EIF 2022 - The Pulse at the Playhouse, or, Simply Mesmerising

 At the start of this performance, Gravity & Other Myths and the National Youth Choir of Scotland conducted by Mark Evans lulled this viewer into thinking he had seen it before. The Choir are singing numbers - 1,2,3,2,1 etc. (I suspect a Glass setting) and the movement of the acrobats recalled to mind the work of others - William Forsythe's choreography, Glass's Einstein on the Beach. Then the acrobats subvert it as they climb on one another's shoulders - forming first a set of two person towers, and then moving up to three - the moment when the set of trio towers cross through each other was the first of a stunning series of acrobatic peaks. From then on I was gripped by a show of mesmerising movement and acrobatics which makes full, successful use of the often tricky Playhouse space.

Gravity & Other Myths have three styles - those breath-taking set pieces, the ground level collective movement (both as individuals and in small groups - there are some lovely human mobile moments late on), and individual turns - the guy towards the end who slid along on his back and then bounced upright as though made of rubber particularly sticks in my mind.

EIF 2018 - Xenos at the Festival Theatre, or, The Importance of Narrative

I'd had high hopes of this show in advance based on the reviews and social media commentary. There's no question that Akram Khan is a remarkable dancer. There are also a number of arresting images. But in the end, despite the subject matter, for much of the performance I remained emotionally at a distance.

The subject matter is actually less clearly reflected in the dance than might be imagined. There is one overt reference - a song about the battalion hanging on the old barbed wire - and quite a number of coded ones - but the First World War setting is less concrete than I'd expected. The structure is also episodic - presumably intended to reflect the confusing experience of the Indian servicemen but for this viewer the piece suffered from the lack of a clear narrative. Episodes include the barbed wire one already referred to, the laying of communication wire, and the ever-present threat of death.

EIF 2018 - Autobiography at the Festival Theatre, or, And the Connection with the Human Genome?

In advance of this show I had high hopes after the powerful experience of McGregor's Woolf Works at the Royal Ballet last year. Unfortunately this new commission is not in the same league.

According to Uzma Hameed's programme note "a library of movement material has been generated...to reflect the 23 pairs of chromosomes that contain the human genome - refracted and abstracted through McGregor's choreographic processing". What this in practice means is a sequence of 23 movements - I think, they are not performed chronologically and I didn't bother to check them all off - with short titles starting with "avatar" and including such things as "sleep", "nurture" and "scenes from nature".

EIF 2015 – Murmel, Murmel, or, Not Side-Splittingly Funny

The International Festival brochure proclaims this show to be “a side-splittingly funny 80 minutes”. On the basis of my experience I conclude that, presuming Fergus Linehan did see the show before booking it, he and I have wildly divergent senses of humour.

There is no question that the twelve strong ensemble of performers in this show are very talented people who can sing, move, dance and dive/fall off the stage onto a crash mat to a high standard. But a talented ensemble alone does not make a successful show and, once again this Festival, this is an ensemble let down by the show they are performing in.

EIF 2015 - En avant, marche!, or, A Way of Finding Courage

I can explain what this show is about. I'm not sure that I can recapture why it packs such a punch.  The primary story tells of the first trombone of a brass band (the remarkable Wim Opbrouck) who owing to illness can no longer perform. Through broken snatches of speech, gargling, song, silence and some remarkable choreography the show meditates both on this loss and the perhaps more terrible final one which confronts him. Simultaneously, the show is also a larger meditation on the nature of community – a striking commentary on which is provided by the participation of a local brass band from wherever the show is being performed (in this case the superb Dalkeith and Monktonhall Brass Band). The contrast between their history (as described in the programme) and the jobs of current members (elicted as part of the performance) is especially eloquent.

Early on the piece is often funny (the first trombone's wife's bitter complaints about her husband's insistence on sleeping with his trombone as well as her). But the tone steadily darkens. When the D & M forces bring matters to a conclusion with Holst's Jupiter, simply played straight out to the audience, it was powerfully moving.

