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by Laibach, a group from Yugoslavia, whose chanting in Latin and German provides the basis for a ceremony set in a vividly imagined hell, full of creatures with extra limbs who become, if anything, even more alarming when they revert to normal human form. Clark’s interest in dance for its own sake, clear in his earliest works and underlying even the silliness and excess of some interim pieces, runs strongly through this new production, growing richer and more inventive at each stage of the action. His basis, as always, is the virtuoso possibilities of classic ballet, but used with complete freedom and individuality. In spite of losing two of his past stalwarts, Clark has managed to double the size of his company with no loss of quality. He, material as ever, and the quietly, earnestly impassioned and continually developing Ellen van Schuylenburch sets standards for the others to emulate. All the new-

comers do well, with Joachim Chandler and Carol Straker especially notable. □ The Times, september 1986, John Percival

Young master Three Cheers for Sadler's Wells Theatre, bouncing back from the brink of disaster, boldly redecorating and rearranging its facilities, and launching an impressive dance 1 season with a new three-act work, No Fire Escape in Hell from Michael Clark and his company. This favourite son of media hype, already a household word along the corridors that matter in the arts world and still only 24, actually justifies much of the fuss. An attractive dancer with a pleasing stage personality, he has grown rapidly in choreographic competence. His aim has always

been to chock, a traditional role for scions of the avant garde, and he is very ready to take on the big subjects, sexual role playing, law and order, social authority and religious attitudes, to say nothing of the convention of the dance world. It is easy to be shocking about the big subjects, most undergraduate magazines can manage that. Clark's gift is that by managing to be funny, and charming, and bubbling with irreverent humour and wild ideas, he disarms his audience, so that the usual reactions to the shocking-anger, resistance, disapproval-somehow pass him by altogether. This gift for disarming his audience, while shrewdly battering away at their beliets and attitudes, makes Clark very special. Voltaire, Swift, Bernard Shaw did in literature what he is attempting in dance and spectacle, which makes him a novel phenomenon. He is already almost as exhilarating and enjoyable to watch as they were to listen to.

He is arriving at a firm grasp of what actually works in theatrical terms. Nothing goes on too long, and he deploys his seeming chaos and disorganisation on stage with economy and skill. He has kept clever ideas from earlier works, but re-uses them to greater effect, and the progression throughout his three acts is carefully managed. At no point do we even suspect that we are just getting more of the same. Rock music by Simon Rogers and Bruce Gilbert, and of course, The Fall, in the first two acts gives way to a remarkably loud group from Yugoslavia, Laibach, in the third act, chanting in Latin and German to amplify movement in a hell that frequently looks nastily like a religious ritual. Ear plugs are advisable in this final act, but it is not only our ear drums that are being assaulted. Clark is the kind of enfant terrible every theatre needs, and every hidebound society deserves. He has doubled the size of his small company to great effect and they support him admirably. Above all the performance is fun. It should not be mis-

sed. At Covent Garden, the Sadler's Wells Royal Ballet has given us a chance to welcome back David Ashmole, away too long in Australia, partnering Marion Tait at the top of her splendid form in a rousing performance of Swan Lake. Petter Jacobsson, partnering Galina Samsova, gave us an ardent and remarkably well danced Prince too, partnering strongly, and fluent and elegant as all the best male dancers should be. In the programme of one-act works, David Bintley’s Flowers of the Forest dominated the stage and the evening, in spite of a stylish revival of a minor MacMillan, Quartet, and Michael Corder's The Wand of Youth. They made a good evening. □ Sunday Telegraph, september 1986, Nicholas Dromgoole

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