The sorry reality was a shambolic hotch-potch of dance vignettes presented by an array of accomplished international performers, which amounted to little more than a tenuous (perhaps even cynical) excuse to put bums on seats. Both the inclusions and execution in this infuriatingly inconsistent dance programme lacked any sense of thematic order or construct. The exceedingly mixed evening simply became a roller coaster of sublime moments, followed by those of a more dumbfounding and cataclysmic nature.
At the outset, the audience was treated to a well-meant but tedious lecture from Daniel Proietti on the current parlous world order, dominated by corporate manipulation and the Putin-Trump ego fest. “The Mockracy” was both studenty, amateurish and lacked the conviction of Charlie Chaplin’s earnest delivery at the climax of “The Great Dictator”, from which it was heavily drawn. Proietti fared considerably better at the end of the first half, dancing Russell Maliphant’s “Afterlight (Part One)”, illuminated from above in a cone of beams that beautifully conveyed restricted space.
Mathieu Ganio exuded classical technique, performing Alastair Marriott’s choreography to “Clair De Lune” and Michel Fokine’s work for Vaslav Nijinsky and the burgeoning Ballet Russes from 1911, was represented by the now hackneyed, but historically important “Le Spectre De La Rose” danced by Putrov himself, with some beautiful point work from Francesca Hayward.
An excerpt from “Petrushka” felt woefully out of place and “Sinnerman”, whilst spectacularly glitzy, was self-indulgent and unsatisfying.
Perhaps the biggest crowd pleasers were Giovanni Princic’s turn in “Ballet 101”, which opened the second half, and Ludovic Ondiviela’s “System/A.I.”performed by Putrov alongside the incomparably talented, Matthew Ball. The latter showcased strength, subtlety and dynamism as the robotic creation.
The programme culminated in legendary dancer Irek Mukhamedov’s contribution, which sadly amounted to a clownish effort. He swigged from a vodka bottle and destroyed a plethora of tambourines, attempting to complete a routine reminiscent of those performed by the pearly kings and queens in the East End. “Jingling From The Zills” intended to create pathos through artistic frustration, but failed to generate anything but irritation and sadness in those watching the spectacle.
Mark Rutland marries glamorous, habitual thief Marnie and is soon confronted by the many-layered psychological issues of her past. Alfred Hitchcock famously adapted Winston Graham's gripping thriller for the cinema in 1964, and the story has now received the operatic treatment.