Complexions Contemporary Ballet would have been a largely unknown quantity in this part of the world before its opening night on Tuesday. But anyone coming away from its first performance at His Majesty’s Theatre is unlikely ever to forget it – and for all the best reasons.
Led by co-founder and principal dancer, Desmond Richardson, (who will surely join the ranks of the great American modern dancers of the 21st century) astounded, astonished and inspired this reviewer. Complexions reveals a strikingly different world of dance, in which hitherto unknown levels of technical accomplishment become the norm.
These extraordinary bodies are poetry in motion. What distinguishes them from so many other good dancers is that their technique, all encompassing as it is, remains the servant of their musicality, passion and artistry.
Dwight Rhoden, the company’s founder and resident choreographer, could hardly be better served by these very special dancers. Their training allows them to convey the illusion of honey in their limbs, rather than bones, especially the hips. They meet every technical and interpretative challenge head on, sailing through the most complex ofdance vocabulary with the nonchalance of mastery.
Highlight of the evening was Desmond Richardson’s unprogrammed solo, Moonlight, which comes across as a distillation, a summing up, as it were,,of everything the company stands for and is.
Superhuman control, phrasing, timing, passion, originality and an ability to draw and hold the attention of the viewer add up to memorable dance theatre in which the whole is greater than the sum of its constituent parts.
The opening ballet – Moon Over Jupiter – to music by Rachmaninoff was for me the most intriguing and satisfying of the works performed on opening night.
Athleticism and sheer virtuosity, especially in some very innovative solos and pas de deux , gave this work an edge that was highlighted by the exposed lighting rig in adesign by Michael Korsch.
Notwithstanding a view that a bigger stage was needed for the playing out – and appreciation of – the complexities of these splendid choreographies, this production succeeded at every level, especially in the manifold ways in which the music was interpreted, to highlight the various strengths and differences of the dancers. They are made to work as a tightly knit unit, but retain their individuality.
An exposed lighting rig featured in all the presentations and seemed to surmount the technical limitations of the theatre’s stage without difficulty, thus adding immeasurablyto the worth of each choreography .
In so many-splendoured an offering, it would be invidious to single out individuals for special mention – but it would be ungracious not to mention Patricia Hachey who shone in everything from Rachmaninoff to Billie Holiday and U2, displaying a versatility that was breathtaking.
I noted with interest that the company has in its repertoire the works of other choreographers apart from those of its founder, Dwight Rhoden.
Apart from occasional lapses in timing and a sometimes too-loud and distorted sound track, this will be an evening that will be remembered long after the applause dies away.
Can we hope for a return visit of this very special company to give us an even broader view of their artistry?
Maly Drama Theatre – Theatre of Europe – St Petersburg
His Majesty’s Theatre
reviewed by Neville Cohn
This is definitely not for those whose idea of going to the theatre is experiencing a few hours of genial mummery. Life and Fate occupies a very different world. It is a tale of physical and emotional violence, much of it state-sanctioned and so unnerving as to leave the viewer limp. It’s a tale that brands itself indelibly on the consciousness.
But for those who like their theatre pieces to have a clearly defined beginning, middle and end, Life and Fate might well be problematical, even bewildering. It could be thought of as a montage, a series of mainly brief episodes that occur during Wold War II in the cities and gulags of Russia and the death camps of the Nazis.
Like some malevolent serpent slithering through this often brutally confronting production is an ever-present anti-Semitism whether of the German variety (with its sights set on the complete extermination of European Jewry courtesy of the appalling Wannsee declaration which the Nazis were pleased to call The Final Solution) or the Russian version where an irrational, centuries-lomg hatred of the Jews seems an ingrained feature of the national psyche and all the more virulent for becoming state policy.
Periodically and improbably, we hear the strains of Schubert’s Standchen (known throughout the English-speaking world as Serenade). It reminded one that in some of the nazi’s concentration camps, an orchestra of inmates would be ordered to play this or that music as victims of the nazis’ were marched to the gas chambers. Can there have been a more cynical and evil exploitation of music than this?
An all-purpose set is an ingenious construction: a handball net also serves as a concentration camp or gulag fence, there’s a miscellany of cupboards, a battered, tinny piano, beds and chairs. Ingenious lighting does much to heighten mood.
There are no weak links in the cast which is superbly disciplined. For the many who do not understand Russian, there were first rate surtitles flashed onto a lengthy narrow screen above the action.
