Kenneth MacMillan and Robert Cohan spotlighted in a new film: Dance Revolutionaries

By Yorke Dance Project in association with The Royal Ballet, and directed by Emmy-nominated David Stewart, Dance Revolutionaries is a new 74-minute film celebrating the legacy of, and featuring two works by, two of Britain’s great dance makers: Robert Cohan and Kenneth MacMillan. Both specially filmed on location, Cohan’s Portraits is a relatively new, intimate series of five solos, while MacMillan’s 1988-ballet Sea of Troubles, his shot at Shakespeare’s Hamlet, explores the all-too-human emotions of grief, jealousy and the drive for revenge.

Best of the two works in just about every respect is Sea of Troubles, here filmed at Hatfield House, Elizabeth I’s childhood home. It’s easy to see why it won Best Dance Film at the recent 2023 National Dance Awards. The whole film oozes atmosphere, the grey opening shots of the house and gardens, then of Dane Hurst on the front steps, staring into space, setting the scene wonderfully.

To music by Webern and Martinů, poison of all sorts is dripped into the ears as MacMillan takes us through the Danish prince’s tragedy in a way that clarifies it most dramatically. He provides plenty for his dancers to get their teeth into and the whole cast rise to the occasion magnificently.

Standing tallest is Hurst, who gives a terrific performance in the title role and manages to convey fifty shades of angst in his face throughout. He leaves us in no doubt that his Hamlet is consumed with doubts and questions, a man with deep and troubled depths, a man obsessed with proving his uncle’s guilt.

The action is followed with handheld cameras, allowing the viewer to get to the heart of the action.

Sea of Troubles gives a new take on the emotional motivations of Hamlet himself. The play tells how he is persuaded by the ghost of his dead father to avenge his murder by Claudius, Hamlet’s uncle, now married to Hamlet’s mother, Gertrude. In classic productions, that relationship is generally presented as rather formal. Not here. For MacMillan, it’s all sex and lust with the almost ever-present, ever-taunting Claudius and Gertrude literally all over each other again and again. Hamlet’s revulsion at his mother’s sexual desire for his father’s murderer is there for all to see.

When Gertrude and Claudius writhe seductively, the richness of their surroundings contrasts sharply with their decadence. When they literally roll the corpse of Hamlet’s father along the rich marquetry floor with their feet, the body only comes to a stop, laying there, eyes wide and staring, when it reaches an aghast Hamlet. Later, when Hamlet and Ophelia duet in the ‘get thee to a nunnery’ scene, the never far away Gertrude and Claudius waltz through as if nothing had happened.

The up-close camerawork adds to the drama as when Hamlet dances violently with his mother, forcing her to acknowledge his father’s body. The duet then evolves into a pas de trois, Hamlet almost willing his father back to life.

The first sighting of Ophelia sees her pictured perfectly as a limp rag doll, vexed and manipulated by the men around her, her chaplet of flowers fading as she also so surely will.

When Hamlet later arrests her as she flees towards the garden’s pond and fountain, he spins her round in constrained circles, folding her at the waist then hauling her up again. As if the expressive choreography doesn’t say enough, the scene is added to by a shower of rain bespeckling the pond.

When the players enact Hamlet’s father’s murder in the final scenes, the editing switches the dance between garden and indoors, somehow emphasising his madness before all die, leaving bodies strewn on the steps of the house.

All quite riveting, it is welcome and fitting that this rarely seen work has been preserved on film in such an effective manner.

Portraits certainly succeeds in conveying desolate. Choreographed and filmed during the Covid-19 pandemic, it would have felt considerably more poignant had it been viewed during the lockdowns. Further down the line however, it suffers from the classic problem of abstract dance in that, while it can pave the way to new interpretations and perceptions of human motion, it can just as easily convey little or nothing. Portraits tends to the latter, the movement sliding off the eyes as there is no points of narrative on which to hang any feelings.

Most grabbing of the five is the fourth, which sees Jonathan Goddard rotating and posing in what looks like an abandoned chapel, clad only in flesh covered briefs. Definitely shades of Rodin or maybe even Michaelangelo. Overhead shots reveal that he is dancing in a patch of what looks like cement dust. It is oddly captivating and sculptural and almost has a Duncan-esque feel. Cohan is too fond of making his dancers shudder convulsively though.

Rewinding, Portraits opens on a beach in Sussex. Filmed during Covid, the besuited Edd Mitton’s solo should have been poignant but, with the distance of time, instead has shades of Jack Vettriano. Nils Frahm’s and Ólafur Arnalds’ score is ponderous and does nothing to prevent everything being overwhelmed by the location. The cloudscape and gentle rolling surf provide infinitely more variety than the choreography, as well executed as it is.

The background, this time skyscrapers and distant traffic, also distracts, albeit not so much, when we move to a cityscape, where we find Freya Jeffs in a red evening dress, dancing in what appears to be an vacant office. The overhead shots especially seem to emphasise the emptiness and space. Filmed from more angles, the dance is much more appealing, leaving one with the impression of Jeffs as a trapped butterfly, its movements slowed by exhaustion as the score moves to minimalism à la Philip Glass.

Continuing with the urban theme, Dane Hurst performs in a vandalised underpass, his silky black jacket with garish red and yellow designs echoing the paint-daubed walls. He rolls and shivers in angst, the music seeming oddly detached from the dance, as if it was added after the choreography was made.

Finally to the bare stage at Coven Garden and Romany Pajdak jéteing on the apron. Pointe shoes thud onto the stage emphasising the emptiness of it all, the grey leotard and tights making the woman appear ghostly. The focus switches backwards and forwards irritatingly from the dancer’s point of view to that of the audience, creating a disjointed effect.

Superbly filmed, Dance Revolutionaries does an important job in presenting the work of MacMillan and Cohan, two of the major players in British dance. MacMillan’s Sea of Troubles may be rarely seen on stage but, in general, his ballets remain as popular as ever, although whether some of his darker creations will ever see the light of day again given contemporary sensibilities, is perhaps unlikely. Cohan’s work never had the same reach, however, and while he was a mighty figure in the world of contemporary dance, whether his creations will stay the course is questionable. For that reason alone, documenting even just one of them on film is to be welcomed. The film does however only show the two works. There is no, even short, introduction, no attempt to place them or their creators in context, which maybe is an opportunity missed.

Dance Revolutionaries will be in UK cinemas from June 26, 2024. Watch the trailer here.