Jules Cunningham is best known as a longtime dancer with Merce Cunningham (no relation), always a striking, if opaque, physical presence in the legendary choreographer’s impersonal work. But in this show Cunningham tentatively starts to let us in and to present themself on stage.
This double bill is called a “queer response” to the music of Tchaikovsky and Stravinsky. There’s an intriguing opening to the first piece, m/y-kovsky, set to Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto No 1 and danced in pleather dungarees, where Cunningham and Eleanor Perry are in cahoots, shyly swapping small signals, knowing looks and scribbled notes, alert to details and codes.
The main event, however, is Fire Bird, Stravinsky’s first ballet score, written for the Ballets Russes in 1910. The original is the story of a firebird who breaks the spell of an evil magician who has trapped 13 princesses. That’s not at all what Cunningham’s giving us, but the idea of breaking free, of a true self being revealed – that you can definitely see.
The Russian folk-inspired music is rich and mystical; Cunningham’s presence is quiet, introverted but compelling. Full of contradiction and uncertainty, they often have their back to us, unsure if they want to be seen. Yet there’s a directness in Cunningham’s dance, the lines so clear and strong. They always had the most incredible control as a dancer, and that physicality remains arresting.
You can sense there are deeply thought-through references here for Cunningham, even if we can’t read them all, and nods to the original scenario: in the story, the source of evil is destroyed while the characters sleep; here Cunningham lies snoozing, and JD Samson (of bands Le Tigre and MEN) appears on a screen amusingly humming along to the music.
We might not be able to discern every detail but by the end it feels transformative. Stravinsky’s finale could be the most stirringly beautiful three and a half minutes of music ever written and Cunningham is able to hold the space and hold the moment, arms gradually opening, full of wonder and revelation. It’s a powerful and moving climax, a dancer emerging from a cocoon.
At Lilian Baylis Studio, Sadler’s Wells, London, until 11 November
