At the opening night of TWO, a collaboration between the Royal New Zealand Ballet and BalletCollective Aotearoa, a front of house host informs us on voice-over that there has been a change in the order of the programming. I scramble to write down the new order of the works and have to give up part way as the words speed through my ears, lights go down and the show begins. 

We start with The Last Time We Spoke, performed by BalletCollective Aotearoa and choreographed by Sarah Knox. Dancers begin positioned on stage, dressed in flowing white costumes. The sound of static fades into music that reminds me of a specific niche of binaural beats on Spotify – designed for soothing anxiety. It is highlighted in the Tempo website show notes that this work was choreographed during the social isolation and uncertainty of the Covid-19 pandemic, so such an association seems fitting. The soundscape evolves into emotive piano melodies, which flow congruently with the movement vocabulary, situating a space between neo-classical, classical and lyrical contemporary genres. The choreography is skillfully layered, interspersing solo, partnered and group sequences. Static, gestural phrases incorporating rhythm changes and idiosyncratic inflections are blended with more traditional vocabularies. Travelling formations merge in and out of each other. As I watch, the dancer in me appreciates the technical skill of these performers (especially those wearing pointe shoes) as they move between more ‘pulled-up’ classical and ‘weighted’ contemporary aesthetics, each of which treats the centre of gravity quite differently. Where question marks float up for me is in the approach to performance presence. In moments where dancers stand and watch each other, I find myself pondering the strange and stilted mannerisms that sometimes populate the storytelling of ballet body-culture, where facial expressions can be quite dissociated from the perpetual grace and control of the rest of the body. These regal and ‘enchanted’ mannerisms are congruent when adorning the border of a Coppelia or Giselle village scene but seem kind of odd when this fairytale scenery is missing, and the tone of the work is more human and intimate. I’ll admit, I am also generally not a fan of the double-percussive memes of much lyrical and classical balletic dance, where melancholy, heartfelt music is often amplified by melancholy, heartfelt facial and physical expression. I see currents of this meme in this work, and I grapple with whether this is just an inevitable feature of the particular genre we are in or something I can fairly critique. I also wonder if the sense of disconnect and disjunct in performance presence is intentional – given the covid-19-isolation related themes of the work. But I notice a couple of dancers in this work whose performance presence seems more grounded and integrated. Their facial expression is perhaps subtler but seems more united with their embodiment as a whole and their overall energetic sensitivity to the space and the other dancers. As the choreography becomes more intimate, with embraces between dancers and more weighted partnering, the collective performance presence seems to soften and the sense of connectivity between the dancers grows. The final moment, where the dancers form a circle and gaze up at a fading, poignant top-light, is simple and felt. 

High Tide, choreographed by Alice Topp and featuring principal dancers from RNZB (Ana Gallardo Lobaina and Joshua Guillemot-Rodgerson) is a stunning pas de deux work embodying exquisite realms of subtlety, suspense and expansion. The way these dancers anticipate and respond to each other’s movements produces a resonance and chemistry that is tangible, as though the space between them is threaded with tensile cords. Their movement pairs beautifully with the reflective piano melodies of the musical score. While some of the pas de deux work feature more traditional pathways and extensions, other parts of the weight-bearing and lifting employs inventive, intricate grips and angles of counterweight and leverage, along with many surprising arcs, rhythms, spins and pathways of lifting and presage. The choreography is satisfying, it empowers the raw technical prowess and precision of the performers. I only start to disconnect towards the end when the gendered relationship of lifting vs being lifted starts to wear on me. I remind myself again that this is ballet, and there are genre-specific conventions to keep in mind! But still, when Lobaina does something as simple as supporting the weight of Guillemot-Rodgerson’s head as he lowers to the ground, I feel re-engaged, and ponder how contemporary ballet might continue to evolve its gendered relationships within the parameters of its form. 

