I still like Sweet Violets, the narrative ballet by Liam Scarlett, which is inspired by the paintings of Walter Sickert and the infamous murder of prostitute Emily Dimmock, though it is flawed. It’s not an easy ballet to watch; the narrative structure is difficult to follow and the content is disturbing. On Monday evening there were mutterings and fidgetings from a section of the audience; it seems the Royal Opera House audience may not be the best one for his work.
Possibly I did not like the ballet as much as the first time and I still found it hard to follow in terms of a linear narrative, which was disappointing as I’d read more about it and was expecting to find it easier second time around. But perhaps it’s a mistake to look for a linear narrative; it’s more a structure of repetition and replay of the theme, of violence against women, played out by different men, against different women, whether in artist’s studio, theatre or street. At best these women are desired, toyed with and discarded. There’s an amazing scene on a stage within the stage, where the dancer Little Dot (Yuhui Choe) collapses as soon as the diegetic curtain falls, cutting off the spotlights and throwing her into literal and metaphorical shadow.
Violence against women is hardly a rare or unpopular theme. But Scarlett conveys the vulnerability of these women, who have fallen beyond or are perilously clinging to the margins of ‘respectable’ society in a raw and shocking way. The first time I saw this ballet I experienced moments of pure terror at their vulnerability and fragility and this time around it had the same effect. Death and violence haunt the stage, literally so in the mysterious figure of Jack, danced by the never less than brilliant Steven McCrae. He seems equally a manifestation of the darkness within and a puppet master luring each man and woman into violence and death. McCrae describes him as the ghost of Jack the Ripper and his presence evokes not only the mysterious killer but our own fascination with murder most horrid.
The choreography is strange and compelling. There’s none of the usual care with which the male dancer partners the female. The women are flung around as if already broken, limbs at disturbing angles. I imagine McMillan was equally shocking in his day and his work remains very explicit, but perhaps the sex and violence is more contained within the narrative. Although Scarlett’s ballet is set in the London of the actual murder, 1907, it is equally set in the world of the paintings and of our imaginations. Like all the best horror, Scarlett makes us aware of our own shadow side.
The unenthusiastic woman next to me, who barely applauded anything, was using opera glasses and ogling the nude scene. A year ago Scarlett was the golden boy of British ballet, but already the critics’ claws are out. His ballet delves deep into the dark, in a fearless way, hence the discomfort of some of the audience. But what ultimately makes it a success, for me, is that it resonates with all the violence against women in the world today.
I wrote that a few days ago, before the news became so unbearable. He’s not called Jack, but it seems there’s some equivalent evil spirit at work in Sudan, Pakistan, India and so many parts of the world. Sweet Violets also reminds us that murder and violence stain the soul. There are no winners, only survivors.
Possibly I did not like the ballet as much as the first time and I still found it hard to follow in terms of a linear narrative, which was disappointing as I’d read more about it and was expecting to find it easier second time around. But perhaps it’s a mistake to look for a linear narrative; it’s more a structure of repetition and replay of the theme, of violence against women, played out by different men, against different women, whether in artist’s studio, theatre or street. At best these women are desired, toyed with and discarded. There’s an amazing scene on a stage within the stage, where the dancer Little Dot (Yuhui Choe) collapses as soon as the diegetic curtain falls, cutting off the spotlights and throwing her into literal and metaphorical shadow.
Violence against women is hardly a rare or unpopular theme. But Scarlett conveys the vulnerability of these women, who have fallen beyond or are perilously clinging to the margins of ‘respectable’ society in a raw and shocking way. The first time I saw this ballet I experienced moments of pure terror at their vulnerability and fragility and this time around it had the same effect. Death and violence haunt the stage, literally so in the mysterious figure of Jack, danced by the never less than brilliant Steven McCrae. He seems equally a manifestation of the darkness within and a puppet master luring each man and woman into violence and death. McCrae describes him as the ghost of Jack the Ripper and his presence evokes not only the mysterious killer but our own fascination with murder most horrid.
The choreography is strange and compelling. There’s none of the usual care with which the male dancer partners the female. The women are flung around as if already broken, limbs at disturbing angles. I imagine McMillan was equally shocking in his day and his work remains very explicit, but perhaps the sex and violence is more contained within the narrative. Although Scarlett’s ballet is set in the London of the actual murder, 1907, it is equally set in the world of the paintings and of our imaginations. Like all the best horror, Scarlett makes us aware of our own shadow side.
The unenthusiastic woman next to me, who barely applauded anything, was using opera glasses and ogling the nude scene. A year ago Scarlett was the golden boy of British ballet, but already the critics’ claws are out. His ballet delves deep into the dark, in a fearless way, hence the discomfort of some of the audience. But what ultimately makes it a success, for me, is that it resonates with all the violence against women in the world today.
I wrote that a few days ago, before the news became so unbearable. He’s not called Jack, but it seems there’s some equivalent evil spirit at work in Sudan, Pakistan, India and so many parts of the world. Sweet Violets also reminds us that murder and violence stain the soul. There are no winners, only survivors.