EIF 2015 – Seven, or, Attempted Epic Falls Flat

A ballet choreographed to a complete performance of Mahler's Seventh Symphony with live orchestra in the pit sounded from the outset like the sort of unusual Festival show that could go two ways – either be an unique, remarkable experience, or an endurance test. Unfortunately, this show is the latter.

The first point which ought to be made quite clear is that choreographer Martin Schläpfer has not choreographed the whole of Mahler's Seventh Symphony. There are too many places in this performance when Mahler's music is chuntering on in the pit and nothing is happening on stage (the bizarre opening to the final movement is a key instance). This might be more tolerable if the choreography were more convincing, but Schläpfer simply hasn't got a sufficient vocabulary to sustain a 90 minute dance piece. After the opening movement you have pretty much seen what he has to offer and it is not improved by repetition. Only at the very end does something really new appear – a weird solo with bedside table coupled to a game of musical chairs. The choreography attempts the creation neither of sustained characters or narrative, nor does it respond convincingly to single movements in themselves (there are exceptions within movements) or to the work as a whole – it is essentially highly episodic. To couple such an approach to Mahler I frankly found rather baffling, because Mahler's Symphony is not meant to be played episodically – though this performance tried unsuccessfully to make it sound in places as if it was. To my eyes there was overall a strong divergence between music and choreography.

The Prince of the Pagodas, or Who Would Have Imagined Britten Could Be So Romantic

I set off for the Royal Opera House on Friday night with some slight misgivings. My parents saw this show on Wednesday and their report was lukewarm. It had been a heavy week at work and it took some effort to drag myself back out of the house. But, as is so often the case, this particular show proved to be just the tonic I needed and a marvellous reward for a hard slog of a week.

The true revelation of the evening was Britten's score. I think I do actually have it on CD somewhere and therefore must have listened to it but I cannot recall it making any real impression at all, and I had booked out of curiousity rather than love. I can only say that it totally beguiled me. Yes, it may partly have been the effect of hearing a great orchestrator at work after Thursday night's one song to the tune of the same song at the Coliseum. But I think it is more than this. The sound world is beguiling, from the use of percussion to the brass and woodwind solos. There is a marvellous romantic, mysterious sweep especially to the second act which just completely carried me away. Barry Wordsworth drew compelling playing from an on form Royal Opera Orchestra for both of whom the cheers at the end were deservedly loud.

The design matched the music. Castles frame the stage, the Emperor whizzes around on a rather fun Heath Robertson type wheelchair, the lighting adds effectively to the mood. However, the more astute amongst you may have noticed that I have not yet mentioned the dancing or Kenneth MacMillan's choreography. I have stressed on previous occasions that while certain ballets have blown me away I am not a balletomane, so I don't feel as comfortable judging ballet choreography as I do other things. After a non-descript first half I thought things improved, but overall somehow MacMillan just didn't seem to rise to the magic of the music. All the emotion and character was there and the dancing just didn't quite match up with it. The Second Act has the best of it and so far as I could judge Sarah Lamb (Princess Rose) and Federico Bonelli (The Prince) danced perfectly well there and throughout but I wasn't held by the choreography as I have been in other ballets.

EIF 2011 - Princess Bari, or would someone be good enough to point out the Princess please

After a week largely composed of performances from the East I'm beginning to become familiar with certain styles (mostly a great deal of colour), musical idioms (rather minimalist), gestures (hand wringing, clothes wringing) and attitude to narrative (dispense with it). Frankly, the novelty is wearing off.

The second offering in the Festival's Dance programme, from Korea's Eun-Me Ahn Company has all of this. Once again (as at The Peony Pavilion) there is a lengthy synopsis, in this case of the myth of Princess Bari printed in the programme. You may as well not bother buying and reading it. Occasionally a fragment surfaces but this is a mostly plotless piece of modern dance.

This would work if the dance were sufficiently interesting. For me, it was not. There is somewhat more choreography than in The Peony Pavilion but it all overstays its welcome. There is nowhere near enough here to sustain a piece lasting 90 minutes. I congratulate the dancers on the way they throw themselves around and some of the more acrobatic leaps and balances are impressive, but as with so much of this stuff in the productions offered this festival it struck me again as style over substance. The repetition became boring, the various segments did not seem to me to form a coherent whole, and as with Pavilion I was left thoroughly emotionally cold.