My thoughts about partnering and gender-conventions in ballet are met when two male dancers in white, sparkling costumes enter stage for TWO, choreographed by Shaun Kelly. Exploring “the fleeting moments where two birds’ cross paths” this work engages a spacious and stripped back vocabulary in which gentle ‘birdlike’ mannerisms emerge out of soaring, sky-like arcs and turns of movement. I enjoy the simple beauty in this work; how the dancers locomote through space, draw-up into levity, and extend their limbs like unfurling wings. The clarity and fluidity of their movement is mesmerizing, and their partnering is fluid and reflective. A shift of lighting at the end of this work, in which the dancers perform almost moon-walking movements, before exiting stage, is quirky in such a gentle and understated way that it makes me smile. I appreciate where this piece sits in the programme – the way its spaciousness does not emote ‘at’ the audience but provides room for reflection and time to process with it. It makes me think of the ways we decompress and re-sync with reality when observing nature. 

Loughlan Prior’s choreography, Subtle Dances, follows next, just at the moment when I’m starting to crave some more percussive and edgy soundscapes. A single dancer dressed in black slow walks with palpable attitude onto the stage as moody, twanging strings pluck and resound. I try to figure out whether I’m hearing a guitar or cello or double bass, but the sensual and stylistic shift of this work dissipates my fixation as more of the BalletCollective Aotearoa dancers saunter into the space. Dressed in shiny, rippling black and sheer costumes that have an almost wet, slicked texture, the dancers’ flirtatious, playful personas combine with Prior’s Latin and ballroom-inspired choreography to create the atmosphere of a balmy dance hall. I enjoy the presence of polyrhythms in the music and fast-twitch movements at this point in the programme, as well as a number of solo performances where the dancers’ technical clarity, precision and musicality in this style shines through. At times, the dancers place themselves around the space and observe each other before melting into duets, further building the sense of dancehall courtship. Questions again arise for me regarding how the Collective approaches group performance presence. I wonder how greater connectivity and porousness can be generated in how the dancers hold space for each other and transition energetically between states of observation, relationship, solo and group expression. What excites me most about this work is how it evolves in tone and mood in a way that other pieces in the programme have not. With a shift to warmer, darker lighting and more fluid, driving musical scores we enter into what feels like another dimension of the dancehall, perhaps the underlying subconscious, sensual dream-world of the dancers. The choreography builds momentum, becoming darker and more spacious, with fluid, expansive partnering, trio and group work. It also begins to accumulate upon and reference itself. The work ends with the same solo dancer who began the work fluttering gently in the space, their arms waving as the other dancers depart and the lights fade. I find myself interpreting their movement as the resonance, the energy left vibrating in a vacated space after it is filled with subtle yet vivid exchanges of flirtation and sexuality. 

The final work of the night, Titania and Oberon Pas de Deux from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, again with RNZB dancer’s Ana Gallardo Lobaina and Joshua Guillemot-Rodgerson, is an enchanting classical crowd-pleaser. This very traditional ballet expression captures and mesmerizes me just like it did when I was a kid. The sparkling bodice, the tailcoat and blue-face paint, the glossy pointe shoes, the fairytale musicality, the presage, the classical lines, the extensions – it hits all the nostalgic ballet spots. We are comfortably in high ornate ballet world with all the sequins and romance and drama, and the audience (I can tell by the applause afterwards), is stoked about it.

I leave the theatre wondering if the change around in programming for tonight’s show was a last-minute, needs-must adaptation, or a deliberate curational re-design. Whatever it was that re-arranged the programming, I’m humoured by how each of my unfolding desires as an audience member seemed to be answered and attended to by each of the following works. I contemplate how our needs, desires and expectations as audience members change and get contextualised not only by our own viewing (and wider life) history but also by how the works we see bounce off, reference and juxtapose with other works they are placed next to. I appreciate the way programmes like this allow varying approaches to a single genre like ballet to mingle together, talk to each other and perhaps re-configure their focus audiences’ desires and expectations of the form. I also particularly appreciate the contribution and presence of BalletCollective Aotearoa as a project-based group of dedicated freelancers, balancing the challenging graft of ballet artistry with other gigs and mahi, and in that, bringing a unique voice and perspective to the scene. 

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