High-energy performances make Troy memorable

Gemma Champ

• Last Updated: November 14. 2009 3:32PM UAE / November 14. 2009 11:32AM GMT

Who would have thought that ancient Anatolia was so very this season? As the huge cast of the Fire of Anatolia’s dance version of Troy leapt about on stage on Thursday night, their ikat silks, gladiator sandal-boots and harem pants screamed Paris autumn/winter 2009/10.

Add Queen Hecuba’s Lacroix-style headdress, the Amazons’ Jean Paul Gaultier-esque conical bras and Cassandra’s Rick-Owens-like black drapery and you’ve got a great fashion show.

But Troy had more than costumes to keep the audience entertained. The late start, a series of momentous statements projected illegibly onto the closed curtains and piped music played loud enough to make your ears bleed did not bode well. (As I write I still have tinnitus in my right ear – the one that was nearest to the speakers.)

Yet when the first scene was unveiled – a frieze representing the thriving city of Troy and its happy people, which soon broke into lively dance – all preconceptions about the syrupy nature of a son et lumière show were smashed beneath those skipping gladiator boots. It was impossible to remain po-faced as 40 men and women ran around in circles at great speed and performed a joyous line dance at the front of the stage, ending with whooping from both the performers and the audience.

Sure, some of the belly-dancing girls with their brightly coloured veils and the hearty chaps with baggy trousers tucked into boots looked like they’d walked off the Hollywood set of Kismet. And the liberal use of Swarovski crystals on the more elaborate costumes of the kings, queens and deities was perhaps historically dubious. But the big smiles on the dancers’ faces as they stamped their hearts out looked genuine, and the responding grins from the audiences were certainly real.

As for the dancing, it may not have reached the expressive heights of the best contemporary dance or the technical heights of classical ballet, but the choreography was skilled in combining elements from both those disciplines with the vigour of traditional Anatolian folk dancing – the sort of stamping line dance that these days we most associate with Greek celebrations, though this was of course a Turkish dance company. The floaty costumes helped hide any flaws in the female dancers’ classical techniques, but the men needed no such aids: their muscular leaping and bounding happened at top speed and even the not-so-great dancers – such as the broad-shouldered Achilles – kept the energy high.

It was when the ululating began that things really took off. Really, Swan Lake could benefit from a bit of periodical ululating. The thrill of the sound together with a few responding wobbles from the enthusiastic audience was utterly evocative – a far cry from the cold perfection of some classical ballet productions – yet it did not detract from some genuinely good dancing.

The highlight for many, though, will have been the fighting scenes. Armed with metal swords, the soldiers clashed in macho yet graceful displays that resulted in sparks flying from their weapons and some close calls – one wrong move could have been very messy indeed, but still they viciously attacked. The match between Hektor and Patroclus was swift and robust, and the brutish Achaean warriors mourned in suitably thuggish manner.

The second half contained even more exciting brawling, including a great battle between Achilles and the queen of the Amazons, though the attempt to evoke mounted soldiers by skipping like horses was the sort of mime ruined forever by Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Similarly, although the swordfights were long and impressive, the pivotal matches between Achilles and Hektor and between Achilles and Paris were strangely disappointing. Perhaps, after all, the suspense of each could have been retained a little longer – especially as Paris valiantly tried to beat all the odds by fighting with a rather delicate little bow and arrow.

Still, as the piece drew to a close, a long and exciting display of virtuosic folk dancing meant that the mostly Turkish audience would leave happy, invigorated and nostalgic. And the final flourish? The choreographer and art director Mustafa Erdogan, replete with congratulatory bouquets, performed a sword fight with one of his dancers. Perhaps I’m getting soft in my old age, because it’s the sort of gimmick I’d once have sneered at if it had happened in Covent Garden. Now, though, it seems like just the thing to increase audience numbers at the Royal Ballet.