Christopher Hampson now virtually ranks as English National Ballet's resident choreographer, given that his latest work, Double Concerto, is his fourth ballet for the company in as many years. During that period Hampson's works have been among the very few new creations to which ENB's dancers have been treated - one reason, perhaps, why his cast look as if they are having a late Christmas. The same dancers who all December were doggedly churning out their umpteenth run of Nutcracker shine with the excitement and challenge of steps that are all their own.
Hampson has not yet developed a strikingly individual voice, and the fact that he shares the programme with two Balanchine ballets emphasises how much of his style and composition have been learned from the American master. But his pleasure in making steps is infectiously evident in every move, as is his gratitude to the scintillating energy of his Poulenc score. The choreography scatters across the stage with exuberance and ease, taking the dancers with it.
The two principals, Monica Perego and Jan-Erik Wikstrom, are transformed: the ruthless expertise that can make Perego look a tad hard-nosed in classical roles is here given freedom to glitter and play. Among the corps, too, there are some individually stellar efforts - Hampson's supple, decorative style allows all his dancers to perform like soloists, should they choose. It's just a shame that Garry Harris's designs have burdened the ballet with such a leaden, derivative look. The metallic greys and Star Trek detail of the costumes, together with the graceless lines of the chrome set, give the ballet a corporate hi-tech look that was dead by the late 1980s
Balanchine's Apollo, however, looks almost as fresh as when it was first made in 1928. And it was well served by Monday's cast. Thomas Edur is just a little solemn in the title role, but his finely sculpted technique gives the choreography heroic presence, and in his duet with Terpsichore he flips into deliciously unexpected flirtatious mode. It's frustratingly rare to see Agnes Oaks out of a classical tutu role - here, as Terpsichore, she dances as if she has just been allowed to throw off her corsets.
Who Cares?, Balanchine's celebration of George Gershwin, shows its age a little more, partly due to the grim cuteness of Ben Benson's costumes. (Could any self-respecting New Yorker ever have braved those pastel flounces?) And the choreography is hardly vintage Balanchine: there are some delicious Hollywood-musical moments, but ENB's own dancers do not have the careless virtuosity, the sophisticated sass, to capitalise on its highlights and make the ballet fly.
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