Putting on rubber gloves with your pointe shoes and cleaning up a crime scene is an unusual start to a ballet. But Ballet Black’s artistic director, Cassa Pancho, has chosen Oyinkan Braithwaite’s hit novel My Sister, the Serial Killer as the source material for her new ballet, and blood-spill is inevitable.
Pancho founded Ballet Black in 2001 and has commissioned numerous choreographers over two decades but very rarely made work for the company herself. Here she shows real directorial nous (and has recruited associate choreographer Jacob Wye and rehearsal director Charlotte Broom to help generate the steps, along with the dancers). The novel is a savvy choice: a zeitgeisty title but also a story with a love triangle and high-stakes drama. While keeping dark comedy and light tone, Pancho has slimmed down the plot. Whole characters are lost, along with some nuance and backstory – the serial-killing sister in question, Ayoola (Helga Paris-Morales), comes off as a straight-up psychopath whereas in the book more layers materialise – but it’s all done with purpose. The same is true of the choreography itself, where everything has a function driven by the drama, such as the short scene showing Ayoola and older sister Korede (Isabela Coracy) bonding over a groove, establishing the connection that keeps Korede clearing up her sister’s mess.
Coracy is great in the central role, torn between sibling loyalty and her own desires and demons, who come crowding the stage in corporeal form. There’s skilful support from Ebony Thomas as dashing doctor Tade.
The other half of this double bill isn’t as strong, but it’s interesting nonetheless: the UK debut from New York choreographer Chanel DaSilva. A Shadow Work is based on the idea of the shadow self, the parts of our personality we repress. In this case they are trapped in a box held by our protagonist (Taraja Hudson, a pleasure to watch), who is on a journey to acceptance. It’s all very clear, the company looking disciplined, and DaSilva has a nice line in recurring motifs, as when Hudson softly raps her fist on her chest, like a racing heart. Or thrusts her arms above her head to make a sharp peak, which could be a sign of prayer, protection, resolve or even imminent violence.
The relationship between Hudson and her “shadows”, danced by the ensemble in black, contrasting with Hudson’s white, is in turn fearful, playful and sympathetic. The choreography is very precise but it feels as though there could be another potential layer to get stuck into; perhaps that feelingis exacerbated by Cristina Spinei’s score, which is all very much of a single timbre and would benefit from the texture of live instruments. But there’s a solid idea here from DaSilva, even if it can’t match the audience appeal of a sweetly smiling serial killer.
• At Birmingham Rep on 27 and 28 March, then touring.
