đŸȘ©Here Are The Strictly Come Dancing Final Routines đŸȘ©

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This Saturday, the Strictly Come Dancing finalists will dance for the Glitterball. Here are their routines :

Bobby and Dianne:

Favourite Dance: Couple’s Choice to This Woman’s Work by Maxwell

Show Dance: La La Land Medley

Judges’ Pick: Samba to Young Hearts Run Free by Candi Staton

Ellie and Vito:

Favourite Dance: American Smooth to Ain’t That A Kick In The Head by Robbie Williams

Show Dance: Jennifer Lopez Megamix

Judges’ Pick: Paso Doble to Insomnia by 2WEI

Layton and Nikita:

Favourite Dance: Argentine Tango to Tattoo by Loreen

Show Dance: Friend Like Me by Ne-Yo

Judges’ Pick: Quickstep to Puttin’ On The Ritz by Gregory Porter

The Strictly Final is on BBC One this Saturday at 7:00pm!

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In Mexico, a Japanese traditional dancer shows how body movement speaks beyond culture and religion

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MEXICO CITY (AP) — When music requires her to cry, Japanese traditional dancer Naoko Kihara barely alters her expression. It’s her arms and torso that move like a slow-motion wave.

“Expression is minimal because we cry with our body,” said Kihara, wrapped in her white and navy kimono, on a recent day at her dancing studio in Mexico, where an estimated 76,000 Japanese descendants live.

“It is the dance that is speaking, interpreting, since we do not smile, shout or laugh.”

Kihara won’t reveal her age, but she’s been practicing Japanese traditional dance for almost 24 years. Born in Brazil from Japanese parents who later moved to Mexico City, she carries on the legacy of Tamiko Kawabe, her mentor and pioneer of Hanayagi-style dance in the country.

For Latin American audiences, Kihara said, Japanese traditional dance might be hard to embrace.

Unlike the fast-moving interpreters of samba and salsa — widespread in Brazil and Mexico — Hanayagi dancers move quietly and gently, performing just a few moves that their bodies keep fully controlled.

“Is this yoga?” a spectator once asked Kihara, who responded: “No, it’s an interpretation.”

Some of her repertoires are almost sacred. Japanese dances as Hanayagi and Kabuki have been historically performed to honor the emperor, considered a representative of god in the Shinto religion.

For traditional dancers, choreography is a sign of respect and no detail is minor. How a woman holds her fan speaks of her sense of elegance and honor.

“You are not taught a dance, but a way of living,” said Aimi Kawasaki, a 21-year-old student of Kihara who will soon travel to Tokyo hoping to receive her dancing diploma.

Born in Mexico after her parents moved from Japan, Kawasaki says that Hanayagi is like ballet, but with an important exception: While Japanese traditional dancers are delicate and elegant, they never stand on the tip of their toes or pull their bodies toward the sky.

“A Japanese dancer is rather crouched,” Kawasaki said, her teacher demonstrating the posture: firm torso, bent knees and feet close together, as if she were a flower rooted to the ground.

“It’s to be humble,” Kawasaki said, and because Japanese traditional dance maintains profound codes.

“We move our bodies close to the earth because we are part of nature,” Kihara said. “It is a respect for the earth.”

In the Japanese worldview, Kihara said, dance originated from earth, air, fire, and water. “That’s our essence; it’s our basis.”

To keep this in mind, each Hanayagi dancer takes an oath when receiving her diploma in Japan. It’s like a manual of honor, Kihara said. A promise to preserve one’s legacy.

Thirteen students — seven of them at the basic level — study in Ginreikai, her dancing studio.

“In our performances, it’s all about patience,” Kihara said. “We call them ‘long songs,’ because they are not plays with a beginning nor an end.”

Eiko Moriya, another descendant of Japanese migrants who will soon travel to Tokyo to get certified, has spent the last three years perfecting the long songs she’ll perform before the Hanayagi committee.

Her mentor watches her attentively while Moriya’s feet slide delicately over the wood floor, and always provides feedback. “Move your foot only when the music asks for it. Be mindful of the rhythm. Don’t overbend your arm.”