EIF 2011 - The Peony Pavilion, or something is amiss at the ballet when the orchestral sound is more exciting than the dancing

Once again this website finds itself out of step with mainstream critical opinion. Praise has been lavish for the National Ballet of China's production of The Peony Pavilion which opened the International Festival's dance programme on Saturday and which I caught up with last night. For the life of me I really can't see why.

This ballet requires a three page synopsis to explain the plot. I read this carefully before each act but I found it really quite difficult to keep track of the plot based on what was actually going on on stage. As far as I can judge from the synopsis (what went on on stage was not a lot of help) it was all about the love of a young woman for a young man who may, or may not be real – or at least starts off as a dream or a fantasy and becomes real by the end. One of the problems with this was that there didn't seem to be much in the way of passion between the two lovers, even though the programme makes much of the exploration of love as being central to the traditions of Chinese ballet.

Come Fly Away, or The Show that Fell Between Two Stools

After an afternoon of searing racial drama, I decided to opt for something musical for the evening performance, and after some dithering decided to try something a bit different.  Come Fly Away follows in the increasingly worn pathway of all the other recent musicals which have looted the back catalogues of a variety of famous singers and proceeded to string often depressingly thin plots onto their backs and proclaim them A New Musical.  That soubriquet is very much in evidence here.  However, Come Fly Away, is a little bit different.  Basically, this is a piece of modern dance which just happens to be choreographed to Frank Sinatra's songs.  Frankly, I can't quite see how this can really be made to square with the generally accepted definition of a musical, and I can't help suspecting that it is being called A New Musical in order to attract the audiences who have already flocked to Momma Mia, We Will Rock You and so on and so on.  Be that as it may, having disposed of the question of genre the next question is does it work as a piece of modern dance, and the answer is well frankly no.

In fairness I suppose I am bound to acknowledge that the show does attempt to have a plot, albeit one so loose as to be practically meaningless.  The whole event takes place in a bar, against a soundtrack of 30 odd Frank Sinatra hits.  As far as I could discern you have one young ingenue couple falling in and out of love, and two men fighting over another woman (I think one of my problems may have been that I found it really rather difficult to work out why two men should have been fighting over this particular woman, but anyway, moving on...).  On the plus side, and a remarkable technical feat this, you do get Sinatra singing all the numbers, with support from a marvellous live big band, and a rather bland Featured Vocalist (her programme credit), Hilary Gardner.

So what exactly is the trouble with all this?  Well first, clearly I was likely to have a bit of a personal problem with the show in that I like to have characters who engage my emotion, and a flimsy plot such as this one is unlikely to create characters who will do that.  Despite this, I have been entranced by modern dance in the past, Impressing the Czar at the Edinburgh Festival being the prime example.  This did not happen here.  As far as I'm concerned Twyla Tharp's choreography often didn't fit with Sinatra's music, and it quickly became rather repetitive.  I'm not saying that the dancers weren't all very good, or that there weren't some breath-taking moments, but I found myself spending far too much of the time wondering how what the dancers were doing was supposed to match up with whatever number the disembodied Sinatra was then singing.  And that, indeed, was a further problem: Sinatra's musical performances, particularly ballads like One for my Baby and September of My Years had far more emotion than much of what was happening on stage, such that I wanted to just close my eyes and listen to him, which I'm sure was not the effect that Tharp was hoping for.

A Brief Report from Sadler's Wells

Every so often Mrs Pollard announces that the time has come to go to the ballet again (normally about once a year, although this was our second trip in three months). Fortunately, she usually makes a good selection for this, and tonight's trip to Sadler's Wells was no exception.

The company in question was Christopher Wheeldon's new transatlantic ballet troup, Morphoses, in a mixed programme of three works, two choreographed by Wheeldon (Continuum, to music by Ligeti, and Rhapsody Fantasie, to music by Rachmaninov) and one choreographed by Paul Lightfoot and Sol Leon, of Netherlands Dance Theatre (Softly As I Leave You).

