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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
The Independent
28-02-2025
- Entertainment
- The Independent
In Deepstaria, Wayne McGregor explores the dark depths of ocean life – and gets lost along the way
For his latest work, choreographer Wayne McGregor starts in the depths: of the ocean, of space, of darkness. What he finds there ranges from earnest isolation to playful jellyfish. Across 70 minutes, the nine dancers of Company Wayne McGregor bend and flicker through shifting moods: sometimes overlong, but with dashes of invention and exploration. Characteristically for McGregor, lots of technology is involved. The score by Nicolas Becker and LEXX is generated by AI in performance – a changing performance of a recorded sound. For his blacker-than-black stage, McGregor turned to Vantablack Vision, a light-absorbing coating used on space instruments. From the audience, it looks pretty much like any other black box theatre, but it's shaped and framed by Theresa Baumgartner's lighting. Spotlights slice through the black, while plush shimmers of purple and green suggest the depths of the ocean. Baumgartner adds some self-indulgent (and headache-prompting) lights in the audience's eyes, but she creates gorgeous suggestions of falling water or shafts of undersea sunlight. It starts out stark. Dressed in ultrablack underwear by Ilaria Martello, dancers bend and shift in isolation. Even when they jump into each other's arms, there's a sense of distance – collision rather than collaboration. They change into gauzy pyjamas for longer duets. Two men wind around each other, cool but connected. At its driest, Deepstaria can get stuck in a groove, pursuing a dance process until it loses momentum. But McGregor's dancers are always bold, sleek and nervy, responding to the twitches and high leg extensions of his choreography. Becker and LEXX's soundscape hums and clicks alongside the dancers. Both the sound collage and the unpredictable performance suggest Merce Cunningham's chance experiments. As with McGregor's 2023 ballet Untitled, there's a touch of Cunningham in the steps, too, particularly when he sets the whole cast in motion with plunging dips and fast, skippy footwork. Deepstaria takes its name from a form of jellyfish, which also provides the work's most memorable scene. Now dressed in floaty, translucent organza, dancers reach their hands into the spotlight. Fingers fluttering, they suggest the ebb and flow of a creature moving on or against the current of water. From the shadows, the cast watch each other with close attention. Coming together, they create larger, multi-handed sea creatures. Whether observing or collaborating, there's an endearing sense of communication and connection, of making something together in the void. Do you speak jellyfish?
