The Royal Ballet: MADDADDAM

Royal Opera House, London
November 14, 2024

Wayne McGregor’s three-act ballet, MADDADDAM, inspired by Canadian author Margaret Atwood’s acclaimed trilogy of dystopian novels: Oryx and Crake, The Year of the Flood and MaddAddam, is one of those that benefits from time to reflect. It’s most immediate ‘problem,’ is that while it is narrative, the storyline is not linear. Act Two ends where Act One opens, effectively making it a prequel, while Act Two itself flips back and forth in time.

McGregor takes up Atwood’s themes, the ballet revolving around the results of a man-made pandemic, the result of bioengineering and corporate greed, that has almost wiped out humankind. Woven into that are the collapse of society, and love and loss. It does have a hopeful ending, however.

There’s a lot to get a handle on. It’s an evening where you need to read the programme note beforehand, then read it again slowly. Even after then watching the piece, you’ll probably find yourself going back to it to decipher everything you’ve seen.

MADDADDAM is a triumph of design. In fact, it’s almost too good at times. Act One is dominated by filmmaker Ravi Deepres’ admittedly powerful and hugely effective projected images. There are images of the Canadian wilderness and downtown Toronto (the ballet is a joint production with the National Ballet of Canada), but what really lingers are the no-holds barred images of burning buildings, riots and society falling apart.

Behind that, a giant eye-like structure created by British architectural practice and graphic designers We Not I, that sits above the live action and that acts as a focus for more visual texture and imagery.

While Attwood’s second novel makes great use of flashback, McGregor takes it all one step further in Act One, ‘Castaway,’ using the notion of parallel time by placing Jimmy (aka Snowman, Jospeh Sissens), the central figure of Attwood’s first novel, alongside Toby (Melissa Hamiton) and her secret love Zeb (Lukas Bjørneboe Brændsrød); and Ren (Sae Maeda), the main protagonists of the second.

From the first, also comes Crake (William Bracewell), the scientist who started the plague, and Oryx (Fumi Kaneko), both of whom are now dead. Oryx was lover to both Crake and Jimmy. There’s also Blanco (Gary Avis), in the book, the psychopathic manager of a burger chain although McGregor omits that backstory; two Painballers who rape and murder Amanda (Letitia Dias), an artist; the Crakers, the peace-loving creatures Crake engineered to replace humanity; Pigoons, sort of hybrid pig-humans, created to supply body parts; and God’s Gardeners, an eco-pacifist group devoted to the environment.

That’s a lot of characters. And a lot happens. To use of voiceover to try and elucidate what we are seeing seems like a good idea, even if it does raise questions about the failure of the dance to do so. But why engage in a battle with the orchestra? The text was never quite drowned out, but it was too often difficult to hear.

The act highlights the Oryx/Jimmy/Crake love triangle. An early trio for the threesome that sees Oryx passed between the two men is great. But as beautifully fluid as Bracewell and Kaneko were, the star turn was Sissens. Not just here, but whenever he appeared, he was outstanding. He not only oozed presence but every movement seemed imbued with emotion and meaning. Responses always looked real.

There were some impressive solos too, not least from Hamilton, but here as throughout the ballet, all the dancers were terrific, whether moving with graceful ease, the awkwardness of the Pigoons, or taut sharpness that cut through the air with ease.

The choreography comes much more to the fore in Act Two, ‘Extinctathon,’ named after an online trivia game featured in the novels. Presented as a video game of extinction and survival played by Jimmy and Crake as teenagers, it gives a glimpse of the even then dystopian world that existed pre-pandemic.

McGregor’s choreography is much more to the fore here, the dance proceeding in solos, duets, and small groups that give glimpses of the characters’ pasts. But they are glimpses and it is fragmentary. With everyone identically dressed, the naming of the main individuals on projections along with the time frame (remember, time leaps around here) helps a little, it is a tricky follow.

I’m not a video game player, but the dance and Max Richter’s accompanying techno music seem to reflect well the intensity, speed and athleticism that I imagine games have.

The third act, ‘Dawn,’ is both the clearest and the best choreographically. Could that be because McGregor here goes beyond Attwood’s books? Now freed from the narrative of the novels, the focus is much more on creating mood and atmosphere. And he succeeds brilliantly.

We find ourselves looking at an imagined future, a brave new world in which descendants, now cross breeding with the Crakers, and ancestors, come together in breathtaking and utterly glorious dance. As the dancers come together in innumerable, ever-changing combinations, it’s intensely lyrical and emotionally laden to the point of being deeply moving. Even here, it is Sissens who shouts the loudest.

The last minutes are especially sublime. Richter’s music again plays a huge role. The strings positively sing as his lush orchestral rhythms soar ever higher. It really does feel like an expression of hope, of a new beginning.

Wayne McGregor’s MADDADDAM certainly challenges. On pretty much every level. You can certainly make a good argument that McGregor tries to do too much. Three books in what is not much more than ninety minutes actual dancing is a lot. The flipping around in time and number of mini-narratives is confusing. But there is an awful lot that is very interesting. And once past Act One, the choreography is terrific. It just needs time to percolate through one’s consciousness.