The programme was introduced by Wheeldon himself, who provided useful insight into the choreography (particularly the moment in Continuum inspired by his cat and dog having a spat. It also featured film of the company in rehearsal, and the final work included projected drawings by an artist who had sat in on those rehearsals.

Of the three I was most powerfully captivated by Softly as I Leave You. Beginning with a woman trapped in a backlit box, moving into a spellbinding pas de deux, the whole piece is haunting. The other two pieces also contained some striking moments. The final image of the dancers in Continuum had them crouched down, silhouetted, hands held out in supplication, and for some reason brought the word pieta to my mind, and made me think of old master paintings of appeals to God. All three pieces saw the dancing effectively integrated with music and, more unusually, lighting. Overall though, despite this effective integration and impeccable dancing Wheeldon's two pieces, for me, a little overstayed their welcome. Mrs Pollard suggested that it was a bit like watching Wheeldon's sketches – they didn't quite build up to a whole as they might have done, and this seems fair.

Having said that though, it is still a privilege to spend an evening watching such world class dancers. A company of this standard deserves to be showcased. The Edinburgh Festival director ought to take a look at them. In the meantime our New York readers (should we have any - Editors note: 9 in the last month) can catch the company on the next leg of their tour.

Festival 2006, Part I - What Delayed Runnicles?

As I did with the 2005 Edinburgh festival, now seems good time to round up the reviews I wrote during the 2006 festival on the Naim Audio forum (they weren't done here as this website didn't exist yet). You can view the full thread here.

Actually, first review didn't pertain to the International Festival, but rather the Fringe, and qualifies as a shameless plug as it was of a production at my own Venue 40, an adaptation by the Edward's Theatre Company of 1984:

As an Edward's virgin, sitting in the Meeting House foyer an hour or so before they go on, talk inevitably turns to their long association with the venue and some of their past successes (including plays about imprisoned writers after which the audience has been reduced to tears) and you can’t help but wonder if this is setting expectations impossibly high.

From the moment you enter the theatre, Big Brother is watching you, whether from the telescreen that dominates the simple set or the two seated columns of cast members dressed in their party uniforms. An eerie electronic music hums in the background. Throughout the play this music is used to great effect, conjuring up the same mundane claustrophobia of an awful situation from which there is no escape that Adam’s Death of Klinghoffer managed at last year’s International Festival.

The use of space is impressive too. The dystopian film had wide open spaces and to get that sense in such a small theatre is no mean feat. This is helped by a wonderfully choreographed ‘chorus’ of actors who, in many ways, steal the show. Their mimed routines of the daily grind of life as tiny cogs in a vast machine is superb, and its repetition devastating.

Not everything works perfectly. When we first encounter a rat, it doesn’t seem this is truly Winston Smith’s worst fear. When Winston and Julia confess themselves to a party official, it seems a bit too rushed (such moments are perhaps inevitable when cutting a work down, but they are few).

Winston and Julia are convincing both as lovers and Winston in his despair at society. But in many ways the show is stolen by the supporting cast. The way in which the ‘chorus’ switch so effortlessly and convincingly from party workers, to prols, to thought police. The two children, desperately eager to witness an execution. The beauty of the prol woman (no more so than when she sits peeling the potatoes), captured every bit as elegantly as the film.

The production is most haunting, though, in its modern parallels. A party worker’s savouring of the reduction of the language yet further, and the possibilities this brings. The ‘two minutes hate’. But, perhaps most powerfully, when Smith’s interrogator talks of power as an end, not a means, one cannot help but think of certain politicians today.

It’s a production that leaves you utterly drained, if not in tears, and well understanding the comments in the foyer.

One last note, don’t waste a thought on how the rats will be brought off – when it comes it is both wonderful and chilling.

