After taking a wrong turn culminating in the misbegotten Frankenstein, Akram Khan has wisely returned to his original inspiration in kathak, the ancient dance culture of northern India synthesising both Hindu and Muslim mysticism and mythology. The result is something deeply impressive and beautiful that held me enraptured for an hour. This is the work of a serious artist, without gimmicks or frills, and there isn’t much of that around at the moment.
Starting with massive thunderclaps in primal darkness, Gigenis takes us through the cycle of creation, tracing the same epic path as the Mahabharata through fire and air, the birth of a hero, a courtship and marriage, a family feud, a war, a victory, defeat and death. One doesn’t have to worry about niceties of plot, however: the themes are big and archetypal, and their tragic import is immediately and unmistakably communicated.
The stage is bare of decoration, illuminated only by a stark battery of lights. Indian musicians sit to the left and right, beating out rhythms that are often relentlessly percussive. There are seven dancers, all apparently representing a different branch of kathak: they squat deep on flat, turned-out feet, their arms and hands as sinuous as tendrils. Briefly coming out of retirement from performance, Khan himself (now 50) has a stunning solo – whirling faster than a dervish, shuddering as if electrified – but it is the women, Kapila Venu in particular playing mother and wife, and the bereaved who have the most emotionally expressive presence.
Ballet’s economic viability has come to rely to an alarming extent on the pulling power of The Nutcracker over Christmas.
Comments
Join the debate for just £1 a month
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for £3.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just £1 a monthAlready a subscriber? Log in