Ballet Black at The Grange Festival

The Grange Festival, Northington Grange, Alresford
July 4, 2025

Although primarily and opera event, The Grange Festival has always found a place for dance. This year saw the return to the country house theatre of Cassa Pancho’s Ballet Black in what was advertised as a double-bill of A Shadow Work by Chanel DaSilva, which explores the inner self and the ‘shadows’ that we all carry around as part of being human, and choreographer-in-residence at Scottish Ballet, Sophie Laplane’s exploration of heroism, If At First, inspired by the art of Jean-Michel Basquiat.

But first to an unexpected additional piece: Perennial by former Ballet Black dancer Jacob Wye, developed by his dance theatre group People on the Move, and that emerged out of Pulse, Ballet Black’s programme that nurtures the emerging choreographic talent of former dancers and from within the company.

A collaboration with former Rambert dancer Hannah Rudd and actor Daniel Crossley, best known for his role as Cosmo in the West End production of Singin’ in the Rain, Perennial interweaves dance and text and dance as it delves into relationships as they reach that point where partners are initially indulged in, but where connections then become strained and changed forever.

Wye presents a triangle between himself, Crossley and Rudd. Full of rhetorical questions and the sort of ordinary, everyday comments that pepper most conversations, the spoken word punctuates the dance neatly. The three characters relate to each other ordinary, everyday ways, slipping in and out of boredom, indifference and comfort in each other. It’s a picture many will recognise.

Far from everyday is the dance, however. Clearly one to watch, Wye captures the moods of the trio perfectly in choreography that is both powerful and elegant. Rudd in particular was sublime. Her dance so smooth, so graceful, so controlled, so full of feeling that I could have watched it for the rest of the evening.

Perennial was preceded by Laplane’s If At First, which opens with striking image of a Jean-Michel Basquiat-style white crown hovering above dancer Isabela Coracy. Basquiat, who died aged just 27 of a heroin overdose, used his simple three-pointed crown as a motif so often in his art that it has become a recognisable symbol in popular culture, although its meaning remains obscure, and there actually isn’t one in the artist’s Eroica (hero), one of Laplane’s original inspirations for the piece.

The work consists of many individual dance vignettes, linked by that crown, later many crowns. But far from suggesting heroism, or considerations of what it means to be heroic, or even an homage to quiet heroism as suggested in the programme note, that crown kept getting in the way of my thoughts. I just couldn’t get away from images of Shakespeare, especially what appreared to be constantly grasping hands and chaos as the crown is fought for, repeatedly taken by one from another, only to be taken again, with no-one getting to wear it properly for even a second.

Among the ballet’s best moments is a beautiful duet for Love Kotiya and Acaoã de Castro in which Kotiya displays the unease the crown brings, the weight it places on the wearer, as his partner appears to die in his arms. I also enjoyed the final section to Michelle Gurevich’s ‘I’ll Be Your Woman’, a jazzy, bluesy number that comes with a hopeful feel. Elsewhere, the dancers gave a good impression of being imprisoned in some sort of limbo, stuck in memories, never able to move on, but all in all, I struggled.

More successful is DaSilva’s A Shadow Work, a convincing exploration of the way we have personal baggage or shadows that reveal our true selves. It’s not only a ballet full of powerful imagery, but also where the pictures painted are very clear.

The shadow is what one might call the ‘dark side’ of everyone’s personality. A critical concept from the work of psychiatrist Carl Jung, it consists chiefly of negative human emotions and impulses; the sorts of things we deny in ourselves because we perceive them as inferior, evil, or unacceptable. Shadow work is the process of getting to know those parts of yourself, bringing that disowned material into consciousness so that we can ultimately accept them.

The original score by Cristina Spinei, Natalie Pryce’s costumes and David Plater’s quite fabulous lighting that sometimes obscures, sometimes fragments, sometimes spotlights, all come together with the choreography to create the world of the inner psyche that DaSilva seeks to show.

At the centre of A Shadow Work is Taraja Hudson, dressed in white. There’s immediately powerful meaning in her repetitive gestures. She’s strong but vulnerable. Flashing lights suggest trauma as an ensemble of ghostly figures in black, her shadows, appear. Reflecting her feelings towards them, she sometimes dances with them, DaSilva’s choreography an effortlessly fusion of classical and contemporary. The shadows carry and lift her as if she and they are one and the same. When she flees from them, she just can’t avoid going back.

Out of the ensemble emerges de Castro, who draws Hudson into the light. Their dance, which comes with many tricky but beautifully handled lifts, is initially joyful but soon turns to dislike as her inner self starts to be revealed.

Hudson later produces a simple box in which her shadows reside. It carries weight, as seen when she pushes is across the floor. Although drawn strongly towards what’s inside, she’s afraid to open it and reveal its contents. Not quite Pandora, but the similarities are clear. When the box is opened, the shadows act out moments from her past. When the box is closed, they vanish.

The ending is calm and strong as she comes to terms with her shadows, holding and accepting the box.

Although relatively unknown in Britain, DaSilva has worked extensively in the United States and was the first black woman to choreograph for the Joffrey Ballet. I, for one, would like to see more.