This was hotly followed by some dire news: what promised to be a wonderful concert from Donald Runnicles and the Orchestra of St Luke'swas cancelled, owing to the sudden hysteria over an a plot to blow up airlines and which meant that musicians were not allowed to take their lethal cellos and tubas onto aeroplanes (they could trust them to the hold, but there are various reasons, from risk of loss, damage in handling and environmental conditions, why you simply wouldn't do this). Then home secretary John Reid was responsible for this scandal and will not be forgiven. The programme was to have included such works as the Siegfried Idyll and a late Mozart symphony (I forget which).

Indeed, it was a bad year for cancellations: the first performance of Troilus and Cresida had to be abandoned at half-time due to a malfunction in the complex stage apparatus. Fortunately, my ticket was booked for later in the week.

My 2006 International Festival did in the end get going with a double bill so good I went to see it twice (after all, I had nothing to do now on the night of the Runnicles concert). This was in the form of a Weill/Brecht double bill of The Seven Deadly Sins and The Lindbergh Flight:

I was at a stunning Brecht/Weill double bill (which is running and the Festival Theatre for the next two evenings, approximately two hours, at 7.15) and I cannot recommend it highly enough. The fact that director Francois Girard is also a film director shows and aides this very much. Indeed, from a production standpoint this is one of the most satisfying operas I have been too.

As a work, The Lindbergh Flight is not the most satisfying in the catalogue. Celebrating the first transatlantic flight, it comes from early in the Brecht/Weill partnership and it could be argued this shows. Brecht's decision to introduce each part with an actor playing him shows that he likes the sound of his own voice rather too much and without enough cause. However, once the curtain rises all such doubts are removed. The set is stunning [sadly the pictures I linked to have been taken down from the EIF website].

The 'plane' moves in an arc from one side of the stage to the other, in front of the world map, as the drama progresses. There are so many nice touches - the 5 clocks, each an hour faster than the last, all moving slowly round. The countries that make up the backdrop are, in fact, in front of the rear screen onto which there are some excellent projections. It's well played and sung, but I suspect that with a poor production it would drag. This, however, is a joy to watch.


The Seven Deadly Sins is far superior, both in terms of the text and the music. I am a little reluctant to describe it as an opera, almost more a cross between opera and ballet.

The story tells of Anna I and II (essentially two halves of the same character). II is played by 7 different dancers, each of whom goes through a sin as Anna goes on her quest to earn money for her family back in their home state (as she does so their house rises at the back).

There is the bite that the music and lyrics of Brecht and Weill has at its best. Gun-Brit Barkmin is superb as Anna I and the choreography is a joy to watch (and I'm not normally much of a fan of ballet). The libretto is nice too.

Throughout both pieces, the playing of Opera de Lyon under Roberto Minczuk is excellent, as is the singing of the chorus. The set design of Francois Seguin also deserves a mention.

This is playing tomorrow and Wednesday and if you are in the area I urge you to go (I may even go and see it again now that I have a night off due to the St Luke's cancellation).

That's all for now, but there's plenty more to follow (including the legendary Mackerras/SCO Beethoven cycle, the Bruckner and Abbado's Magic Flute).

A night at the ballet

When we booked the Royal Ballet's programme of three short works, it was done largely on the strength of the Seven Deadly Sins. As I noted when I saw it at the Edinburgh Festival two and a half years ago in a production by Opera Lyon:

The Seven Deadly Sins is far superior [to the Lindbergh Flight], both in terms of the text and the music. I am a little reluctant to describe it as an opera, almost more a cross between opera and ballet.

The story tells of Anna I and II (essentially two halves of the same character). II is played by 7 different dancers, each of whom goes through a sin as Anna goes on her quest to earn money for her family back in their home state (as she does so their house rises at the back).

As well as an impressive production, it also appealed for the excellent combination of Bertolt Brecht's words and Kurt Weill's music. The two other works, Carmen and DGV: danse à grande vitesse were pot luck. Interestingly, or perhaps because of the expectations, The Seven Deadly Sins was not the evening's high point, not even close.