“Dancing is a transformation,” Moriya said. “Our dances are pieces of culture that are re-signified.”

The meaning of their performances is conveyed through music and movement, Kihara said. Even in front of foreign audiences who might not understand a Japanese song, their bodies are their means to speak.

Her favorite long song, a story about an unrequited love, portrays a princess convinced that the man she loves has transformed into the bell of the local temple. So, to get to him, she turns into a snake.

“There are just a few movements, but each of them portrays her belief of transforming,” Kihara said. “It is a story about anger, courage. It symbolizes the suffering of humanity.”

The songs that she and her colleagues perform for Mexican audiences are shorter and less complex than the original Japanese long songs — a dance can last up to five minutes instead of 20 or 30 — but creating new choreographies and adaptations for foreign scenarios does not diminish her excitement.

“Through Japanese dance, we connect,” she said. “It is an exchange of cultures.”

“Ginrekai,” which translates into “silver mountain,” was the name chosen by her predecessor for the school because she believed that Japan and Mexico share more than their sacred volcanoes. If Mount Fuji and PopocatĂ©petl are so similar, she used to say, it’s because deep down we are all the same.

“At Ginrekai we have that cosmic vision,” Kihara said. “Humanity is divided by religion, by culture, but for me, dancing is a way of saying: We are all one.”

——

Associated Press religion coverage receives support through the AP’s collaboration with The Conversation US, with funding from Lilly Endowment Inc. The AP is solely responsible for this content.



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‘Bzzz’ Turns Art Forms of Solo Virtuosity Into a Group Affair

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The acclaimed tap dancer Caleb Teicher and the world-champion beatboxer Chris Celiz might seem to belong to very different tribes. But when they met a few years ago while separately performing at a conference in Miami, they got to talking about what their art forms had in common.

“They’re both body music,” Teicher said recently. “And they use parts of the body” — feet, the mouth — “that you might consider limited or niche. You could argue that tap dance has tonal limitations, and you could say the same about beatbox. But there’s no limit to how they excite our imaginations.”

Both styles, they realized, grew out of Black American traditions: jazz and hip-hop. “And so they share ideas of call and response, virtuosity, competition, humor,” Teicher said. “All these things are kind of in the same cauldron.”

What might happen, they wondered, if they combined their skills?

The result of just that was “Bzzz,” a raucous, 15-minute work created for Fall for Dance at New York City Center in 2018. The piece was well received by audiences and critics alike, and for the following year, the festival asked them to make it twice as long. Other presenters then suggested expanding it into a stand-alone program, but Teicher and Celiz resisted.

Then, one day in the shower, Teicher had an epiphany that led to the 70-minute version of “Bzzz,” which debuts at the Joyce Theater on Tuesday.

To explain that epiphany requires a bit of a spoiler. In all its versions, “Bzzz” starts with a meet-cute between Celiz and a crew of tap dancers. “It’s a like a science fiction first encounter or a new kid’s first day at school,” Teicher said. Communicating through rhythm, the cast members discover what they can do collectively. The shower idea about how to extend this: What if another beatboxer showed up?

This addition, of the beatboxer Gene Shinozaki, expands a work that is, on one level, about expansion by inclusion. Teicher pointed to an early section during which Celiz and the dancers engage in the musical form called hocketing — each person taking a tiny piece of a rhythmic phrase and playing it down a line like a relay. Here, with each repeat, a new person joins, squeezing in on a small wooden board.

“And the attitude is, ‘Sure, we’ve got space for one more,’” Teicher said. “Tap dancers and beatboxers want to welcome people.”

Celiz emphasized that attitude as a choice, and a kind of maturation. “The biggest lane for beatboxing is competition,” he said. “I started out creating 90-second beatbox routines to be better than someone else. But as you grow, you realize you can do more together.”

Although beatboxers as skilled as Celiz and Shinozaki can suggest many layers of sound individually, it takes two of them to sing in harmony. Similarly, two beatboxers and six tap dancers can do things that one beatboxer and six tap dancers can’t.

