Latest news with #WayneMcGregor
The Guardian
21-07-2025
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
Smart, sharp and nonstop dance: how Twyla Tharp is bossing the Venice Dance Biennale in her 80s
'Do you know how much I could deadlift in my 50s? Guess!' Twyla Tharp implored Wayne McGregor, in a post-show interview at the Venice Dance Biennale. McGregor, the festival's artistic director, didn't dare venture a figure. 'Two-hundred and twenty-seven pounds!' she told us all, delightedly. Never underestimate Twyla. The slight, white-haired 84-year-old is as sharp as ever, and a force in the dance world. She's been choreographing for 60 years, for ballet companies and Broadway, dance both experimental and accessible, art and pop. And she is honoured this year with the biennale's Golden Lion for lifetime achievement. Tharp is a smart, no-nonsense woman with a dry sense of humour, and her work is much the same. Only two pieces from her vast repertoire are staged in Venice this year, but one especially, Diabelli (from 1998), set to Beethoven's 33 Diabelli Variations, has the same precise, self-certain manner as the woman herself. It takes one idea – the rigorous exploration of music and form – and drills into it determinedly. The dance is non-stop, a showcase for the tremendous dancers of her company, all quite different bodies but brilliant technicians, rooted in classicism with Tharp's easy synthesis of jazz, contemporary and vernacular dance forms. It is absolutely chock-full of steps. That might seem obvious, but a lot of contemporary dance now hinges on vibe, mood and repetitive riffs, whereas Tharp is just step after step, finely and deliberately wrought phrases in constant motion with absolute clarity. With its fairly unwavering tone, from the audience there's perhaps not as much light and shade as Tharp herself sees – but she has no time for dawdling (there's a similarity with McGregor's own work here: the constant fast-paced flying mind, expecting you to keep up). The second piece is the European premiere of Slacktide, set to Philip Glass. It's new, but interestingly, uses material from Tharp's back catalogue, reversioned. Compared with Diabelli, the look is certainly more 'now', diffused light, dancers in black shorts and vests, and rather than the front-facing performance mode of the earlier work, the dancers are on their own trajectories, moving between solos and groups. It has a greater sense of freedom, dynamic and edge, but the same very serious conversation with choreography. The winner of the Silver Lion, for an outstanding upcoming choreographer, was the Brazilian Carolina Bianchi. Bianchi has the same absolute commitment to her art as Tharp, but is a completely different proposition. She's best known for the first part of her Cadela Força trilogy, The Bride and the Goodnight Cinderella, in which Bianchi takes a date rape drug live on stage and then attempts to continue the show while the audience watch its effects take over, made in response to her own experience of sexual assault. The second chapter of the trilogy, The Brotherhood, gets its Italian premiere in Venice and it goes deeper (very much deeper, at almost four hours in length) into Bianchi's own attempts to process what happened to her: the injustice, the omnipresent patriarchy, the bewilderment over what gives men seeming licence to abuse women, from the rape of Lucretia to Gisèle Pelicot. She does this through film, performance, a faux interview with a famous theatre director, set-pieces with the male performers from company Cara de Cavalo, and addressing the audience directly. She considers hazing initiations, the myth of the troubled genius in art, the politics of the rehearsal room, the subtle undermining of women in professional life. There's so much here, a bit of editing wouldn't go amiss (although it doesn't feel like 220 minutes) but then this is the ever-circling mind after trauma, always returning to the wound, never finding the answer. Fearless Bianchi is sometimes provocatively shocking, she is also constantly questioning herself, getting in her criticisms before anyone else can. Her subjects are theatre, art, violence and anger. And the real question may be, why aren't we all angrier, all the time, about how commonplace this abuse is? Bianchi introduces herself on stage as predominantly a writer, and this is a text-based show within the realm of performance art, an interesting choice for a dance prize. But the body is absolutely at the centre of her work. Her central question, as she puts it, is what do we do with this body? How to live in a body that survives rape? Elsewhere at the biennale, the opening show comes from Australia's Chunky Move, a company established in 1995, now led by Antony Hamilton, who has choreographed U>N>I>T>E>D. The stage is dominated by a large mechanical contraption, a piece of rigging that holds what looks like a giant insect with flashing and glowing lights. The dancers have mechanical limbs too, multijointed insect-y legs attached to them, turning them into human-machine hybrid hexapods. It immediately brought to mind a piece McGregor made for his company in 2002, Nemesis, where the dancers wore mechanical limbs extending their arms. In fact the whole look is very