Draft Works, Linbury Studio Theatre, London

New choreography, new choreographers, are the ozone that must invigorate the air, the life, of a major ballet troupe, and stir the dust that the old repertory generates – on dancers and on audience attitudes. So, at the Royal Ballet’s annual event in the Linbury Studio where, with a minimum of fuss and what I sneakingly feel is too great a reluctance to provide any sort of costume or stage decoration, dancers of the company cajole their colleagues into devoting themselves, and their all-too-rare free time, to appearing in new choreography, which is presented under the most austere of conditions on the Linbury stage. (It is austere for the eager public, too, rather like viewing dance from the Matterhorn, so steep is the rake of the auditorium.) But we watch, sometimes aghast – “That’s not choreography, it’s a suicide note!” – but buoyed up by hope of quality, eager to talent-spot.

On Tuesday evening no fewer than 10 aspirants laid their tributes on Apollo’s altar. Some were burnt offerings, others came under the heading of bloody sacrifices, but that they were there, on stage, is cause for rejoicing, and long may these events continue.

I retain best memories of two pieces. One was a frivol by Thomas Whitehead – i lean and bob, in which Sian Murphy and Ryoichi Hirano were merry lovers to some sly music by Analogik, and Whitehead was happily guided by his score. The other was from my hero of last year’s Draft Works programme, Valentino Zucchetti. With his Bach-inspired Brandenburg Divertissement, Zucchetti again shows an honest musicality, producing neo-Balanchinian patterns, securely academic, for four couples. It is not unwisely adventurous: rather does Zucchetti respond to his music’s sublime order with his own formal attitudes, and the result is decently made. Before long I hope to see a Zucchetti piece, sensitively decorated, on the main stage.

For the other aspirants of the evening, I hope for guidance, encouragement, and perhaps cash enough for some small design. Christian Bérard made the set for Roland Petit’s early Les Forains from a hand-cart, two poles and a piece of red cloth. (And, ça va sans dire, genius!)

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