“We’re always trying to explore more sonically,” Celiz said. “And because we love what we do, we want to relate it to as many people as possible.”

Hence the tone of “Bzzz”: bright, broad and goofy. Naomi Funaki, the assistant choreographer, likened watching the show to reading comic books. Some bits, including a simulated tennis match, feel like comedy sketches with sound effects supplied by the beatboxers. Other vaudeville touches amid the EDM beats and buzzes and more recent pop cultural references: a curtain that rises to knee level, the old shave-and-a-haircut rhythm returning, again and again.

Both tap and beatboxing seek to astonish — your feet and mouth can do that? — and everything in “Bzzz” tends to ratchet up, accelerate, get crazier, sometimes building to the jump-around energy of a mosh pit. But the manner stays inviting; the call and response sections include the audience.

“With beatbox, there’s a lot of ‘Check out this cool technique!’” Celiz said. “And that’s awesome, but you can also be like, ‘Hey, come be with us.’”

Shinozaki said that the show reminded him of how he entered the beatbox community. “One of the first beatboxers I met was Chris, who has been doing it much longer than I have,” he said. “And I would see him at competitions, and he would invite me to his house and introduce me to other beatboxers.” Now, the two often perform together as the duo Spiderhorse, as well as with a collective called the Beatbox House.

One difference between this version of “Bzzz” and previous ones, aside from length, is that its choreographer, Teicher, doesn’t perform. “I think I’m doing a better job making the piece by not being in it,” Teicher said. “It also means one more job for another tap dancer.”

Such self-abnegation is in tune with the production. Tap dance and beatboxing both tend to celebrate solo virtuosity, “and there are some incredible solos in this show,” Teicher said. “But that’s not the point. The point is how we all get together. That’s something we all feel really passionate about sharing.”

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đŸȘ© Here Are The Strictly Semi Final Scores

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The Strictly Come Dancing 2023 Celebrities and Professional Dancers,BBC,Guy Levy

Four couples, two dances each, one more dance-off 
 it can only be the Strictly semi final.

The judges scores from last week have been carried over, meaning last weeks’ highest score – for Leyton & Nikita, put them in top spot at the start of the semi final.

Strictly Come Dancing
LIVE SHOW,Bobby Brazier and Dianne Buswell,BBC,Guy Levy
Bobby & Dianne Quickstep
Paso Doble
38
35
Leyton & Nikita Rhumba
Charleston
36
40
Annabel & Johannes Salsa
Viennese Waltz
32
33
Ellie & Vito Cha Cha Cha
Couple’s Choice
37
38

And so, the semi final scores, combined with last week, are :

Strictly
Christmas

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Ballet star Alina Cojocaru: ‘When people tell me I’m a natural, I just want to scream’ | Dance

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Alina Cojocaru is one of those dancers who seems to have been transported from another realm. Her diaphanous movements melt into the air. Whether the Romanian ballerina is playing a haunted, breakable Giselle, a helplessly-in-love Juliet, or a richly nuanced but feather-light Odette in Swan Lake, she dances on what feels like instinct, as if ballet is innate to her.

But when I say this, Cojocaru purses her lips and shakes her head admonishingly. “When everybody says: ‘Oh, you’re a natural at this, you were born with it,’ I just want to yell and scream, ‘No I wasn’t born like that! Nobody was born like that!’” She laughs, but she is dead serious. Dancing is toil. You can be one of the best ballerinas in the world, as Cojocaru is, but you can never stop putting in the hours.

Cojocaru tells me she struggled coming back to ballet after having her second child during the pandemic, and was ready to say goodbye to the discipline. “Then my sister said: ‘Alina, you’re trying to make everything work with two hours in the gym. You were always working at least 10 hours [a day] before you had kids,’” and Cojocaru realised there was no shortcut. She needs to do three hours of training a day before even starting a ballet class, she tells me, and five hours before a show. However senior you are as a dancer, you can’t delegate the physical work. To illustrate the point, when our video calls ends it’s 9pm in Xi’an, China, where Cojocaru is on tour, and she’s about to head into the gym.

