Sadler’s Wells Theatre, London.
23 January 2025.
Bursting onto the dance scene 30 years ago in 1995, Matthew Bourne’s Swan Lake caused great sensationalism, and continues to be controversial today, though it has since been performed across the globe and has become the most successful dance theatre production of all time.
My auditorium next-door-neighbours had first watched Matthew Bourne’s Swan Lake 25 years ago, and sobbed most of the way through, both then and now. On the final curtain, another audience member declared themselves exhausted; and it was an accurate description of the stirring passion we had been drawn into for two-and-a-half hours.
Today, swans are being cast in the production who weren’t even born at the time of the premiere. Matthew Bourne said of the 30th anniversary tour, “I’m full of anticipation for the challenges it will bring to our next generation of dancers and the wonder that it will bring to audiences who will experience it for the very first time.”
It is thrilling to know that today’s performance is held in the same venue as the first staging at Sadler’s Wells in 1995 – though the theatre underwent extensive renovation in 1998.
The Prince, danced by James Lovell, was boyish and joyous when he smiled and danced with passionate lyricism. He was keen, energetic, his loving eyes alight when he was finding his place, following the swans. And dark and troubled when considering his mirrored reflection.
The Swan/The Stranger, utterly magnetic and compelling, was played by Harrison Dowzell. This complex and layered character demands thought long after the performance has ended.
Their chemistry thrilled the audience who sat motionless as the pair encircled each other, drawing closer.
There were so many undercurrents flowing through this extremely character-led production. The painful way the mother, the Queen danced by Ashley Shaw, both loved and rebuked her son simultaneously. Her son, the Prince who reached out to her again and again, his cries ignored as his world grew ever more confused, and ever more so enlightened at the same time. His turning to drink, expressed in many scenes, as he grappled with society’s expectations of him, and his own sexuality and sense of self.
The power of the corps de ballet – the swans – turning against the Prince and his swan lover was deeply disturbing. The relatable feeling as though the world was against them, touchable for every person there present. It spoke volumes about human groups in society, in social settings, in work. How easy it is to laugh and poke fun, to ignore what is really going on, and to gather forces against an individual.
So emotional. No wonder there were tears.
The Swans. Their sensual stylised movements, one arm draped overhead, were mesmerising. The sheen of perspiration across their chests and backs, as they snarled and hissed. Imposing in their group presence; mysterious, authoritative. They used audible breath and their bare feet rhythmically, enhancing both their believability as swans and the brooding atmosphere which slithered like the dry ice off the front of the stage and into the audience.
Elements of ‘Swan’ wove their way throughout the guests’ choreography at the ball in Act 2, keeping the audience a little on edge. The Stranger’s powerful entrance to the ball oozed immediate seductive energy. All eyes on him; the women entranced and the men in fear of losing their women to him. He played hard with the Prince’s emotions, taking his hand and casting it away, offering himself to everybody but him.
The sub-plots at the side of the stage were just as eye-catching, so much to spot looking through the surface level. The private secretary – Cameron Flynn – had the job of distracting the Girlfriend – Kurumi Kamayachi – as she shimmied after the Prince long after he had made it clear he was not interested in her. She provided many humorous lifts against a very serious setting. Another couple flared in frequent lover’s tiffs. Even if an audience member were not completely clear on the intricacies of the Swan Lake narrative, there was plenty of dramatic mime clearly expressed by this company of extraordinary dancers to sweep them along.
For those with more traditional knowledge: delight and wonder surely for them at the innovative use and development of the music, characters and reimagined storyline. Not to replace the original ever, but as a highly imaginative ‘New Adventure.’ For example, a vivacious stand-off of men-versus-women was performed to the stirring music usually used for the black swan Odile. The music itself was a continual reawakening to the depths of emotion Tchaikovsky had poured into his score.
Eventually, so confused, wretched, provoked and rejected by The Stranger’s outrageous behaviour, the Prince produced a gun. Which resulted in his imprisonment and ‘treatments’ to ‘cure’ him, overseen by his mother.
The final scene saw the swans turning on the Prince and his Swan. We saw the Swan’s deep love for his Prince emerge truthfully in his silent guttural roar. And his primal attempts to protect him from the other swans. Passion was alive on stage, and desperation, and relentless hounding. The type of passion that could only end in death.
In the end, the mother howled, her mouth wide, irreparably shattered as she realised her son was dead. How the audience felt that immeasurable needless tragedy of loss as the Prince lay motionless in her arms. Her arms had finally reached for him, too late. Above them, seconds before the blackout, the ghost of the Swan appeared rocking the ghost Prince in his arms.
A standing ovation; it couldn’t have been anything else.
By Louise Ryrie of Dance Informa.