The Seven Deadly Sins was ruined by a lack of bite in every respect. In the first place, the contribution from the pit, commanded by Martin Yates, was absolutely lacklustre. On the stage things were not much better. Martha Wainwright as Anna I was amplified. Now, this may have happened in Edinburgh, but since I didn't note it, I would be surprised. This was unsubtly done and her entire narration seemed something of a monotone. Where was the cutting satire? Where was the edge to questions such as "Right, Anna?". In these times where greed has wrought ruin on the financial system, such parallels should be even more powerful. They were not. I suspect the move from German to English may not have helped, but then the text used was worked on by Auden so it shouldn't be a let down.

On stage, too, things seemed dull. As the Annas journeyed across the states, there seemed little sense of travel. The family back in Mississippi, for whom the Annas toil, are present on a gantry above, which does not resemble the house. The way this rose, as they flung money about as the work progressed, was infinitely more powerful during the Lyon Opera production. Indeed, I thought the script called for the house to rise - it's difficult to tell because the Royal Ballet haven't bothered with a synopsis for any of the works. Folks, when you're charging £5 for a programme this simply is not good enough. Similarly, there were no surtitles and, while Wainwrite was clear enough, the chorus were not. This doubtless helped reduce the drama.

From a dance and choreography perspective, things were also fairly uninspiring: for a work filled with sex and depravity, it seemed remarkably dull in these regards.


After the first interval we returned for Carmen. Fortunately, while we had been at the bar, there had been a change in the pit and Pavel Sorokin was now in charge. The difference was unbelievable, suddenly the Royal Opera orchestra was playing to the standards one expects, it was taut and full of energy. This was doubtless helped by Rodion Shchedrin's wonderful arrangement of Bizet's score (Bizet not ranking amongst my favourite composers normally), not least the colour brought by the bevy of xylophones. It also made over-familiar tunes sound fresh where too often the appear tired.

On the minus side, Royal Ballet had once again decided that we didn't need a synopsis. Well, not having seen the opera before, and only owning one recording which I can't have listened to very much, I did. The ballet was not so clear that such was not required. I know I've moaned about this already, but it is such a glaring oversight that it bears repeating.

However, it was vividly coloured by designer Marie-Louise Ekman and engagingly and amusingly choreographed by Mats Ek. Especial highlights would include the cigars in the Habanera (what a shame one man's match didn't light), the smoke wafting up added wonderfully to atmosphere. I also like the circular touch of beginning and ending with Jose being executed (note, the execution is not mentioned in various online synopses so it may be an invention of the ballet). Tamara Rojo stands out particularly as Carmen, not least for the way she struts about the stage.

Not the greatest of works, certainly, but tremendous fun.


Another interval and another change in the pit, this time Daniel Capps stepped up for Michael Nyman's DGV: danse à grande vitesse. This also gets no synopsis, but we'll let them off since it's really an abstract work and so doesn't require one. Composed in 1993 for the Lille Festival and the opening of a TGV line (train à grande vitesse, France's high speed trains and the fastest in the world, excluding those that use magnetic levitation). Choreographer Christopher Wheeldon notes that "You can really see the countryside rushing by." How right he is, and so well suited is the piece for dance that it is a surprise to learn it was not written with this in mind.

The music is minimalist, and in many ways quite repetitive. And yet, it isn't: it changes, varies, evolves and builds in the most magical way. It conjures train travel so perfectly: the speed, the mix of the sameness of the carriage and the variety rushing by outside.

Wheeldon's work is stunning too, complementing the music perfectly. The ensemble rocking in the background at the start, like a gaggle on a tube train gripping the handles above, is delightful to watch. They capture the scenery whizzing past and generally just bring the music to life.

The abstract form at the back of the stage provides a train-like image, and also an effective screen for some of the action to take place behind. There is the wonderful quieter, slower, night time section (which the lighting matches wonderfully) and then the magnificent finale, accentuated by the three snare drums which have been placed just to the side of the stage in the stalls circle.

It's very difficult to describe in a way that does it justice and, sadly, Opus Arte (owned by Covent Garden) does not seem to have had the sense to record this onto DVD for posterity. What a pity. This astonishingly vivid piece is one of the more remarkable things I've seen and thoroughly to be recommended. Its 26 minutes alone justifies the price of admission.