At 42, Cojocaru is at the age where many dancers have retired but she says her body feels “very good actually”, and her technique remains astonishing. But she is moving into a new phase of her career. After 14 years at the Royal Ballet – which she and her husband, the dancer Johan Kobborg, left suddenly and somewhat controversially in 2013 – and seven years at English National Ballet, she went freelance, performing across the world. She was awarded an honorary OBE this year and remains based in London with Kobborg and their two daughters (aged six and three).

But now she’s not only dancing but producing, too. Her first major ballet premieres in January, based on Federico Fellini’s 1954 film La Strada. It’s the story of the eccentric, childlike Gelsomina, a girl bought from her impoverished family by a touring strongman, Zampanó, to be his assistant/wife, learning her craft as a Chaplinesque clown. They tour villages, scraping a living, while Zampanó is downright abusive to Gelsomina, who retains her naivety and simple loyalty to him, at least until Zampanó fatally lamps a rival circus performer and her world shatters. Cojocaru will be Gelsomina, with Kobborg as the clown Il Matto, and Italian dancer Mick Zeni as Zampanó. The choreography by Natália Horečná incorporates ballet and contemporary dance, with Nino Rota’s original film music in the soundtrack.

La Strada is hailed by some as Fellini’s masterpiece, although it’s difficult to watch now without screaming at the screen as Gelsomina passes up opportunities to escape ZampanĂł. It is certainly an exposĂ© of life’s brutalities and the dynamics of abuse. But Cojocaru sees the wonder in Gelsomina’s character. “She’s just so pure,” she says. There’s a scene where Gelsomina finds tomato seeds and plants them, even though they’re only staying in the village overnight. “But she has to put them in the ground because they’ll grow and it’s the right thing to do. Someone, even if it’s not her, will benefit from it.” That selflessness moves Cojocaru.

At the end of the film, when Zampanó learns that Gelsomina has died, we see him collapsed, weeping on the beach. For Cojocaru, the audience discovers at the end what Gelsomina knew all along: that this damaged, lonely man does have a heart after all. “She sees the good, she sees the love,” says Cojocaru. “It’s such a childlike way of living – which I see with my girls. Before them, when it was raining, I took an umbrella. Now, we go out and jump in muddy puddles.”

Alina Cojocaru in rehearsals for La Strada
Hands on performer 
 Alina Cojocaru in rehearsals for La Strada. Photograph: Vincent Klueger

Cojocaru has a little of the Gelsomina in her. A few years ago she spoke movingly at the National Dance awards about the role of Aurora in Sleeping Beauty – a princess character some dancers find flimsy – and about how after becoming a mother she felt it was her job to “find the light” each day for her daughter, and that’s what she wanted to do with Aurora. It shows in her hopeful, luminous dancing, and her open-hearted personality.

This is a dancer who disappears into her characters, even in rehearsal. “Somehow my life in the studio and on stage becomes so much more real than outside.” She can’t bring herself to watch most of the news at the moment, but the theatre is a safe place to let go and be vulnerable. It’s the same for the audience. Cojocaru remembers dancing Akram Khan’s Giselle, and hearing someone yell out, pained, at the moment Giselle is revealed to be dead.

Cojocaru is certainly not divorced from what’s going on in the real world. Although born in Romania, she trained in Kyiv and when Russia’s invasion began, she was quick to organise a benefit performance for Ukraine (with fellow dancer Ivan Putrov). She still speaks to her teacher in Kyiv. “She’s alone in her entire building now,” says Cojocaru. “But they just go to work, they keep on, there are performances. They hear the sirens, go down to the shelter. It’s a world I don’t think we can imagine.” She tells me her teacher was always an impatient person who wouldn’t waste time chatting, but now every call lasts a long time. “And I just listen. And that’s the only way I feel I can help.”

