This Silicon Valley reboot of a classic ballet was a sprightly hit at last summer’s Edinburgh Festival, but its sold-out London season really hits its moment. Chatbots, AI, Elon Musk reducing Twitter to tatters: it couldn’t be more timely for a tale of love among the robots and tech gone bad.
In the original 1870 ballet by Arthur Saint-Léon, Dr Coppélius’ uncanny automaton sends a bickering couple into a spin with, to an extent, hilarious consequences. Choreographers Jessica Wright and Morgann Runacre-Temple (aka Jess and Morgs) teleport the story to the California HQ of a tech company called NuLife, with Coppélius as its vainglorious chief executive.
Bruno Micciardhi’s Coppélius is a stonking creation, comic and creepy. A tech bro in excelsis in his tight black sweater, he alternately glowers and smirks, pausing in mid-dance to slick down his hair. Trailed everywhere by his personal videographer (Rimbaud Patron), who beams his morning crunches and boxing training (not to mention his malfunctioning keynote) onto the back wall, he’s almost more Elon than Elon and surely riding for a fall.
That fall comes via intrepid journalist Swanhilda (Constance Devernay): resolute of jaw, inquisitive of eye, scoping out the lab after dark to learn what’s really going down. She finds Coppélia – an AI innovation in human form, that the doctor hopes will cross into the material world.
The Coppélia bots have candy pink bobs and streamlined sports bras – when dudes get horny for the future, their imaginations always stick at Barbarella. Swanhilda’s fiancé Franz (Jerome Barnes, lanky and dippy) is helplessly impressed by the doctor and infatuated by his cute creation. Will human love trump the cunning fake?
Visually, it’s very tasty: a sleek lab with recessed doors, with staff in cool greys and pistachio beneath their lab coats (designs by Bengt Gomér and Annemarie Woods). Their bodies are endlessly busy, their faces blank. They work hard and party through the night, Micciardhi leading an exhilarating line dance of Gangnam style lassoos and jiggling hips. Amid the late-night antics, Swanhilda melds with the avatar, and bamboozles Coppélius with her sashay and swirl, until comeuppance comes.
The new score weaves the original’s best melodies through bleep and blip and regular fanfares for the boastful techlord. Classical steps also suit the workplace formality: Jess and Morgs don’t quote the sunny 19th-century choreography, but give the thrusting NuLife staff jutting knees and elbows, while the bots move in dizzying bursts of speed.
Scottish Ballet, the smallest of the national classical companies, consistently punches above its weight. It’s strong on digital dance, commissioning female choreographers and new full-length shows, some of which (like the recent Crucible and the returning Streetcar Named Desire) have proved keepers. The same is true of Coppélia: smart, sharp and very nifty.