millennium-bug-throwback, like a guerrilla army of hackers who've jumped the fence at Glastonbury, in baggy parachute pants with all sorts of straps and layers and clashing patterns and camo and reflective neon. It's a crusty-cyberpunk look – if you ever went near Brighton in the 1990s, you'd recognise it. Except that in the 90s we barely had mobile phones or email addresses and this kind of tech felt like pure sci-fi, whereas now, the idea of humans getting tech implants or machines becoming sentient is basically the world we live in. So that's unnerving. But what does Hamilton have to say about it? Not so much. The thing about all the cumbersome props is that they extend the body's possibilities, but also reduce their ability to move. There's a vague sense of struggle between embracing or fighting the machines but, just like in the real world, having the technology is one thing, deciding what to use it for, or what you want to say with it, is entirely another. It's neither stirringly hopeful nor apocalyptic enough to be terrifying. Twyla would have those mechanical critters for breakfast. The Venice Dance Biennale continues until 2 August
The Guardian
20-07-2025
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
Smart, sharp and nonstop dance: how Twyla Tharp is bossing the Venice Dance Biennale in her 80s
'Do you know how much I could deadlift in my 50s? Guess!' Twyla Tharp implored Wayne McGregor, in a post-show interview at the Venice Dance Biennale. McGregor, the festival's artistic director, didn't dare venture a figure. 'Two-hundred and twenty-seven pounds!' she told us all, delightedly. Never underestimate Twyla. The slight, white-haired 84-year-old is as sharp as ever, and a force in the dance world. She's been choreographing for 60 years, for ballet companies and Broadway, dance both experimental and accessible, art and pop. And she is honoured this year with the biennale's Golden Lion for lifetime achievement. Tharp is a smart, no-nonsense woman with a dry sense of humour, and her work is much the same. Only two pieces from her vast repertoire are staged in Venice this year, but one especially, Diabelli (from 1998), set to Beethoven's 33 Diabelli Variations, has the same precise, self-certain manner as the woman herself. It takes one idea – the rigorous exploration of music and form – and drills into it determinedly. The dance is non-stop, a showcase for the tremendous dancers of her company, all quite different bodies but brilliant technicians, rooted in classicism with Tharp's easy synthesis of jazz, contemporary and vernacular dance forms. It is absolutely chock-full of steps. That might seem obvious, but a lot of contemporary dance now hinges on vibe, mood and repetitive riffs, whereas Tharp is just step after step, finely and deliberately wrought phrases in constant motion with absolute clarity. With its fairly unwavering tone, from the audience there's perhaps not as much light and shade as Tharp herself sees – but she has no time for dawdling (there's a similarity with McGregor's own work here: the constant fast-paced flying mind, expecting you to keep up). The second piece is the European premiere of Slacktide, set to Philip Glass. It's new, but interestingly, uses material from Tharp's back catalogue, reversioned. Compared with Diabelli, the look is certainly more 'now', diffused light, dancers in black shorts and vests, and rather than the front-facing performance mode of the earlier work, the dancers are on their own trajectories, moving between solos and groups. It has a greater sense of freedom, dynamic and edge, but the same very serious conversation with choreography. The winner of the Silver Lion, for an outstanding upcoming choreographer, was the Brazilian Carolina Bianchi. Bianchi has the same absolute commitment to her art as Tharp, but is a completely different proposition. She's best known for the first part of her Cadela Força trilogy, The Bride and the Goodnight Cinderella, in which Bianchi takes a date rape drug live on stage and then attempts to continue the show while the audience watch its effects take over, made in response to her own experience of sexual assault. The second chapter of the trilogy, The Brotherhood, gets its Italian premiere in Venice and it goes deeper (very much deeper, at almost four hours in length) into Bianchi's own attempts to process what happened to her: the injustice, the omnipresent patriarchy, the bewilderment over what gives men seeming licence to abuse women, from the rape of Lucretia to Gisèle Pelicot. She does this through film, performance, a faux interview with a famous theatre director, set-pieces with the male performers from company Cara de Cavalo, and addressing the audience directly. She considers hazing initiations, the myth of the troubled genius in art, the politics of the rehearsal room, the subtle undermining of women in professional life. There's so much here, a bit of editing wouldn't go amiss (although it doesn't feel like 220 minutes) but then this is the ever-circling mind after trauma, always returning to the wound, never finding the answer. Fearless Bianchi is sometimes provocatively shocking, she is also constantly questioning herself, getting in her criticisms before anyone else can. Her subjects are