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Artists who have stayed in Russia and not denounced the war are no longer being invited to perform in most of Europe. But Cojocaru meets them at galas in China. “I put on the glasses of Gelsomina,” she says. “And when I see someone, I see the dancer, I see the mother, and I speak to that. I don’t judge the passport. If I look at people in that way I’ll hopefully find the good.”

If you watch Cojocaru’s early interviews, when she was promoted to principal dancer at the age of just 20, she speaks in barely a whisper. But don’t mistake some of the wide-eyed characters she plays for the woman she is now. Dancers have a hidden steel, and Cojocaru has absolute certainty in herself as an artist. When she left the Royal Ballet, it was in part because her own artistic ideas did not match that of then-director Monica Mason.

“Very early on we are told how we should dance, how we should think about dance, how a production should look,” she says. “You’re always following someone else’s vision. But you’re rarely encouraged to ask, ‘What do I like, what is important for me?’” If you want to pursue your own growth, “it’s a challenge to find companies that are open and knowledgable enough to support that”, she says, in a very gentle dig at the Royal Ballet. “For me it was just not enough. When I felt I needed more, I had to take a step.”

She did however find inspiration with choreographer John Neumeier at Hamburg Ballet, where she remains a guest artist. And now Cojocaru pursues her freedom and is flying as an artist, but she’s still very much a student, she tells me. “I like to learn, and I try to be smart enough to relearn things I thought I already knew.” The challenge right now is how to balance an international dancing career, the pressures of producing a new ballet and parenting two children at the same time. She’s still working on that. “The moment I say I know what I’m doing,” she says, “it’s time to take the shoes off.”

La Strada is at Sadler’s Wells, London, 25 to 28 January.

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Best Dance Performances of 2023

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When hundreds of dancers converged onstage for a collective bow in honor of the opening night of City Ballet’s 75th anniversary season, it might not have been choreographed with the care that, say, George Balanchine would have given it — the scene was a touch chaotic — but it was astonishing to see so many of the bodies that have paved the way for a new ballet, for an American ballet. The company’s fall season was dominated by Balanchine classics. “Symphony in C” remains its own special life force. How could one choreographer produce so much radiance? (Read our review of the fall season opening night.)

A choreographer who spends much of his time in Europe — he is the director of the Schauspielhaus ZĂŒrich Dance Ensemble — Harrell returned to New York with “The Köln Concert” (2021). Performed at the Brooklyn Academy of Music, it paired Keith Jarrett’s best-selling 1975 recorded performance with Joni Mitchell songs; here, Harrell’s signature runway movement, lush and stark, had a new maturity, resulting in a dance that possessed the clarity of a jewel. (Read our feature about Trajal Harrell.)

The warm afterglow of the Ken Dance — unofficially known as the dream ballet in Greta Gerwig’s “Barbie”— lives on. This all-male number, choreographed by Jennifer White, comes out of nowhere in the film, trading a pink beach for a shimmering bright soundstage. Led by Ryan Gosling’s Ken, the number soars as dancers leap and glide into diamond formations. The crime is that there are no Oscars for best choreography. (Read our Critic’s Notebook about the dance in “Barbie.”)

When the horde that is (La)Horde, the French collective formed in 2013 by Marine Brutti, Jonathan Debrouwer and Arthur Harel, made its New York City debut as part of Dance Reflections at NYU Skirball, it felt like a shot of adrenaline. With the Ballet National de Marseille, which it directs, (La)Horde presented two programs: the evening-length “Room With a View” and a mixed bill of work. Both showed off the collective’s view of experimental dance: abrasive and loud, soft and light, generous and healing in unassuming ways. (Read our feature about (La)Horde.)

At American Ballet Theater this was the year of the dancer. Or, really, one dancer: Jake Roxander, whose astonishing virtuosity and sparkling stage presence give the repertory a much-needed jolt of electricity. Over the past year, Roxander — who comes from a ballet family — has triumphed as Mercutio in “Romeo and Juliet,” Puck in “The Dream” and in basically any role he touches, small or large. (Read our review of Roxander’s Mercutio.)

