Next Generation

A ballet body is essentially a deformed body. The older and more experienced the dancer, the more evident–and beautiful–this deformation is. Years of daily classes, rehearsals, and performances transform the musculature, creating an instrument capable of performing magnificent feats. Still, watching a dancer at the beginning of their career is no less enchanting. One sees the potential, the future great performances, the body testing its training and, hopefully, triumphing. Stardom or perhaps injury or perhaps a career on the sidelines awaits; nevertheless, the possibility of all three hums within each and every movement. In short, it’s exciting.

Performance

Next Generation Festival 2025, featuring American Ballet Theatre Studio Company, Youth Company of the Finnish National Ballet, and Paris Opera Ballet's Junior Ballet

Place

Linbury Theatre, Royal Opera House, London, UK, June 2025

Words

Phoebe Roberts

Paris Opera Ballet's Junior Ballet in Maurice Béjart's “Cantate 51.” Photograph by Julien Benhamou | OnP

At the Royal Opera House’s Next Generation Festival, nine junior companies from across the US and Europe presented performances by dancers just entering the professional world.

The troupes, featuring dancers aged 17 to 23, act as a middle ground between school and company life, affording members the opportunity to adjust to a more rigorous training schedule and gain valuable stage time. On the evenings I attended, I saw the American Ballet Theatre (ABT) Studio Company, the Youth Company of the Finnish National Ballet, and the Paris Opera Ballet Junior Company. Each reflected the strengths and weaknesses of their parent company, as well as offered new discoveries.

If ABT Studio Company volunteered the least inventive program of the three (the tried and true ballet gala pieces–“Swan Lake” Act III pas de deux, the Rose Adagio from “The Sleeping Beauty,” “Tarantella”–were trotted out one after the other), the dancers made up for it in their sheer force and artistic daring. This is particularly true of Kayla Mak, a recent Juilliard graduate, who met the demands of classical pointework and the groundedness of contemporary pieces with equal verve. In “Human,” a solo by Yannick Lebrun, she appeared as anything but: ripping across the stage, filling it with her presence and leaving traces of her contortions on the air long after she’d moved on to the next step, she was a dance demon.

Kayla Mak in “Human” by Yannick Lebrun. Photograph by Rosalie O'Connor

In “U Don’t Know Me,” a work for six dancers by Houston Thomas set to the music of Arvo Pärt, Mak again stood out for her fearless, full throttle approach. However, as the piece progressed, another, quieter dancer began to command my gaze: Yeonseo Choi. Peering out from a serene face, her eyes possessed a calm that bordered on hypnotic. Her elegant remove, coupled with a rock-solid technique and long proportions, made her well-suited to the next piece on the programme: the Black Swan Pas de Deux. Though subtle, her characterisation added true depth to the part, and might inspire more senior ballerinas to rethink their own approach to the infamous role.

Rather than try to evince the over the top, femme-fatale persona typically associated with Odile, Choi proceeded methodically, evilly. Here, her tranquil disposition played brilliantly off the excitement of Tchaikovsky’s score and Petipa’s notoriously difficult steps. Wielding her calm over Siegfried, she enveloped him and us, looking between her prince and the audience with equal parts disaffection and amusement. While it was clear she was carrying out the dance for Siegfried (in the ballet, Odile’s father Von Rothbart orders her to seduce the prince), at moments, she seemed to moving for her pleasure alone: stretching into a never-ending arabesque, she revelled in her suppleness as if discovering it for the first time.

Kayke Carvalho and YeonSeo Choi in the Black Swan pas de deux from “Swan Lake.” Photo by Emma Zordan

While the Youth Company of the Finnish National Ballet presented a less traditional program, its dark moods and contemporary explorations offered a welcome diversion. Unfortunately, the first piece, “Fragments of Time” by Julian Nicosia, was marred by costumes which distracted from both the performers' beautiful physiques and clean dancing. Next was “Clique” by Reija Wäre, set to music by Minna Koivisto, which incorporated street dance elements alongside those of classical ballet. Here, Werneri Voitila shone in a soloist role: with a mop of blonde hair and textbook perfect ballet lines, he looks like a prince, but moves with the spunky spirit of a 21st century star.

Like Mak with the ABT Studio Company, he devours space; even the smallest of gestures is imbued with a largesse of charisma. Throughout the evening, Anni Martinsen also made an impression, lending her crisp technique and sparkling presence to all three works. During bows, she and Voitila smiled so heartily at each other that it almost constituted its own performance. The joy was needed: the final work on the program, “Blushing,” by Marco Goecke, consisted mainly of dancers scooching (I wish there was a better word; there is not) around the stage on their behinds and breathing violently. My companion that evening said the piece not only reminded her of a panic attack, but also gave her one.

Werneri Voitila and Waltteri Voitila in “Fragments of Time” by Julian Nicosia. Photograph by Roosa Oksaharju

The Paris Opera Ballet Junior Company, in only its first year (by contrast, the main troupe is the oldest in the world), offered the most intriguing program, presenting pieces by the likes of George Balanchine, Maurice Béjart, and Annabelle López Ochoa. In Balanchine’s “Allegro Brillante,” Natalie Vikner brought old-school elegance to the ballerina role, carrying herself with the same regal command of Tchaikovsky’s score. The more difficult the footwork became, the more she seemed to delight in it; look what I can do, she seemed to say, and how effortlessly. Most touching, however, was the care between Vikner and her partner, Davide Alphandery: taking his head in her arms, throwing her weight off-balance, she swooned.

The next work on the bill, Béjart’s “Cantate 51,” offered a star vehicle for Angélique Brosse. As the barefoot, modern dancer who spends the first portion of the ballet asleep at the foot of the stage, Brosse commanded attention before she even sprung into motion; her stillness runs deep. Once moving, her power became even clearer: positions seemed carved from the inside out, as if each new pose revealed something essential. As authoritative as she was, it was difficult to take your eyes off Grace Boyd, who performed as one of the duet girls. With a happy-go-lucky smile and warm disposition, she shone. It didn’t hurt that she threw her legs like lances: slicing into space, they extended and retracted with a force all of their own.

Still, the moment from the Festival that stayed with me the longest came during the performance of “Allegro Brillante.” Vikner had just completed an arduous solo, finishing with a series of quick chainé turns and an arabesque before disappearing into the wings. From my seat near the side of the auditorium, I could see her backstage, clasping onto the working lights and trying to catch her breath. While not choreographed, it offered a flash of insight into the life of a ballerina: the work never stops, and it never gets easier, either. I hope I get to witness the efforts of the young dancers of the Next Generation Festival for decades to come.

Phoebe Roberts

Phoebe Roberts is originally from New York where she trained with American Ballet Theatre and Leslie Browne. She danced with Béjart Ballet Lausanne before studying Russian at the University of St. Andrews, Scotland. She is currently pursuing a master’s in Gender Studies at the University of Cambridge. Her writing has previously appeared in the Los Angeles Review of Books, The Good Press, Glasgow, and Spectra Poets.

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