EleanorTurney.co.uk

FELA! is a bouncy, buoyant, corker of production that rather loses its way halfway through. The first half is an utter joy. Bill T Jones’ choreography does not flag for a second, the music is infectiously upbeat, the energy of the performers is relentless. It rattles along, full of exuberant lessons about Afro-beat, Cuban drumming, James Brown and high-life music.

The dancing, and the dancers, are utterly, superlatively, mesmerising. They are also universally stunning. Early on in his engaging narrative, Fela (Sehr Ngaujah) tells the audience that the British stole Nigeria’s oil and diamonds, and what did we leave in return? Gonorrhoea and Jesus. Doesn’t seem like a fair swap. This is indicative of the wit, warmth and brilliance that Ngaujah brings to the stage, making Jim Lewis and Bill T Jones’ words and Jones’ choreography zing and zip.

The whole first half was bursting with joy, life and gyrating buttocks. I don’t suppose that Sadler’s Wells has seen hundreds of people getting in touch with their “clocks” before: thrust your pelvis forward, that’s 12 o’clock. Now stick your bum out, that’s 6. Hips side-to-side hits 3 and 9. Now imagine a semi-naked, sinfully sexy man, glistening with sweat, getting the whole of Sadler’s on its feet, thrusting and foot-tapping as he shouts out numbers. Now imagine trying to follow his instructions while watching far more attractive, scantily-clad and adept dancers do the same moves on stage. In tassled knickers, and not a lot else. It made a refreshing change from pointed shoes and pirouettes.

With such virtuosic dancing and superb choreography, if it ended at the interval I’d say you’d be hard-pressed to have a better time in the theatre this year. However, after a well-directed come-down early in the second half, the show rather lost its way. It’s tricky to bring the mood down without alienating a happy, buzzy audience, but the story demanded it. The first hint of a sombre mood was a refreshing change, and was handled adroitly. However, the odd juxtaposition of joyful dancing and singing of the first half with stark, brutal and uncompromising descriptions of rape and torture in the second became rather baffling, especially when there were still song-and-dance routines mixed in.

A completely weird, massively over-long dream sequence that overestimated the dramatic potential of UV lighting took up much of the second half, followed by a beautiful but jarring operatic song (sung by the brilliant Melanie Marshall). It all sat very oddly with high-life rhythms of the first half and general feel of the rest of the piece. The musicians deserve a review of their own – we got a full blown gig along with the dance and a (mini) play.

It’s nice to see Sadler’s embracing something different, and a superlatively good cast kept the evening afloat as the play floundered. It’s worth seeing for the supremely talented cast and fantastic first half – but if you left at the interval you wouldn’t miss much.

When I interviewed Akram Khan in 2009 (see the ‘Articles’ section, if you’re interested), he told me that he is fascinated by the spiritual, and that his next piece would reflect that interest. Well, ‘Vertical Road’ certainly fulfils its brief, but I’m afraid I didn’t find his interpretation of the subject as fascinating as Khan clearly does. The piece is a series of vignettes, held together by tentative, slow sections, which explore different forms of worship, love and what it might mean to be human. The whole evening was a little too worthy for my taste.

I agree wholeheartedly with my companion (who liked the piece more than I did), that in order to pull off something that invests in such emotionally complex territory the choreographer and dancers must believe in what they’re doing. Where we disagree, however, is whether this was successful in Vertical Road. That Khan believes in what he’s doing, I have no doubt. That the dancers do, too, I am more sceptical about: there were times when it felt like watching a play where the actors are not keen on the script but giving it their all in an attempt to salvage it.
And, to some extent, they did. The dancers were stunning, as Khan’s company usually are. His lines, leaps, drops and spins are spikily graceful and rhythmical menacing by turns, and the dancers come together and flow apart as a skilled unit. The unison moves are affecting and effective, and the piece often feels energetic, witty, exuberant. However, the slow passages were frustratingly self-indulgent. Frankly, they were dull. Short, slower passages make an interesting juxtaposition with the more dynamic moments, but the slow outweighed the fun for me and left me checking my watch.

Although the piece had some arrestingly beautiful moments, the aesthetic pleasure was, for me, somewhat overwhelmed by the feeling that one needed to ‘get it’ and to see the deeper meaning behind the piece. Its lack of momentum prevented me from swallowed up in the movement, and instead left me frustrated.
Nitin Sawhney’s score is often more of a soundscape than a melody, but has enough thumping rhythm to drive the dancers forward in the faster passages. His music perfectly complements the slow moments – I’m just not sure that’s a compliment. All in all, although I cannot fault the dancers, this piece did not speak to me. Perhaps it was too subtle, too spiritual for this sleepy atheist – certainly, I seem to be alone in my ambivalence. It has been positively received elsewhere, so I leave you with more upbeat reviews: The FT here, Guardian here and Telegraph here.