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💃Here Are The Strictly Come Dancing Semi Final Routines đŸȘ©

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As it’s the Strictly Come Dancing semi final, the couples will each dance twice. Here’s what they’ll be performing:

Annabel and Johannes: Salsa to You’ll Be Mine (Party Time) by Gloria Estefan and Viennese Waltz Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want by Slow Moving Millie

Bobby and Dianne: Quickstep to Mack The Knife by Bobby Darin and Paso Doble to Run Boy Run by Woodkid

Ellie and Vito: Couple’s Choice to Dua Lipa Medley andCha Cha to Mambo Italiano by Bette Midler

I’m Layton and Nikita: Charleston to Fit As A Fiddle by Gene Kelly & Donald O’Connor and Rumba to Lift Me Up by Rihanna

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Dancing for Real – Fjord Review

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How would you describe your creative partnership?

Desmond: Respect, I think that’s one thing. Loyalty. I’m loyal to a fault. I really respect Dwight’s work. I respect how he communicates to me, [and] what he has to say is very, very important. We’ve always had that. It’s not something we question. If we disagree, we go to our corners, figure it out, come back together; that’s a common thread. Listening to one another, communicating, as well. He’s family, a friend who goes beyond the dancing art. We gravitated towards each other as humans first, then as dancers.  

Dwight: Desmond was inspiration. I had never met anyone like him. I wanted to create, and luckily, he was open and wanted to be a part of whatever I was doing. I was still dancing full-time, and we found each other in the dancing. First, we have a friendship; we would stay on the phone all night long, [though] we were mainly talking about dance. We were two young guys who were just in love with what we were doing. “Wow,” I’d think, “this is the kind of dancer I’d like to be.”

And second—Desmond couldn’t wait to dance. For me, that was thrilling, and it also lends itself to me being able to work with him and start to build a vocabulary. I’m grateful for that. We don’t agree on everything, like he said, but at the end of the day, we always come back to Complexions. Complexions is the love child. It’s the thing we made together and now it’s flourishing 30 years later. 

A 30th anniversary is sometimes signified by a pearl, which brings me to this question: What’s the secret to keeping a company together for nearly three decades, which seems monumental, especially these days? 

Desmond: It just stems from Dwight and I having a particular passion about dance, having a through-line. Let’s do something for real—not that the dance isn’t for real—but staying the course in what we believe in. How we see the dance. Yes, we want it technical, yes, we want it passionate. And entertaining—we’re not afraid to be that. We want audiences to sit forward in their seats. There’s something really palpable from Complexions to our audiences around the world. 

They’re the same in New York, the same in L.A., or France or Italy, or any of the other places we visit. There’s something that’s coming off the stage that is a particular authenticity. We want to maintain that and not go to another place; that’s important for us. It’s in line with our original idea—putting it all on the stage—all or nothing—every eye, every head—giving 110% at all times.

The dancers are also unique, necessary and valid, and there’s a lane for them, as it was told to me, told to Dwight—we’ve put together very interesting dancers today. From non-binary, they’re being authentically themselves, and this is important, because they’re needing to voice who they are authentically, and not fit into a mold. If you hone your technique, have a finely-tuned instrument, you can do whatever you need to do.

Dwight: I don’t know what the secret is. All I know is it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. We make it by the hair on my chinny chin chin and somehow get it done. All the noise and all the other stuff along the way, it can be easy to get distracted. But I’ve always been a person who likes to talk about what’s going on in the world now. I’m a ‘now’ guy as opposed to ‘then.’

It’s [also] an investment. The thing with Complexions, and it’s the very reason that Desmond and I wanted to put together a project—that’s what it was, a project, it wasn’t a company at the time—we wanted to explore, and we really thought that there’s a beauty in knowing something. I say this all the time—the beauty of the fact that someone sitting next to me comes from a completely different background, they may have training I don’t know anything about—how they were raised and what they bring to the table. 

The beauty of the differences extends past racial lines. That’s a big part, yes, we wanted a multi-cultural [troupe]—but at the foundation is the beauty of appreciating our differences. The world would be such a boring place if we had come from the same place, had the same experiences. What sense does it make to have friction as opposed to, “Hey, tell me about you. I want to know.” That’s a point that people don’t embrace all the time. But we’re getting there.