theatre, art, violence and anger. And the real question may be, why aren't we all angrier, all the time, about how commonplace this abuse is? Bianchi introduces herself on stage as predominantly a writer, and this is a text-based show within the realm of performance art, an interesting choice for a dance prize. But the body is absolutely at the centre of her work. Her central question, as she puts it, is what do we do with this body? How to live in a body that survives rape? Elsewhere at the biennale, the opening show comes from Australia's Chunky Move, a company established in 1995, now led by Antony Hamilton, who has choreographed U>N>I>T>E>D. The stage is dominated by a large mechanical contraption, a piece of rigging that holds what looks like a giant insect with flashing and glowing lights. The dancers have mechanical limbs too, multijointed insect-y legs attached to them, turning them into human-machine hybrid hexapods. It immediately brought to mind a piece McGregor made for his company in 2002, Nemesis, where the dancers wore mechanical limbs extending their arms. In fact the whole look is very millennium-bug-throwback, like a guerrilla army of hackers who've jumped the fence at Glastonbury, in baggy parachute pants with all sorts of straps and layers and clashing patterns and camo and reflective neon. It's a crusty-cyberpunk look – if you ever went near Brighton in the 1990s, you'd recognise it. Except that in the 90s we barely had mobile phones or email addresses and this kind of tech felt like pure sci-fi, whereas now, the idea of humans getting tech implants or machines becoming sentient is basically the world we live in. So that's unnerving. But what does Hamilton have to say about it? Not so much. The thing about all the cumbersome props is that they extend the body's possibilities, but also reduce their ability to move. There's a vague sense of struggle between embracing or fighting the machines but, just like in the real world, having the technology is one thing, deciding what to use it for, or what you want to say with it, is entirely another. It's neither stirringly hopeful nor apocalyptic enough to be terrifying. Twyla would have those mechanical critters for breakfast. The Venice Dance Biennale continues until 2 August
Korea Herald
02-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Korea Herald
The Royal Ballet brings its 'best' to Seoul with snapshot of classics, heritage, world premiere
The Royal Ballet of Britain is making its long-awaited return to Korea this weekend at the LG Arts Center with the world-renowned company's first official gala in Seoul since 2005. 'We're delighted to share the Royal Ballet of today with you,' said Kevin O'Hare, artistic director of the company since 2012, during a press conference Wednesday. 'The program is full of excerpts from some of our greatest works that are all linked to our repertoire. It's a snapshot of the Royal Ballet today.' Titled 'The First Gala in Seoul,' the program offers a sweeping glimpse of the company's storied yet ever-evolving repertoire. The gala features excerpts from canonical works like 'Giselle' and 'Don Quixote,' as well as Kenneth MacMillan's emotionally charged 'Romeo and Juliet' and 'Manon.' More contemporary pieces are Christopher Wheeldon's 'After the Rain' pas de deux and a world premiere by Royal Ballet's dancer-choreographer Joshua Junker titled 'Spells.' As the company looks ahead to its centenary in 2031, O'Hare reflected on the legacy of its founder, Dame Ninette de Valois, citing her words as a guiding mantra: 'She always said, 'Respect the past, look to the future, but concentrate on the present.'' Principal dancer Vadim Muntagirov pointed to the company's ever-challenging and diverse repertoire as its greatest strength. 'It never lets you settle and constantly challenges you,' he said. O'Hare echoed the sentiment. 'I think each choreographic style enhances the other. So even if you're doing something very, very contemporary, that can actually enhance what you bring when you go back to the classics.' One highly anticipated piece, Wayne McGregor's "Chroma," was pulled from the program due to a last-minute injury. O'Hare expressed regret over the change, explaining that the dancer was injured at the end of last week and could not be replaced in time, adding, 'It gives us a very good excuse to return with a Wayne McGregor work in the near future.' The Seoul gala also brings together some of the Royal Ballet's biggest stars, including Benois de la Danse winner Natalia Osipova, Fumi Kaneko and several Korean dancers: first soloists Choe Yu-hui and Jun Joon-hyuk, first artist Kim Bo-min and artist (corps de ballet) Park Han-na. Choe and Jun said they are very proud and grateful to be part of the 'best' ensemble. For Choe, the performance is especially meaningful, as she returned to the stage just nine months after giving birth to her second child. 'It's a group of extraordinary dancers you can't find anywhere else,' Jun said. 'Every day, in rehearsals, in class and on stage, we work to influence one another in the best way possible — not just in how we approach our work, but in our attitude toward ballet itself. Being part of a company that creates that kind of positive cycle is something I take great pride in.'
