From here, a beautiful cascade of creatures and creations spill from Kahlo’s mind, gesturing to her interest in Mexican indigenous art and culture. A pack of all male dancers, named the Male Fridas, with different brightly coloured torsos, flourishing skirts and uniquely crafted head pieces, teeter around Frida; slow, stately, otherworldly. Olivia Duryea appears as an enchanting Deer throughout, elegantly balancing large antlers on her head as she nimbly prances across the stage.   

These moments of Kahlo’s creative inspirations and ambitions intermingle with her famous relationship with painter Diego Rivera, danced by Evan Boersma. Connolly and Boersma convincingly depict a relationship full of passion but fraught with difficulty.  Further trauma is visited upon Kahlo when she miscarries; in this striking scene, a bluntly red string is unspooled from between her legs and held for an uncomfortably long time for all to see. 

Designed by Dieuweke van Reij, the movable cube allows room for the exuberant creatures to flesh out the stage, while creating new environments when a new facing is opened. The costumes are striking, invoking Kahlo’s strident use of colour, and playing with the dancers’ forms: textured skirts exaggerate their kicks, while blood red lines criss-cross the leotards of the Birds, both decorative and veinlike. Breathy woodwind and percussive instruments resonate throughout Peter Salem’s score, bringing a sense of place to this fantastical realm.   

As her health deteriorates, Kahlo becomes increasingly immobile. In the final scene, she is surrounded by her creations as she moves stiffly in the space, sometimes finding a moment to fly. I’m reminded of seeing “Woolf Works” by Wayne McGregor at the Royal Ballet in London in 2015. In that performance, Alessandra Ferri, performing as a Clarissa Dalloway journeying through her memories, jumps into the arms of a younger dancer; in that moment of physical choreography, she, Clarissa Dalloway, is young again. Just as Woolf’s prose moves us back and forth through time, so too does McGregor’s choreography. I feel the same, here, watching Connolly leap unbridled for a few painfully short bursts; in these moments, Kahlo is completely free.