Good start
BALLET CLEMENT CRISP
Quite what it is that starts the critical adrenalin flowing in the presence of good new choreo- graphy I do not know, but the occasions are rare and welcome. I still remember the feeling of intense excitement when Danses Con- certantes sprang fully armed on to the stage of Sadler's Wells, when Paul Taylor's Aureole lit up Drury Lane stage at an RAD Gala, and when Pierrot Lunaire introduced Glen Tetley. Last month in Stratford there was the same pricking of the thumbs and that shiver down the spine, which could have been the onset of Mao flu but happily turned out to be caused by the curtain going up on the first calm, in- tensely intriguing pose of Geoffrey Cauley's In the Beginning for the Royal Ballet's tour- ing section.
Cauley is a dancer with the Covent Garden company, and he has already made some not inconsiderable apprentice works for the Royal Ballet's choreographic group; now, with his first professional piece, he shows what I believe to be the authentic choreographer's gift, and I am happy to salute In the Beginning as a fine new ballet and Cauley as a fascinating new talent: the best in the Royal Ballet since the palmy years of Cranko and MacMillan. The voice is an individual one, even though the theme (Adam and Eve, Satan, the apple and dear old sexual awareness) has been choreo-
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• graphically overexposed during the past couple 1, of years—Petit, Jack Carter, Norman Morrice
• and MacMillan have all recently had a go at Genesis. Cauley's stylish gift—delicate, percep- tive and, inescapable word, chic—has produced a thoroughly accomplished ballet; as cool and unforced in manner as the two ravishing late Poulenc wind sonatas (for clarinet and oboe) he has used, and as full of light as Peter Unsworth's uncluttered and beautifully evocative designs.
In his first essays, Lazarus and two pas de deux (one of which is incorporated in this new ballet), Cauley showed that he can use still- ness, poses, the pregnant pause, as effectively as movement, and In the Beginning—which charts the loss of Eden and of innocence with excellently judged restraint—is notable for his 'positive' use of repose, where groupings are the natural culmination of the dance action and the fruitful starting-points for fresh acti- vity (as in Apollo and Les Noces). He uses only six dancers: David Wall, superb as Adam; Alfreda Thorogood, a lyrical Eve; Lucette Aldous as a very knowing tempter; Hendrik Davel (though here I am guessing. because the role is less well defined than the others) as a Satan who is also an aspect of Adam's nature; plus a chorus of two girls who are mysterious, cool observers of the proceedings.
The relevance of the ballet is what we care to make of it, but its air of shining, translucent grace, its apparent simplicity and its eloquence, and Cauley's very sophisticated control of his forces, all make for a remarkable experience. The dance language, thanks to Cauley's years at Covent Garden, is neo-classical; inevitably derivative, it shows that he can absorb in- fluences from Balanchine, Nijinska and Mac- Millan. But there is no mistaking the ballet for pastiche or dutiful homage; Cauley has forged his own choreographic language and it is a sharply expressive one.
Now he faces the worst task for a new choreographer: the making of more ballets that will develop this first bright achievement, and, poor chap, the daunting fact is that his every step will, so to speak, be dogged by critical attention. It is all part of the agonising business of being a choreographer—rarest of creative birds—but Cauley's talent looks strong and true, and if it is any consolation he has the hopes and best wishes of (among many others) this column.
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