Ce site Web a des limites de navigation. Il est recommandé d'utiliser un navigateur comme Edge, Chrome, Safari ou Firefox.

From Civil to Savage

Equal parts dystopian horror show and raucous romp, Matthew Bourne’s “Lord of the Flies” is a firecracker of a production. Over two acts, nine members of Bourne’s New Adventures and 22 locally sourced teenagers retell William Golding’s allegorical tale of marooned British schoolboys and their atavistic descent.

Performance

Matthew Bourne's New Adventures: “Lord of the Flies”

Place

Sadler’s Wells, London, UK, October 8-11, 2014

Words

Sara Veale

Matthew Bourne's New Adventures perform “Lord of the Flies.” Photograph by Helen Maybanks

subscribe to the latest in dance


“Uncommonly intelligent, substantial coverage.”

Your weekly source for world-class dance reviews, interviews, articles, and more.

Already a paid subscriber? Login

Bourne’s version departs from Golding’s in a few key ways, most notably in its setting: here it’s not a desert island but a deserted theatre that claims the characters, an inspired change that sees scaffolding stand in for cliff faces and racks of costumes for jungle bush. It’s also modern day in Bourne’s world, though it’s worth noting the only sign of this is a quick moment in which the newly stranded kids fruitlessly consult their mobile phones for a signal. That this modification has virtually no impact on the story at large no doubt underscores its timelessness.

One of the show’s greatest strengths is its seamless integration of professional and rookie dancers. The New Adventures blokes take on the primary roles—including Ralph, Jack and Piggy—while the younger lads form the ensemble, their adolescence boosting the introductory characterisation of the troupe as naïve and uncorrupted. The latter faction moves with purpose and precision, and their presence enriches the show deeply, the littlest ones’ in particular (I defy anyone not to be charmed by a rowdy gaggle of uniform-clad 12-year-olds scampering about). The professionals, too, are a treat: Sam Plant is a fine Piggy, all crooked glasses and injured expressions, while Sam Archer offers a sturdy turn as democratic Ralph. It’s Danny Reubens’ Jack who steals the show, however: his unruly deportment and wild eyes expertly toe the line between intoxicating and abhorrent.

Bourne punctuates swathes of improvisation (playing, exploring and so forth) with brief bursts of unison choreography, reserving the more complicated manoeuvering for pivotal scenes like the pig hunt. (The ‘pig’ here is a young boy in one of the theatre’s many abandoned costumes, and his fate upon capture is left deliberately ambiguous, though his mask is seized and deemed the titular Lord of the Flies.) A boisterous rugby game towards the beginning of the show—which sees line after line of boys leap and pivot in tandem—deftly captures the carefree mood initially surrounding the characters’ desertion, while the climactic manhunt for Ralph—a frantic flash of dashes and turns—epitomises their surrender to paranoia and primitive barbarism.

This descent from civil to savage is incremental and laudably organic: a squabble over rations sparks a food fight in the first act, and it’s not long before shirts come off and Rambo-style headbands are donned. From here, things devolve into full feral swing: before you know it, stomping and spear-throwing have become primary modes of communication, and there’s more than a whiff of bloodlust in the air. The crashing stage lamp that kills Piggy ushers in a momentary pause for reflection, but chaos quickly resumes when Jack dons a floor-length coat and assembles his tribe for a terrifying war dance—ironically the show’s most elegant phrase.

As is the case with the book, the production’s conclusion is abrupt: a soldier discovers the boys, and they immediately abandon their brutish behaviour to follow him back to civilisation. That this feels even remotely like a shame is a testament to Bourne’s eye for pacing: he knows just how to draw us in, and he knows just when to twist the knife.

Sara Veale


Sara Veale is a London-based writer and editor. She's written about dance for the Observer, the Spectator, DanceTabs, Auditorium Magazine, Exeunt and more. Her first book, Untamed: The Radical Women of Modern Dance, will be published in 2024.

comments

Featured

Lucia Field, Family Ties
TALKING POINTES | Claudia Lawson

Lucia Field, Family Ties

Today I have the immense privilege of speaking with Lucia Field. Lucia grew up with her family in Sydney, but with her dad, Anthony, as the original Blue Wiggle. It's not the childhood you might imagine. As the Wiggles became global superstars, Lucia didn't see her dad for nearly nine months a year. Instead, Lucia grew up alongside her mom, her brother, and her sister, dancing and dreaming of becoming a ballerina. And it was not just a dream. Lucia's star was already on the rise. And by 13, she was accepted into the Australian Ballet School. In this exceptionally...

Plus
A Collective Act of Storytelling
REVIEWS | Karen Greenspan

A Collective Act of Storytelling

The story began with an impulse to go back and give something back—to the performing arts traditions of India. Acclaimed British dancer and choreographer of Bangladeshi descent, Akram Khan, long known for dancing between worlds—contemporary dance and classical Kathak, decided to return to his roots.

Plus
Looking Back to See Forward
REVIEWS | Karen Greenspan

Looking Back to See Forward

I step off the elevator onto the 5th floor of the Whitney Museum and I am awed by the spectacle, vastness, and ground shifting power of the “Edges of Ailey” exhibition. This tribute to Alvin Ailey and his universe—past, present, and future—not only lifts up its larger-than-life subject but it also, like a great ocean wave, raises up and carries forward everything in its wake.

Plus
Paquita Bananas
REVIEWS | Faye Arthurs

Paquita Bananas

Marius Petipa’s “Paquita” Grand Pas Classique has been around since 1881. I last reviewed a version in 2023, by Les Ballets Trockadero de Monte Carlo.

Plus
Good Subscription Agency