Tatiana Shestakova is admirable as Ana Shtrum, the family matriarch, diminutive, soft spoken medical doctor who tends to other ghetto Jews before she is gassed and cremated in one of Germany’s nazi death camps, an ever-present spectre.
Nearly all the conversations focus on the war and fleeting moments of tenderness throw the encompassing horrors into even bolder relief so much so that at interval, one left the auditorium with a near-palpable sense of relief.
Life and Fate tells of a Russian nuclear scientist Victor Shtrum (Sergey Kuryshev) who happens to be Jewish – and this places him in a vulnerable, even dangerous, position. But because of Stalin’s desperate need to build an A-bomb, there is breathtaking cynicism on his part in bringing Shtrum out of exile to work on the project.
Again and again, the craziness of the Soviet system is underlined, memorably by a high official rejecting Albert Einstein’s theories as unacceptable because they conflict with Lenin’s world view!! Nothing so demonstrates the ethical bankruptcy and the mind-numbing, blind acceptance of what is palpable, sheer nonsense.
Precisely how many died, how many murdered, in the name of such idiocy, will probably never be exactly known. Productions such as this are crucial to keeping the memory of the slaughtered millions alive.
Soloists: Sara Macliver (soprano), Catherine Jones (cello), Leanne Sullivan (baroque trumpet).
Sara Macliver
With: Julia Fredersdorff (violin), Giulia Panzeri (violin), Katherine Corecig (viola), Sophie Walker (cello), Tommie Andersson (theorbo), Stewart Smith (continuo).
photo credit- Frances Andrijch
To preface this critique of the Concerto Paradiso I’d like to draw upon an anecdote of an occasion during which I presented a pre-performance talk to one of the ABC’s ‘Mostly Mozart’ concerts. I wished to stress to the audience, Mozart’s uniqueness by comparing his Symphony no.38 (‘Prague’) to an orchestral suite by one of his contemporaries: Carl Ditters von Dittersdorf, both of which we had heard in the previous concert. The suite was a benign, orderly affair and displayed the utmost in practicality or workmanship. It certainly wasn’t remarkable. Dittersdorf’s was a fashion-conscious, hermetically sealed world. A few seconds later, the ‘Prague’ began and immediately, as I recounted to the audience, the heavens suddenly opened and rays of genius pierced the mediocrity.
I mention this occasion for two reasons. The first of these relates to the fact that nearly all the items on the Concerto Paradiso program were, it their own ways, equivalents of Dittersdorf’s orchestral suite: innocuous, verging on a trifle dull but always very functional. Each composer had clear command of figured bass and contrapunctus – all a composer really needed in the era of the baroque. But there was one work – a Handel aria from ‘Alcina’ – that, like Mozart’s ‘Prague’ symphony, transported the listener to an entirely different world. It’s akin, I imagine, to casting a spell: we lean forward because we strain to catch every musical strand, we watch carefully in order not to miss a gesture, and our listening suddenly becomes far more acute and sensitive. And we then realise that the baroque period, like the classical, was hugely populated by functional and capable writers; but in every generation, or its equivalent, a creative beacon illuminates the minds of people, not simply entertains them.
The second reason relates to the way in which the performers respond to such an occurrence. Their reaction, it would seem, is entirely instinctive. In Handel’s aria, the featured soloists – Sara Macliver and Catherine Jones – answered in a fashion that was quite breath-taking in its sensitivity, poise and accuracy. Moreover, the small accompanying ensemble (including the omnipresent Stewart Smith) demonstrated beautifully balanced rapport. They picked up and embellished any small melodic gestures in an attempt to nurture the music even more. This rendition had the imprint of class and lambency. Macliver’s ability to just ‘touch’ high notes (the placement of which, I should add, lifts this piece out of the ordinary) was most gratifying because it seemed effortless.
Initially, one questioned the need for a solo cello but as soon as the rendition began, the reasoning became apparent. The cello has the capacity to not only combine with the soprano voice but also to extend its range. Again, this shows Handel thinking beyond rigid, set definitions used by his contemporaries. The piece isn’t a duet but an aria which is allowed to blossom in its registral breadth.
