Live theatre is for everyone, but there are secret meanings we learn to understand as we see more and more performances. Though the rules aren’t fixed, in a genre like narrative ballet, something as simple as a step performed in parallel implies the character feels something negative, just like in music when something played in the minor key carries less sunny connotations.
In this respect, Northern Ballet’s production of Little Red Riding Hood – a brisk flirtation with ballet, running at just 40 minutes – is a lovely introduction for young children to a genre of dance that warrants a lifelong relationship of spectating. What warmed the heart at this performance was seeing young audience members fully engaged and fascinated at the spectacle unfolding in front of them.
I applaud the values of a show like this. Introducing children to live performance, with live music to animate the action on stage is an essential part of our cultural offerings. Eloise Gynn’s tuneful score, using just four musicians to vibrant effect with real economy, was led by Ewan Gilford with zest. Though aimed at children, Little Red Riding Hood extols Northern Ballet’s central identity: passionate storytelling using classical ballet as its vehicle, and showcasing home-grown artistry by commissioning a ballet by former company dancer Mariana Rodrigues. Marjoke Henrichs’ set, which cleverly revolved to transfer the action from domestic interior to a suitably storybook looking forest was eye-catching.
As choreographer and director, Rodrigues’ focus was on recasting the narrative of the original story, deleting its sinister undertones and exchanging them for a more moralistic story about how we can learn more about one another if we look beyond the surface and our preconceived ideas. A very noble sentiment, which was neatly explored in the addition of other woodland creatures, notably Noah Benzie-Drayton’s dizzy honey-selling bear. This entrepreneurial forest-dweller owns a little cart that he, a little repetitively, wheels around the wilderness to satiate the appetites of the woodland population. But his prejudice towards the Wolf wins out, and it is this plot point that means Albert González Orts’ Wolf breaks in to Little Red’s grandmother’s home – his hunger got the better of his sense of propriety.
If only the frightened bear looked a little longer at Wolf, he’d see this slinky persona – with elongated limbs that jollily roll through his dance phrases – defying all our expectations of a savage, blood-thirsty predator. Little Red’s grandmother takes herself off for a bath to recover from the cold she is suffering, so Wolf can scavenge her cupboards. When Little Red comes knocking, Wolf hurriedly disguises himself to avoid frightening our heroine. A big reveal, heartfelt apology and subsequent re-integration to woodland society led by Little Red means that Wolf can enjoy being part of a jovial dance finale made up of Little Red, her parents, Grandmother, Badger and Bear.
Though this story has a big heart and is charming entertainment for children, I had the peculiar contradiction of feeling both a little rushed, but also impatient for some dance episodes to be over. It was a lesson in how delicate choreographing a narrative ballet is. Each step has to be for a very precise reason – it can’t really be dance for dance’s sake. Each character has to have their own accent within the steps; immanent story-telling in the choreography that immediately identifies their unique perspective at that point in the action. The woodland creatures often moved too similarly, relying on stock gestures that seemed unoriginal. Kaho Masumoto’s Grandmother had some comic moments, but an over-reliance on this pensioner’s sore lower back pain undermined their effectiveness.
Julie Nunès was a delightful Little Red, clearly with a mind of her own, who used her delicately wrought legs to expressive effect. Her choreography seemed stuffed with urgent bourrées and jazzy changes of direction, so much so, one hoped for some respite. A change in tone might help us understand her character to greater depth: the fairytale is about maturing from child to adult after all. A pas de deux for Little Red’s parents had the potential for revealing emotional nuance, but uninteresting partnering left it a stone unturned in the woods.
This was not Kenneth MacMillan’s account of the Perrault fairy tale, and neither did it pretend to be. Searching emotional depth probably isn’t the point of this show? Instead, this production is about introductory meetings, as opposed to deep exchange. I would certainly bring a niece or a nephew along to a future Northern Ballet production of this type, knowing that it is laying the foundation for a lifelong conversation with ballet and live arts.
