The act two pas de deux between Oscar Wilde and Lord Alfred Douglas (known familiarly as Boise) in Christopher Wheeldon’s new ballet Oscar deserves to take its place in the pantheon of great romantic balletic pairings.
Theirs was a tumultuous relationship. Not only because Wilde was married. Not only because, at the time of their tryst, sex between men was illegal in England. It was a relationship marked by big personalities and artistic dreams. It was an on-again, off-again relationship – even more so after Wilde spent two years in prison for “gross indecency”.
But here, Wheeldon gives us the pair at their loving best. At first it is all delicate and sensuous, small steps and stolen glances. In the opening night cast, Callum Linnane (astonishing throughout the whole night as Wilde) and Benjamin Garrett (perfectly charming, delightfully impertinent as Boise) fall over and into each other. They dance with a sense of light, peace, and play.
As they lift each other, their centres of gravity mirror – so different from the usual bodily conversation that happens between male and female romantic ballet leads. The dance grows in elation, with leaps and bounds across the space, until the two give in and passionately kiss and grope.
It is an unusual moment of levity in Wheeldon’s dark and nightmarish second act.
The life of Oscar Wilde might seem an odd choice for a new ballet, but Wheeldon and the rest of the creative team in this new work for the Australian Ballet fully justify their decision to bring this story to the stage.
The first act is a lighter affair. We see Oscar with his wife, Constance, and sons; Oscar the dandy, amusing couples at a party; Oscar attending a bar filled with gay men (each wearing a green carnation, in a subtle but pointed touch from designer Jean-Marc Puissant), and for the first time with his first male lover – and then lifelong friend – Robbie Ross.
These scenes are interlaced with Wilde’s The Nightingale and the Rose, more tender than Wilde’s telling: the romantic form of ballet not quite having the space for Wilde’s clear-eyed cynicism about the folly of young love. While Linnane gives physicality to Wilde’s wit, his true way with words is harder to translate into dance.
In the second act, we are more fully in Oscar’s mind as he deteriorates in Reading Gaol. He recounts his relationship with Boise; the collapse of his marriage; the retribution of Bosie’s father, Lord Queensberry, who made sure Wilde was tried. The intertwined story is The Picture of Dorian Grey – all hedonism and self-destruction, as Oscar persecutes the case against himself. It is in these moments of darkness where the ballet truly comes into itself.
Wheeldon’s choreography blends the classical and the contemporary. A perfect pirouette is followed by angular motions. Feet are perfectly stretched, and then flexed and out of place. Rather than showing us the best leaps or the biggest extensions, this is more about quick movements and interesting shapes. The company of the Australian Ballet relishes in this choreography, and also the many junctures for acting and feeling deeply into their characters.
There are many moments for the women of the company to show off their work (Ako Kondo is stupendous, light as a feather as the nightingale), and more traditional pas de deux pairings. But this evening belongs to the men: the stolen glances between Oscar and Robbie as they dance with Constance; the boisterous delight in the clubs of London filled with men, their dancing joyous and exuberant; the rich and detailed performance by Linnane , technically performed and beautifully acted as he moves between Oscar’s optimism about a life of celebrity and newly discovered love, and the darkness and derangement he suffered in prison.
Joby Talbot’s music is stunning, varied and cohesive. He ranges freely over the orchestra: a solo piano; a full suite of strings; a staring moment to the triangle. It echoes grand classical ballet compositions, but is also contemporary and wholly unique. In the second act, as Oscar’s mental and physical anguish intensifies, the horns complement a deep electronic bass; a shrill ringing hums under the orchestra – Oscar’s tinnitus leaking out into the theatre.
Oscar is the first production the Australian Ballet is staging in the Regent theatre, as its usual home in Melbourne, the State Theatre, undergoes renovations. To accommodate the full size of Orchestra Victoria, the pit has been built out into the stalls, and the stage has been raised a metre. Unfortunately, this causes serious sightline issues.
From where I was seated in the middle of the stalls, a lip at the front of the stage obscured my view of the dancers’ feet. This would be an issue in any ballet, but it feels particularly pertinent here, as so much of Wheeldon’s choreography is about small, precise movements, low to the ground: delicate and interesting footwork, often with the dancers lying on or working close to the stage.
There is so much to love about Wheeldon’s Oscar. More’s the pity, then, there are parts many in the audience will not fully get to see.
Oscar is on at the Regent Theatre in Melbourne until 24 September, and at the Sydney Opera House from 8 November to 23 November
