to that level of ballet myself, I don't necessarily know what makes good partnering, but I actually find myself often distracted by Zen's partners because they simply... Don't seem to know their way around her. Eric, however, moved her smoothly and expertly, and extremely strongly, all of which I suppose comes from having created the roles together and danced it since 2006.
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Next pairing were Natalia Osipova and Edward Watson. I first watched Natalia in Coppelia when the Bolshoi visited London in 2010, and her allegro is really something else. She flits about the stage like -- in no insulting terms at all -- a fly you cannot kill. The speed of her attack is whiplash. (Edward though, I have to watch again... I simply kept going "Wait what are you doing here Leontes?" I'm not used to him being in a modern I suppose, and Natalia kept drawing my attention away.) I'm afraid that beyond this point I seem to have quite a patchy memory of the piece (though the emotions are vivid..!), but in general the visuals were just gorgeous -- the corps weaving their way around the principals and the set, the principals' simultaneous pas de deux in the 5th region, and of note, I love Jean Marc Puissant's interlude with the rising blue light, as Thiago Soares floats Marianela Nunez in on an impossible lift. The piece on the whole was simply miraculous. The steps take you through the same gamut of emotion and thought that the score does. As the curtain fell on the last mystical, gentle spinning of the ladies as gears, I literally yelled "OHMYGOD" in all the teenage frill I could muster.
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Now that I've waxed lyrical about my favourite, on to the rest of the show. Serenade I've seen perhaps 5 times in my life -- it's a must do for any company visiting Singapore somehow. But while I've unfortunately developed quite a distaste and confusion for Balanchine, that night was truly enrapturing. It owes very much to Marianela, Lauren Cuthbertson and Melissa Hamilton, who actually characterized their arrant roles to make it interesting and weave a cogent (if still out of nowhere) storyline. Lauren, especially, had such a delightful reckless abandonment that left a huge smile on my face. I'm really appreciating her more and more with each role -- her expressions and inflections are coming close to that Zenaida-like quality that sucks me in deep. (Fantastic, the post-Zen era I'm dreading might be bearable after all.) Ryoichi Hirano was a new discovery for me as well -- I don't think I've seen him before and I really enjoyed his grace and elegance. To be honest that quality is reminiscent of what I've always enjoyed in male dancers in the Singapore Dance Theatre -- perhaps there's actually an Asian flavour of dancing.
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Finally, Sweet Violets. Even before the piece started I was confused why there wasn't a synopsis in the programme, and after, even more befuddled. It's an extremely rich and complex piece with twists and turns that can derail you, though on reflection, I'm not sure it's actually supposed to have a clear narrative. From what I could glean from the programme, it's meant as an exploration of Walter Sickert's psyche -- in that he could or he could not have been the one murdering all those ladies. (There's apparently supposed to be some visual distinction between what is real and what is fantasy, but it was completely indiscernible if it did in fact exist.) So from that perspective, I can quite appreciate the disarray and general tossed-salad of misogyny, spirals of depression and angst that it was, for the overall taste of unrest it imbues, much like I suppose is what Sickert is feeling. At the end you wonder... Did he kill those women or not? Which instead of being a programming issue, is probably what Sickert is thinking as well.
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The acting all around was superb -- Thiago Soares and his deep conflict, Steven McRae and his evil slink, Lauren and her, well, troubled sluttiness, and Laura Morera and her highly disturbing solo. Sarah Lamb's lines are beautiful to watch.
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On the whole, what I appreciated most about Violets was Liam Scarlett's use of the music. I was surprised that Rachmaninov's piece was the unedited original (a huge shout out also to the amazing pianist, cellist and violinist), because of how well matched the elements of the ballet are to the score. Perhaps though, this is what forces the piece to a certain degree of back and forth. One thing is that his steps can do with more variety (there seem to multiple iterations of the same twisting pas de deux -- beautiful but tiring after a while), but it's something I believe will come over time. He's not my favourite yet, but I'm excited to see what more will come from him, especially as he starts to introduce more dimensions into his characters.
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In conclusion -- I love the Royal Ballet. I can't believe I get to see this type of art in my lifetime. I became a young Friend immediately after the triple bill... because there is some very epic stuff (read: Yanowsky/Bolle Manon) coming up in a few months and I am gunning for the best seats in the house. Bravi and eternal grattitude, Royal Ballet.</div>
lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15864437871228457537noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7097247213110184305.post-50158247887740242282014-05-22T14:36:00.001+08:002014-12-22T14:16:25.808+08:00The Winter's Tale, Royal Opera House, 1 & 8 May 2014 <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://cdn.gramilano.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/03/Royal-Ballet-Winters-Tale-500x299.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://cdn.gramilano.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/03/Royal-Ballet-Winters-Tale-500x299.jpg" height="239" width="400" /></a></div>
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It has been a while indeed since my last review -- I attribute it to a permutation of laziness and other priorities -- but a recent trip to the Royal Opera House has provided just the right surge of activation energy.