Catherine Jones was the very essence of baroque utilitarianism throughout the concert: at one moment she would become soloist (most notably in Vivaldi’s ‘Sonata no.6 in Bflat RV47’…a disappointing composition) and at another she would immediately join the accompanying ensemble. One assumes this was a common baroque practice. Requiring the musician to be as versatile as possible makes abundant financial and artistic sense.
Jones performs on a loaned Gagliano cello (1770) which has a richly honeyed and mellow timbre. In fact it is so creamy in tone that its voice can easily become obscured by other instruments. Indeed, there were a couple of areas in Leonardo Leo’s ‘Cello Concerto in Dminor’ when, despite the soloist’s obvious rapport with the instrument and her technical skill with baroque performance, her sound became engulfed by the general texture (which was very modest). Even the Perth Town Hall’s nicely balanced but ‘shiny’ acoustics couldn’t ameliorate a situation that is the result of an instrument that ‘speaks’ uniquely. This Gagliano cello is a true solo instrument in that it doesn’t like to share attention.
Having said that, it should be added quickly that Jones has all the indicators of considerable prominence. Her bowing is decisive, and her pitch and dynamic control are solid and reliable. Clearly, as her biographical details indicate, she has chosen the ‘niche’ of baroque performance. Her style and approach will become more rounded and her digital skill better sublimated as she continues to mature as an artist in this field. Given the nature of the instrument she plays, and taking into consideration her prowess, one feels she could be better assessed in a performance of one of the Bach solo cello suites. These works test a player’s artistry and skill at the ultimate level.
Another soloist featured on the program was baroque trumpeter Leanne Sullivan. A baroque trumpet is a natural (valveless) instrument used in period performance. One couldn’t tell whether Sullivan performed on a totally natural trumpet or on one of the slightly vented instruments. Whatever the case, she demonstrated, with only a couple of minor exceptions, fine ‘lip’ control (natural trumpets, reliant solely on the harmonic series, need to be literally ‘lipped’ into tune on certain partials).
When Sullivan had the opportunity, as she did in Torelli’s ‘Concerto in D’ and Cazzati’s ‘Sonata a 5 op.35 no.11’, to display her developing skills, she so clearly relished the moment. Hers is the sound which most readily evokes the grandeur and restraint of the baroque. Sullivan also showed her talent to blend with the voice (Sara Macliver) in Scarlatti’s ‘Mio Tesoro per te moro’ and ‘Rompe Sprezza’. Together, the two soloists displayed superlative concord, based on finely judged dynamic balance. Moreover, their interpretation was further enhanced by a lovely reciprocity with the continuo, cello and theorbo (Tommie Andersson). The final section was a true Alessandro Scarlatti quirk: so brief as to be finished before the mind has registered it has begun!
Mentioning the theorbo, one feels some regret the program couldn’t accommodate a work featuring lute solo. The theorbo (a large lute with a doubling of strings) is an accompanying instrument which, as Andersson sensitively revealed, serves its purpose beautifully in the gentle baroque fabric. But, given Andersson’s expertise, it seemed a pity not to be able to hear him as a featured solo artist. On this occasion that wasn’t to be but both Andersson and Smith, as they showed so consistently throughout the concert, gave every item solid and ever-sensitive harmonic bedrock.
Similarly, the other (primarily) accompanying instrumentalists show staunch harmonic support and neatly crafted interweaving. However, Julia Fredersdorff and Giulia Panzeri (violins) appeared to be particularly absorbed by constant tuning. One can hardly complain because their intention was purely musically based. Nevertheless, I can’t recall another concert where there was so much tuning up of strings prior to movements being preformed, baroque or otherwise. The custom almost became an addiction and soon included violist Katherine Corecig, cellist Sophie Walker and Andersson on the theorbo. This causes one to wonder if there is any clear evidence that feverish tuning was a common practice during the period. My guess would be that no such proof exists and that the procedure is more a result of our modern day preoccupation with precision. Even Ms Macliver felt it necessary to make a short aside to the audience to this effect. She was, after all, waiting for the frenetic buzz of tuning and re-tuning to be resolved, as was the audience, so she could begin singing!
Indeed, Macliver, after such a superb account of the Handel aria, deserved more than one of the bouquets handed out after the encore. As much as it was to every one of the musician’s credit, it was her gentle unfolding of the music that lifted this concert into a sphere above most. This program showed how the creative thinking of one genius can not only affect music history but it can also influence an entire concert’s complexion when placed in the context of his contemporaries.
Stuart Hille 2009.
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