Ballets 104

Corroboree: A Dance of the Earth The first time I saw Corroboree, I was still a student at the Royal Ballet School, green as a sprig of mint and barely out of my teens. We had been given tickets to see a performance by the Australian Ballet, and I'd only ever seen classical ballet, the airy grace of Swan Lake, the soaring grandeur of Giselle. This was something entirely different. The stage was alive with a primal energy, a pulsing rhythm that resonated deep within me, stirring something raw and unrefined. John Antill’s score was the first thing to hit me, an explosive symphony of the Australian landscape: a cacophony of buzzing cicadas, howling winds, and the thumping heart of the Earth itself. The music pulsed through the theatre, demanding attention, driving the dancers into a frenzied dance of their own. I remember feeling as though I had been transported to a vast, rugged country, a world where nature reigned supreme. And the dancers! I was captivated by their powerful movements, the athleticism with which they flung themselves across the stage, the intensity that burned in their eyes. I remember being mesmerized by the story that unfolded in the choreography: the arrival of white men, the disruption they brought to the land and its people, the subsequent struggle for survival, and ultimately, a bittersweet sense of reconciliation. The first movement, "The Arrival," brought to life the story of the early explorers, a handful of white figures encroaching upon a world already teeming with life. This section felt tense, the arrival a disturbance in a carefully constructed equilibrium. The movements, driven by sharp, precise steps, almost robotic in their rigidity, represented the rigid nature of the newcomers. The dancers in their native attire – their fluid, earthy movements, the power in their simple poses - symbolised the earth and the indigenous people in a state of profound harmony with it. Their bodies flowed, undulated like the landscape they were a part of, every movement steeped in ritual and a deep reverence for the earth. It was like a visual metaphor for the disruption caused by the arrival of European colonisation. The second movement, "The Fight," was the most powerful, the intensity cranked up several notches. Here, Antill's music reached a fever pitch, driving the dancers to the brink of exhaustion. They moved with animalistic ferocity, mirroring the battle for survival that raged within the story. It felt like a whirlwind of chaos, a palpable clash between two worlds - both vying for control, for existence. As I watched, I was caught between sympathy for both sides - understanding the struggle of the indigenous people to defend their home, but also recognizing the desperation of the colonists to carve out their existence in this harsh, untamed land. Then came the final movement, "The Reconciliation." It was an oasis of calm after the tumultuous storm of the previous section. The dancers' movements softened, their bodies swaying, echoing the delicate rustling of the Australian bushland. Here, I felt the story shift; the hope for unity was a breath of fresh air. Although there was no happy ending, no easy resolution, there was a sense that something new was about to bloom. However, I can’t help but feel there’s an ambiguity about this finale, an ambiguity which echoes the reality of our relationship with Aboriginal people today. Is it truly a reconciliation? Is this just an idealistic fantasy? What will the future hold for these people, and their land? There is no question that Corroboree is a powerful and moving piece. The choreography by Peggy van Praagh, beautifully capturing the essence of Australian Aboriginal culture. The simple, earthy costumes were powerful in their understated elegance. In an almost ritualistic manner, she built upon this rich tradition by highlighting its strength, the grace and fluidity that came from understanding the language of the earth. Every movement had significance. The dances reflected the spirit of the Australian bush. We were offered a glimpse into the heart of the country's soul. From the delicate steps of the "Emu's Feather Dance," which recreated the graceful flight of the bird, to the powerful movements of the "Hunting Dance", depicting the ancient tradition of gathering food from the land - we were transported into a different world, a world before colonialism, a world untouched by our western sensibilities. Corroboree’s strength lies in its portrayal of cultural clashes - a delicate balance of empathy and pain, and that's what I feel is at the heart of the piece. It was raw and moving, full of passion and life, and for a young dancer like me, it opened my eyes to the possibility of ballet telling a different story, one rooted in a reality I'd barely imagined before. It was a transformative experience for me, and one I still hold close to my heart today. But beyond the technical brilliance, what I admire most about this ballet is the powerful message it conveys about our responsibility as humans towards the natural world and the people who have long called it home. As a dancer, Corroboree is not only a piece of dance history but also a poignant reminder of our interconnectedness, our fragile place within the world. And that's something we've been forced to contemplate again and again over the past decades, with Australia’s continuing efforts to grapple with its past and build a future forged in recognition and reconciliation. It’s not simply about showcasing a different form of dance - though there’s a rawness in it that feels uniquely Australian. What makes this work resonate, and what makes it an important piece of theatre - and perhaps of cultural history, is how it confronts a brutal, undeniable truth - that we exist within a context that encompasses an age-old narrative. And within the narrative, it allows us to engage with that truth on an emotional level, leaving us with a powerful reflection on our collective past and a hope for a more respectful, more equitable future. For me, it’s this exploration of history, this journey through the lens of dance, that makes Corroboree such a remarkable ballet. The Dancers * The dancers themselves were as remarkable as the choreography. Their performances were an embodiment of strength, vulnerability, and fierce passion. Their bodies told the story, expressing emotions that transcended language. * I particularly remember the dancer who embodied the spirit of the earth. Her movements were a dance of the elements - a whirlwind of wind and sand, the grace of flowing water, the immovability of rock. The presence she commanded was astounding - almost spectral in the way she moved around the stage, both tangible and otherworldly. * Each member of the corps de ballet was a powerful performer. Their bodies became one entity, their voices a collective roar of defiance and despair. Their collective spirit mirrored the power of the indigenous people who fought to protect their home. The seamless flow between individual dancers and the group was masterful. The Music * John Antill’s score for Corroboree is a work of art in its own right. It's a raw, visceral tapestry of sound that captures the essence of the Australian bush. He captures its beauty and its harshness, its stillness and its power. * The instrumentation, blending orchestral strings, percussive elements and wind instruments, added another layer of complexity and depth. It’s the perfect musical backdrop for this powerful and evocative ballet. * The soundscape created by the instrumentation alone was enough to carry you into a different realm - there were moments where I could smell the dry earth and hear the wind through the tall grasses. I could almost feel the sting of the sun on my face and the sand between my toes. The music, truly painted the story in a vivid soundscape. * The final moments, where a soft flute melody floated above a slow, throbbing drumbeat, were heart-wrenching in their poignancy. This fragile beauty created an intense juxtaposition - almost unbearably moving against the backdrop of the devastation. The final chords of the ballet resonated long after the lights went up, leaving a lingering feeling of wonder, sorrow, and hope. In Conclusion Corroboree, like a living breathing entity, remains as relevant and powerful today as it did in 1950. It's a timeless exploration of conflict and resilience. It is more than just a ballet, it is a window into a culture, a voice echoing the struggles of our times. And though its power lies in its message about reconciliation and survival, its resonance is universal - reminding us that the land beneath our feet is something sacred and demanding of respect, reminding us to look back to move forward, reminding us of the urgent need to connect with nature and listen to the stories that are deeply embedded in our very core.