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I saw the first cast twice on 1st and 8th May. I had been eagerly anticipating Winter's Tale because of the utter delight that was Alice, which I watched for the very first time on 9 March 2011 (the production now immortalized on DVD..!). That and Carnival of the Animals (by Pennsylvania Ballet) are the only Christopher Wheeldon productions I'd seen, and Winter's Tale made a marvelous addition to this small collection.
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The Royal Ballet is by far my favorite ballet company in existence. Granted I haven't seen quite all of them, but since my first viewing of Sylvia in 2008, it struck me as a company that centers around acting and expression that I've not seen elsewhere (and I've come to learn it's indeed known for its narratives and dance actors). Winter's Tale is no exception.
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As I understand, Wheeldon chose the piece specifically for the talented Edward Watson to channel jealousy into King Leontes like I doubt any other dancer really can. And that he does. Yet, I still found something wanting in the character Leontes. Yes, he's a very jealous man, but I suppose to his disadvantage, I'm comparing him with Prince Rudolph (the other token angsty fellow in the ballet library, and Ed Watson classic) and thus was expecting just a bit more texture to the character. Act 2, for me, could have been pruned to give space for Leontes (and Hermoine) to work through a few more emotions as he discovers the "infidelity". Polixenes too, as 1/6th of the principal cast, certainly could have been given more to do. At curtain call I could barely remember what he'd danced.
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In general, I feel it would have been a much more effective narrative to focus on Leontes and Hermoine (and a juicy opportunity to see more of Lauren Cuthbertson's hauntingly beautiful portrayal of this maligned yet resilient woman), but at the same time I know it would have been a far less vibrant and poignant piece on the whole without the contrasting levity of Bohemia in the middle. Anyhow in this I echo <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2014/05/18/arts/dance/morris-ratmansky-and-wheeldon-make-complex-dances.html">Alastair Macauly's NYT review</a> completely that most people feel it should be pruned somehow -- but where exactly? It indeed is too rich a tale for ballet perhaps.
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What truly made the ballet for me though was Paulina. First reason being that she holds the piece together, what with all its quick shifts in time and space, and she's essentially its Deus Ex Machina, "[masterminding] the happiness of others", as Alastair Macaulay again so aptly puts. But the main reason she's pivotal for me, is because I am fantastically biased towards Zenaida Yanowsky and everything she does. All of her roles have an uparalleled richness and complexity provided by intelligent timing, heartfelt emotion, and purposeful use of every extremity, <a href="http://ballerinaguru.blogspot.sg/2014/01/i-was-fortunate-enough-meet-zenaida.html">as she apparently does quite intentionally</a>. As such the way she lashes out at Leontes after Hermoine's death; her cautious introduction of baby Perdita; her lamentful caretaking of Leontes; her "own private desolation" at the end (thank you again Alastair), all move the soul deeply and provide most of the additional emotional layers to the story. That said, I had the opportunity to compare the May 1, 8, and 28 April (via live telecast) performances, and I very much appreciate the Paulina she settled on by May 8 the most. In April, Paulina is more angst-ridden and hateful towards Leontes; by May it's more shock and stoicism, with a greater understanding towards Leontes, which helps the audience to empathize with him as well.
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As for the actual steps themselves -- they didn't do that much for me. I remember being absolutely blown away by the choreography in Alice, but here, they were often underwhelming. I agree that there could have been more effective language for Leontes' jealousy (again, Alastair, whose reviews I now realize I should read more). It's an easily ignored complaint though, because the lighting, the designs, the (gorgeous) music and the general velocity of the piece do more than enough to embed you in the story telling. The choreography I <i>did</i> fancy in particular were Hermoine's pleading arabesques in sequence, the Florizel and Perdita pas de deux, the Bohemians' general happy dance, and Paulina's statue dance at the opening of Act 3.
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At the end of the day what I simply want out of this ballet is.. More. More development of the story in Acts 1 and 3 without cutting 2, and more dancing from the 6 extremely talented leads. This is the kind of ballet I'd be happy to sit through for a good 3.5 - 4 hours to flesh out its meat. I'm sure it'll instead by pruned by the next staging though, and I anticipate I'll be sad to have lost whatever went.
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lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15864437871228457537noreply@blogger.com0