Gimmickry combined with athleticism in a mixed programme by Sydney Dance Company

Australian dance is having a moment in London; last summer we were treated to a rare visit to the Royal Opera House by The Australian Ballet. They scored a popular success here so there was much anticipation around the arrival of Sydney Dance Company, bringing their programme Ascent to the Linbury.

Under the long tenure of Graeme Murphy, the company was based in contemporary dance but with significant classical influences. The promotional material for their last visit to London, in 2011, described the company as having been “reinvented” by Spanish choreographer Rafael Bonachela, who took over as artistic director in 2008. He has moulded them in a more firmly contemporary mode, and his strong, athletic dancers now look less classical but are highly versatile in a varied range of modern dance styles.

Bonachela’s own piece, I Am-ness, opened the programme. In subdued lighting, four dancers are silhouetted as the curtain opens, dressed in black shorts or trousers with black bras for the women. Contradicting the title, there are no individual relationships within the group; all come together and disperse in well thought-out architectural tableaux, flowing in and out of these with seamless ease. I liked the element of counterweight, each dancer using the others to give or take momentum, using every part of the body (even necks, faces, fingertips) to provide impetus for their comings and goings. The music by Pēteris Vasks, a Richter-esque string soundscape, matched the movement perfectly, but became rather repetitive after the first few minutes.

A break was needed for the installation of the set for the second piece, so Bonachela stepped through the tabs to speak about the programme. Does he do this at every performance? He is charming and spoke well but for too long and rather effusively; a standard pause or a brief speech of welcome would have sufficed. The reason for the delay became obvious as soon as the stage was revealed for Marina Mascarell’s The Shell, a Ghost, the Host and the Lyrebird. Multiple ropes are suspended from the flies, some with large sheets of fabric like sails attached, which turn out to form the principal movement content of the piece as they fall into mounds or swoop up on high. 

Apart from a rather good duet towards the end, the choreography mainly consists of gymnastic bursts of activity in among the rope work. The dancers pull on the ropes, moving with them to create flying, soaring shapes reflecting the environmental sounds of Nick Wales’s score. At times a cats’ cradle of interwoven ropes and sails is formed, with dancers leaning out from the mass in a way that made me wonder what would happen if something went wrong and everything became mangled – would they carry on regardless, or would it all have to be taken apart somehow? Visually, this piece brings rewards, and the sounds of the Australian landscape, from car engines and creaking forests to beautiful bird calls, create an atmosphere rich with life; there was an exciting moment where one could feel a storm approaching. My heartfelt respect went out to the dancers, as this must have been very difficult to learn and to repeat.

Antony Hamilton’s Forever & Ever is described as “a bold and thrilling theatrical experience that exhilarates the senses.” It isn’t all of that, but it is certainly bold and the second half lives up to the hype better than the rather dull beginning. After a long solo (in silence) for a lone female, a diagonal line of sinister-looking cloaked figures in black or white robes shuffles on from upstage right, stopping inches from the solo dancer, who is then lifted among them. The figures in black wear large white cones over their hands and carry lamps, and at this point my gimmick antennae went into overdrive. 

Gradually, everyone disrobes, taking off layers of puffa jackets, tracksuits and street-dance wear until they are in black shorts and tops. At one point they are motionless in a group, holding up green laser-pointers that flicker on the roof of the auditorium; more gimmickry. The last few minutes are reminiscent of a rave party; the drum-based beat of Julian Hamilton’s soundtrack is almost trance-inducing and the dancers immerse themselves in it as they perform the angular, break-dance influenced choreography. They are astoundingly precise and accurate as they move in unison from formation to formation. Hamilton’s adeptness with this geometry saved what was otherwise a gimmick-dependent piece. It won a Helpmann award and has been very well-received in Australia.