PULP Reviews Bangarra Dance Theatre X The Australian Ballet’s Flora

A deep humming. Bodies slowly coiling around one another. A curtain of foliage descending from the roof, and behind, movement. The Australian Ballet and Bangarra Dance Theatre’s Flora was mesmerising. 

You know you have made it in life when you go to watch a dance performance at the Sydney Opera House. That was my first thought as a 22 year-old who had never been to the ballet, leaning against the balcony of the opera house and listening to the siren call of the Phantom across the water. Next, I wondered where all the creaking sounds were coming from which was quickly answered when I surveyed the sea of elderly knees in my immediate vicinity. The dances we were about to witness were connected to a long history of Indigenous storytelling, moving through different periods of change and growth—Deep Time, Creation Time, Interrupted Time into Renewal. The evolution of Australian flora, which would be explored through dance, is intertwined with the history and present of First Nations people, and was deeply impacted by colonisation, particularly the rapid introduction of new species and destruction of native plants. Was the elderly, almost exclusively white, crowd around me the perfect place for this exploration of the natural world and its relation to our colonial history, or would the themes fall on (literally) deaf ears? An important function of the arts is that it enables viewers to understand experiences which we may not have personally lived through. I decided to withhold further speculation until the end of the performance. 

Flora was a love letter to Country, a celebration of history, a mourning of dispossession, and a promise of ongoing resilience. Dancing botanicals symbolised the rich Indigenous history of this land and referenced teachings from the Dreaming.

As Sasha and I sucked in our stomachs and shimmied down the narrow row to our highly anticipated seats in the circle promptly ten minutes before the curtains opened, we heard a man grumble, “I hate people who show up late to these things”. Great. But with the best seats in the house (D25 and D26 for you theatre nerds), we soon forgot about this, as we gazed down into the orchestral pit, and looked directly across at a perfect view of the stage. The musicians would weave together a tapestry of fleet footed chords, yidaki (digeridoo)  numbers, and resonant vocals from below. The union of Indigenous instruments and vocals with Western orchestral tracks, reflected the cultural dialogue in the collaboration between the Australian Ballet and Bangarra Dance Theatre occurring on stage. The diegetic sound laced through the performance immersing me. Wooden staffs were carried overhead by the dancers, twirled with precision to hit the stage in synchrony. Eucalyptus leaves crackled deliciously when waved and ground against each other. In later, more tense scenes, the intentional scuffing of feet on the floor made the crowd shift anxiously in their seats. The connection of sound to the visual scene, collapsed the distance between audience and performers, evoking intense emotion. 

The dancers' range was inspiring. In one moment, the performers would bare a flexed foot to the side of their body and in the next seamlessly kick a pointed toe with perfect turnout above their head. The variation of ancient choreography, classical ballet training, and contemporary teaching prompted me to reflect on the hours of work this would have taken. Between the collaboration of different dances, choreographers, and trainers, I felt that I was witnessing a moment in artistic history. Chantelle Lee Lockhart was a standout performer, capturing the eyes of the audience with her fierce command of the stage and evocative movements. 

As a non-Indigenous person growing up in the Australian education system, I have heard a lot of criticism about how our schooling tends to either skim over the injuries of a colonial past, or alternatively neglect our country’s pre-colonial history. Flora was powerful in its narrative response, allowing the dances to linger naturally in the space before invasion, taking time to rest its head on a sleeping yam and wind through the spinifex grass. Later in the performance when the history of colonisation was explored, instead of wistfully floating through clumps of spinifex grass, the dancers placed them between them and the dancers who played the colonisers like a defensive wall. The impact of colonialism was not shied away from, tearing through the spinifex clumps and razed the grass from the stage, spilling across the stage in jagged movements and ripped denim. 

Dance is a luxury to watch. Art that takes years to perfect, each movement meticulously articulated by muscles trained through years of practice. When we watch a performance like Flora, we give ourselves over completely to a story, no distractions, no filming, no movement of our own. We step outside of ourselves.

At the beginning of the second act, the stage was struck with cool-toned white light, the dancers trapped in fabric as though they were botanical specimens who had been ripped out of their habitats and wrapped in plastic. Each of their movements beat against the sides like moths trapped behind glass. It was haunting. When the music transitioned to signify movements of regeneration and resilience, the audience let out a collective exhale. 

Grace Lillian Lee’s costume designs were another highlight of the performance. The storyline was told, from throat to fabric, in every piece. Known for her incredibly structured, colourful designs, the pink flowing dresses in the first act and the swaying green skirts were subtler renditions of Lee’s usual pieces. They made each of the dancers’ movements feel naked and earnest. The final, structural feat of brightly coloured leotards, embodied regrowth, bursting across the stage in the final act. The marriage of movement, texture, and sound was a testament to the curatorial vision of the collaboration.

Before the ballet, chattering with excitement, we joked about going to the ballet that “no one cares about anymore”. Shoutout Chalamet. And I can see why younger people may feel out of place, or intimidated, in this setting. It would be remiss of me not to mention that many young people are priced out of the stands. However, pop artists with young fan demographics sell out concerts at a similar price. For those who are fortunate enough to attend, there is value in performance that is meticulously crafted and grounded in a long history of art. Flora, as a collaboration between Bangarra Dance Theatre and the Australian Ballet, displayed the potential of art and movement, its ability to embody a story and convey this to an audience in an expression of resistance—and love. So, to any fellow art-loving but inexperienced 20-something-year-old reading this: yes, dance performances are equally as worth that hard earned entry-level hospo cash as your favourite music star. Our worlds are broken and recast in stronger ways when we embrace a range of art, and we, as people still sponging up knowledge, feeling intensely, learning life skills, absolutely have a place here.