BalletBoys - Photo credit George PiperThe production owes its energy and anger to the societal broken glass scattered during four decades of complacency, with images of Royalty, Thatcher and various establishment and anti-establishment figures indelibly secreted into proceedings through projected montages, supplemented by the efforts of an anarchic onstage band who channel The Sex Pistols. They are in turn supplemented by a heavily influenced Celtic/Gaelic sounding accompaniment, and a periodic (if often inarticulate narration).
The piece, which begins with a maggot-like blond waif crawling hesitantly out of the primordial soup, transitions through phases which encompass medieval hunting, pastoral and morris dancing and on to the disconsolately modern, where zombie-like algorithm-junkies lose their souls to that ubiquitous illuminated god, the mobile phone screen. Even Vivienne Westwood gets her moment in the sun - though there is little of any sunshine in this perpetually and palpably angry piece performed in front of the aptly named Cross of St George flag.
Whilst every generation is perfectly entitled to express their disgust, frustration, anxiety and indeed fury at those who have gone before and made such a bollocking mess of everything (to use the punk lexicon), it is also incumbent upon that generation to advocate for and explore new ideas to meet the challenges they face. This last aspect seems to have eluded Michael Nunn and Williams Trevitt the artistic directors of the company, who hoped the production would encompass the complexity of England as a divided nation but also capture the talent, ambition, potential and rebellion which fires it. Despite some world renowned names (which includes Russell Maliphant) contributing input to the evenings chapters, the choreography is resolutely of yesteryear with barely an interesting or inventive sequence. The evening therefore lived-up to the latest generation’s much-criticised modus operandi of moaning whilst offering little by way of new ideas.
