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Classical x Contemporary

While the world of ballet is considered a rarefied one, what happens when a dancer who trained at the prestigious Paris Opéra Ballet School abandons the art form—or rather integrates said terpsichorean skills—into a solo sans pointe shoes or ballet slippers, sporting, instead, sneakers? The answer can be found in Dimitri Chamblas’ stunning and thought-provoking work, “Ulysse Marion.” 

Performance

Dimitri Chamblas: “Ulysse Marion,” choreography by Dimitri Chamblas in collaboration with dancers Marion Barbeau and Ulysse Zangs

Place

REDCAT, Los Angeles, California, October 20-21, 2026

Words

Victoria Looseleaf

Ulysse Zangs in “Ulysse Marion” by Dimitri Chamblas. Photograph by Angel Origgi, courtesy of Roy and Edna Disney CalArts Theater

and the provocative, the piece featured Marion Barbeau and Ulysse Zangs each performing a 30-minute solo, both made in collaboration with Chamblas, who also trained at the Paris institution and has described the dances as “choreographic portraits.”

Indeed, Barbeau, with her elfin but knowing presence, opened the piece by jumping, running in place and deploying bourrées in gym shoes, the lighting at first harsh and interrogation room-like (designed by Yves Godin in collaboration with Iannis Japiot), before she settled into silent-scream mode and removed her leather jacket—and soon shed her pants—all the better to see her well-trained legs. 

The atmospheric music track by Pierre Aviat included both keyboard and other percussive sounds, while Barbeau upped the movement ante by jogging around the room, executing the deepest of pliés, “Dying Swan” arms and tossing off sweet arabesques, her POB credentials on full view. 

In fact, this performer became a première danseuse in 2019 before leaving the Paris Opéra Ballet four years later to take up acting, then garnering a 2023 César nomination for Most Promising Actress for her starring role in “Rise.” 

Showing off her thespian chops as if she were either a descendent of Marcel Marceau or sporting robotic moves akin to having been AI-generated—her face transitioning from deadpan and determined to unabashed smiling, notably after drinking from a bottle of water, slathering her visage and hair with gel or singing along with herself on Maxime Le Forestier’s 1969 ditty, “La Petite Fugue—Barbeau could have been a young Audrey Hepburn, albeit one hailing from the twirling sprite school of entertainment. 

Ulysse Zangs in “Ulysse Marion” by Dimitri Chamblas. Photograph by Angel Origgi, courtesy of Roy and Edna Disney CalArts Theater

Ulysse Zangs in “Ulysse Marion” by Dimitri Chamblas. Photograph by Angel Origgi, courtesy of Roy and Edna Disney CalArts Theater

Lying on her side, “Odalisque”-style, she took on a sphynx-like aura, her journey/her story still emotional, singular and written on her body for all to see, before relinquishing the stage to sit in the audience and watch Zangs, her male counterpart, comport himself with similar panache.

Ah, Zangs! This very thin, shaved-headed mortal transfixed concertgoers with his own music (both live and on tape), replete with pianississimo singing and live guitar playing that opened his performance. After giving his instrument to a seated onlooker, his movement prowess was then on stellar view. As he executed a series of jaggedy actions, his ripped T-shirt accentuating beseeching arms, he also managed to maintain an earthly, very grounded fifth position. 

And why not? After his POB training, Zangs went on to dance with the Dresden Frankfurt Dance Company, before leaving that troupe to pursue a singing and film composing career, but never forsaking the practices that still live in his lanky body.

As for that mysterious inky black tear under his eye and another thin streak running down the side of his neck, Zangs was the perfect embodiment of mournful music, including his “Gone In Lust” and “Ghost Dance.” His molasses-y Robert Wilson-style walking and crawling was followed by imaginary barre work, replete with a slow arabesque, before he seamlessly assumed a fist-shaking posture, throttling the air with said balled-up hands. Was this gambit aimed at us, the world at large or unseen demons?

Marion Barbeau in “Ulysse Marion” by Dimitri Chamblas. Photograph by Angel Origgi, courtesy of Roy and Edna Disney CalArts Theater

Marion Barbeau in “Ulysse Marion” by Dimitri Chamblas. Photograph by Angel Origgi, courtesy of Roy and Edna Disney CalArts Theater

Whatever it was, his mega-personal dance had its own kind of agony—one, perhaps, akin to a self-exorcism, the singular artist exposing his tongue, softly whistling and offering a series of muted cries, a scenario that also became our torment, until the mood instantly transformed when Zangs went into the audience and snagged a tube of lipstick. 

Smearing the stuff on his lips, then face, here was the prankster as if channeling Stephen King’s shapeshifting Pennywise the Dancing Clown. And talk about fierce pirouettes! Zangs had them in spades, along with several mighty leaps and a backward fall. 

Retrieving his guitar—and again making use of a capo yet still playing in what seemed to be an extraterrestrial key—Zang himself seemed not of this world, while the onlookers (this viewer among them), was completely silent, riveted by the moment: performance as a gateway drug to unfettered emotions and perceptions, both past and present.

Since “Ulysse Marion” had its world premiere last summer at the Montpellier Dance Festival, where it was presented outdoors, when seen within the confines of REDCAT, the work, with its decidedly European flair and testament to Dada—where cleaving to absurdity, chance and the rejection of traditional aesthetics happily ruled - its impact proved visceral. But how, one might ask, can this be possible in such bare bone dances, where virtuosity as we know it, has morphed into everyday gesturing, and subversion is the rule of the day? 

This, then, is the power of great art. Encore, s’il vous plait!

 

Victoria Looseleaf


Victoria Looseleaf is an award-winning, Los Angeles-based international arts journalist who covers music and dance festivals around the world. Among the many publications she has contributed to are the Los Angeles Times, the New York Times, Dance Magazine and KCET’s Artbound. In addition, she taught dance history at USC and Santa Monica College. Looseleaf’s novella-in-verse, Isn't It Rich? is available from Amazon, and and her latest book, Russ & Iggy’s Art Alphabet with illustrations by JT Steiny, was recently published by Red Sky Presents. Looseleaf can be reached through X, Facebook, Instagram and Linked In, as well as at her online arts magazine ArtNowLA.

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