For many a middle class British family, there’s nothing more Christmassy than a seasonal trip to the ballet. Usually, it’s the only time they watch dance in the year, so they want something well known: Tchaikovsky, ideally. But anyone who casually grabs a ticket to Duck Pond, Aussie circus company Circa’s rebellious take on Swan Lake, expecting a classic retelling of the popular ballet will be left bewildered by this ugly duckling mash-up of a show.
I mean that in a good way. Duck Pond, which premiered in Brisbane last summer, takes the best of Swan Lake, then twists it. The skill and control of the most classic ballet is on display, but sliced in between body-contorting acrobatics, heart-raising lifts, and even slapstick comedy. When the original score is played in Jethro Woodward’s score, it’s remixed with a heavy trap beat.
At just 80 minutes in length, the show packs in material, and manages to be funny, scary, and even kinda kinky; one particularly tense moment sees the Black Swan (Kimberley Rossi) threaten to puncture the skin of a near-nude male performer as she steps on him in sharp red stilettos. Not your standard Christmas fare, but thoroughly entertaining.
With so many stunts on display, the plot to Duck Pond is somewhat secondary (although by no means an afterthought). We watch a sea of swans, identically dressed in shimmering black bodysuits that accentuate every sinewy muscle, every sharp rib beneath. They tumble in twos and threes, then coalesce for group stunts where performers are stacked upright on each other’s shoulders against the great heights of the Royal Festival Hall.
Intrigued as she watches them cavort is the Ugly Duckling (Sophie Seccombe). Set apart in her white and gold costume, with a comical ruff around the neck, she falls in love with the Prince (Zachery Stephens) and the pair dance with an instant ease. Yet soon, they realise their difference means they can’t truly be together. The Ugly Duckling must go back to her pond, where the comedy ducks awaiting her.
The two worlds are sharply distinguished in the show, with the ducks (played by the same ensemble) serving as the lighter entertainment. They waddle onto stage in unison, kitted out in oversized dungarees and glittery flippers; their cartoonish costumes and movements bring to mind Tweedle Dum and Tweedly Dee from Disney’s 1951 Alice in Wonderland. Still, the playfulness doesn’t make their movements any less impressive. Even when we’re at the duck pond, characters are being hurled in the air – they just might be flailing or sneezing feathers while doing it.
Where the show really excels is the creation of a sense of danger. In artistic director Aron Lifschitz’s stage design, the ground is laden with black vinyl: the Swan Lake, covered in an oil spill. You can feel the hardness of the floor – and the risk involved – as performers dive through the air and catch themselves, seemingly at the very last monument.
On occasions, that perilous feeling is warranted. At the performance I attended, there were a few clumsy dismounts where the big group lifts descended into a chaotic pile on the floor. Clearly, it’s proof that the ensemble will always prioritise each other’s safety over making the tricks look good, but I wish I could have seen those particular tableaus run a little more smoothly. Whether it’s a case of first night nerves, or the simple fact that, y’know, we’re watching humans form a human ladder four people tall, we’ll never know.
Not that those wobbly moments impacted the cast; consummate professionals, they soldier on, and keep the impressive tricks and tumbles going and going and going. Once they’ve gained the audience’s trust, Circa has the audience eating from the palm of their hands. Stale bread, I presume.