Telegraph
28-02-2025
- Entertainment
- Telegraph
Deepstaria, review: You'll believe a jellyfish can dance
A contemporary dance show named after a jellyfish named after a submarine? Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later. The deepstaria enigmatica, which gives Wayne McGregor's new piece its title, was itself christened in honour of the underwater vessel (the Deepstar 4000) from which Jacques Cousteau first spotted this remarkable deepwater creature – tentacle-free, I'm told, even if the ravishing photograph on the Sadler's Wells programme seems to suggest otherwise. Created for his supremely lithe and athletic nine-strong troupe, the steps essentially fifty shades of McGregorish corporeal rewiring, hyper-extension and undulation, Deepstaria is an economical 75 minutes long, and sans interval. The latter is a sensible choice on McGregor's part, given his keenness to immerse us as literally as possible in the void; a pause would risk shattering the illusion. The programme notes trumpet the set's use of Vantablack Vision, a 'light-suppression coating' (intensely black paint to you and me) used to cover instruments for use in space. The idea, as you might expect, is to intensify the sense of bodies lost in emptiness. For most of the piece, this doesn't come off quite as it might, simply because the ever-present, light-snaffling smoke tends to mask its, well, blackness – a can or two of Dulux might have done just as well. Where it does, however, come spectacularly into its own is during a passage during which it is (almost paradoxically) drenched in azure light, generating a shade not unlike Klein Blue but with even greater lustre and depth. Against this, lighting designer Theresa Baumgartner beams out curved yellow sheets of luminescence into which the dancers slip and ripple their hands, the latter suddenly transformed into small, almost playful sea-creatures. With Nicholas Becker's AI-assisted soundscape pulsating in the background, the result is really rather gorgeous. The same can, in fact, be said of Baumgartner's lighting full-stop, which finds more ways to flicker magically than you might believe possible. At one point, taking us more into the realm of extra-terrestrial sci-fi than the oceanic depths, it bathes both stage and house in small luminous rectangles so sharp you want to put one in your pocket and take it home with you. At another point, with McGregor transforming a pair of dancers (not for the first time in his canon) into something close to sea anemones, blood-red columns of light somehow seem to take us right to the womb-like bottom of the Mariana Trench. If I can't quite stretch to a fourth star, it's because, although at times impressed, I never quite found myself moved by any of this, despite McGregor's best efforts to do so. The piece often calls to mind the great Russell Maliphant and Michael Hull's tireless experiments in bodies moving through light – pieces with no more 'depth' than this, but whose sheer beauty makes the skin prickle. And those initial black undies for the cast? Come on, Sir Wayne, must try harder – although in fairness Ilaria Martello does, towards the particularly pelagic end, give the cast costumes so light and diaphanous that their ripples seem to turn the air to water. So, a considerable step up from McGregor's heinous Maddaddam of last year, though not on the same level as his startling 2023 eco-hit, UniVerse. I wouldn't necessarily mind a second 'dive', though, so he must have done something right.
The Guardian
28-02-2025
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
Deepstaria review – Wayne McGregor's otherworldly creatures beguile
The dancers in Wayne McGregor's Deepstaria are captivating creatures, miraculous in their facility for movement. Their figures evolve in front of us, lines melting into curves, convex convulsing into concave. In beguiling, often quite balletic dance, you marvel at the absolute clarity of their forms – bodies revealed in minimal black underwear or translucent organza that appears to float. Floating is a thing. The title Deepstaria refers to a type of jellyfish, and there's a sense of rippling through the weight of deep water. The show's other USP is that the set is made with Vantablack, a super-black coating that absorbs 99.9% of light (normally used in telescopes and space technology). A large black square, a void, is at the centre of the stage. But rather than an all-enveloping darkness, there is a haze and streaks of milky light (and at one point a very cool lighting effect like a giant rain shower). Deepstaria has a little more breathing space than some of McGregor's work; the choreography is quieter, with a focus on solos and duos that invite us to watch intently. These dancers may be like otherworldly creatures, but there are also some very human moments: concordance and connection, fleeting antagonism, a fraught duet and an incredibly tender one for two men, which is a highlight. Not so quiet is the score, created by Nicolas Becker and Alex Dromgoole, AKA LEXX, who is the co-founder of Bronze AI, a tool that makes recorded music evolve as if it's being played live. It's a fascinating sound-world, a step up from your average rumbling atmospherics. It is also deliberately contrarian: anti-melody, hooks and regular rhythm, which is wearing after a while. The idea may be to keep the viewer on the edge of their seat, alert, but in practice it can have the opposite, numbing effect. Of course, in the deepest sea, or outer space, we might first see the awe-inspiring beauty, but the reality is something much more dangerous – perhaps that's what this enervating soundtrack is telling us. Peril lurks in the darkness. At Sadler's Wells, London, until 2 March
