No Words, No Refrains

The Royal Ballet’s new restaging of “Everywhere We Go”—the Sufjan Stevens-scored ballet that secured Justin Peck his appointment as resident choreographer at New York City Ballet in 2014—challenges the company’s dancers to adopt a specifically American brand of pizzazz. It might take a few more outings for them to conquer the ballet’s tricksy choreography, especially the swerving, breakneck syncopations, but precision doesn’t feel as important as charisma here, and they bring lashings of it, especially Sae Maeda, Daichi Ikarashi and Reece Clarke, each of whom matches the whizz-bang flavour of the ballet with fireworks of their own.

Performance

The Royal Ballet: George Balanchine's “Serenade” / Justin Peck's “Everywhere We Go” / Cathy Marston's “Against the Tide”

Place

Royal Opera House, London, November 14, 2025

Words

Sara Veale

William Bracewell and Matthew Ball in Cathy Marston’s “Against the Tide.” Photograph by Tristram Kenton

Magnetic from the get-go, Stevens’ score demands a charismatic response. It’s unique and charming, with horns, cymbals and bells that speckle the soundscape like winking stars, illuminating the melancholic piano melody that drives it forward. Peck’s choreography has the same immediate distinctiveness. We open with Coppelia-like port de bras from the men of the cast, swift, elastic motions aligned to the chirps of the music; soon the female corps dart in like comets, heads cocked and jazz hands at the ready. Together they navigate surges of fleet, frisky steps, hands flicking and cores popping as the score swells and recedes. There’s geometric lighting synced in, and the conductor even gets in on the action, bounding in the pit as he guides the fizzing instrumentals.

The ballet is at its most joyful in these galloping ensemble moments, but it’s the abrupt switches to pensive adagio that grab me: Marianela Nuñez finding the impossible extra stretch to her penché; Mayara Magri clutching Luca Acri in a whole-body clasp. The dancing here is smooth and deeply felt, the soloists allowed to luxuriate in the choreography rather than chase it. There’s a similar tranquillity at work in a falling motif that occurs twice across the ballet, half the cast dropping one by one and the other half swooping in to catch their friends before they hit the ground. It’s not for everyone, this earnest, effervescent tack, but I loved it.

Vadim Muntagirov and Fumi Kaneko in George Balanchine’s “Serenade.” Photograph by Tristram Kenton

We have another NYCB import in George Balanchine’s “Serenade,” from 1934, here receiving its hundredth performance by the Royal. The diagonals, long and stately; the tulle wafting with each arabesque; the wistful opening notes of Tchaikovsky and their hymnal reprise—it’s lithe, lived-in and nothing short of lovely.

Fumi Kaneko is regal in her leading role, fastidious in her petit allegro without ever making it feel fussy. The corps join her in hopping arabesques and pinprick piqué turns, tracing tidy configurations across the stage. Vadim Muntagirov and Ryoichi Hirano are handsome and light on their feet, but this piece belongs to the ballerinas, who look on each other with magnanimity as they ravel and unravel their genteel formations. The splendour hits a high note when Kaneko and Melissa Hamilton take down their hair and recline at Hirano’s feet, nymphs lounging at the riverbed.

Marianela Nuñez and Reece Clarke in Justin Peck’s “Everywhere We Go.” Photograph by Tristram Kenton

Sandwiched between these ballets is “Against the Tide,” a world premiere and the second Royal Ballet commission for Cathy Martson following 2020’s “The Cellist,” about the prodigious Jacqueline du Pré. Her new work appears to follow another embattled musician: Benjamin Britten, the British composer and committed pacifist who left England for North America with his lover, Peter Pears, in 1939 – the same year he finished Violin Concerto (Marston’s choice of score here) and England joined the Second World War. I say ‘appears’ because the narrative is light-touch, without a plot or named characters. All the same, it’s thematically loaded, enriched by Britten’s searing music and the elements of his biography seemingly threaded through, including his sexuality.

Water-beaten stone steps arc across the stage, our first allusion to the titular theme, while men dance a martial language of clenched fists and jutting shoulders, arms drawn like archers. William Bracewell, dressed in baby blue, resists their call-to-arms, and the theme comes closer into view. A sensual encounter with Matthew Ball draws out another shade. Ball is beautiful and roguish from his first step down the stairs, like a fallen angel or a neighbourhood scamp. We immediately know he’s about to make things interesting.

Bracewell inhabits a more ambiguous character, showing instant, intimate interest in Ball but later letting his attention wander to Melissa Hamilton, who approaches him with a vaguely maternal air. There’s some tension to this latter pairing, like when Bracewell scoops Hamilton’s legs up for a startling spin, but little urgency—and even less when a military captain joins them and further blurs the relationships. The scenes between Bracewell and Ball, on the other hand, are lucid and electric: arms running across chests, legs threaded together, daring fish dives and nuzzled necks. They’re mesmeric, to each other and to us—the kind of storytelling that needs no words, no refrains, just the vivid clarity of human touch.

Sara Veale

Sara Veale is a London-based writer and editor. She's a member of the UK Dance Critics' Circle and has written about dance for the Observer, the Spectator, Harper's Bazaar, Auditorium, Gramophone and more. Her book, Wild Grace: The Untamed Women of Modern Dance, was published by Faber in 2025.