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In a Gender-Flipped Production of Cinderella, a Princess Rescues

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At a recent rehearsal of the Scottish Ballet, Marge Hendrick did something unusual for a ballerina. Running through a scene from “Cinders!,” a gender-bending new version of “Cinderella,” she grazed her partner Evan Loudon’s chin reassuringly as he looked down, unsure of himself. Then, Hendrick extended a hand to Loudon and paraded him around her, welcoming him to her world.

It was an exact reversal of the gender dynamic that has long dominated ballet’s repertoire. Typically men are cast as confident, chivalrous princes, there to provide support to their female partners. “You lead the woman, you present the woman,” Loudon said in an interview after the rehearsal. “It’s the job in traditional ballets.”

In this production, with choreography by Christopher Hampson, the artistic director of the Scottish Ballet, Loudon plays Cinders, a male version of Cinderella. And Hendrick is Princess Louise, the royal character who comes to his rescue.

For Loudon, letting her take the lead has meant fighting his ballet instincts daily. “I don’t really know how to hold myself anymore, where to put my hand with her,” he said with a laugh.

Hampson’s “Cinders!,” which has its premiere in Glasgow on Dec. 9 ahead of a British tour, is pushing at ballet’s calcified gender roles. While gender flips are hardly new in film and theater, ballet has been slower to experiment with them. In recent years, some choreographers, like Justin Peck, have created gender-neutral roles, mostly in shorter, abstract works. In 2022, Benjamin Millepied mixed and matched genders in a new version of “Romeo and Juliet” for his contemporary company L.A. Dance Project, casting the star-crossed lovers as two women, two men or a straight pair, depending on the night.

Yet gender-swapping the roles of an existing fairy-tale ballet, with its set narrative structure and traditional pas de deux, is a different ballgame. When Hampson first explained the concept to Daria Klimentova, a former star of English National Ballet who coaches the lead roles in “Cinders!,” she thought he was joking, she said in an interview in Glasgow. Bruno Micchiardi, the first-cast Cinders, recalled the dancers’ reaction: “We were all kind of like: ‘OK. How does that work?’”

That’s because unlike theater, when it comes to gender fluidity, ballet has to contend with its binary technique. Whether a man or a woman says “I love you,” “it’s the same three words,” Hampson said. “But we’re working with codified movement.” Ballet dancers specialize early on: Girls learn to dance on pointe, and boys develop the skills needed to lift their partners. A new generation of nonbinary performers has started to question this strict divide in recent years, but it remains deeply ingrained in the art form.

“Cinders!” is not the first time Hampson has challenged the status quo in ballet. At Scottish Ballet, where he has been artistic director since 2012, he has spoken up about the abusive environment ballet has often fostered, as well as the outdated stereotypes in its repertoire. Last year, he was among the first ballet leaders to hire intimacy directors in order to look after the physical and emotional well-being of performers.

The idea of a gender-flipped “Cinders!” first came to him in a queer bookshop in Edinburgh. He happened upon “Gender Swapped Fairy Tales” (2020) by Karrie Fransman and Jonathan Plackett, in which the gender of every character in classic tales is changed, including “Cinderella.” “They’ve not been rewritten,” Hampson said. “It’s just the initial text with a stepfather instead of a stepmother, a fairy godfather and so on. What fascinated me was that the stories just worked. I wish that I’d had that in front of me when I was growing up.”

Hampson had already choreographed several versions of “Cinderella,” but said he thought the ballet needed “freshening,” especially the plot. In this version, Cinders’ parents both die when their shop goes up in flames. There is no stepmother: Instead, Cinders is left with the authoritarian new owner of the shop, Mrs. Thorne, and her children.

The gender change helped to highlight the original’s stereotypes. “You start to realize that most male characters in fairy tales are on a quest and an adventure,” Hampson said, “whereas many female characters require an answer from the world. They need to be helped and completed by a male protagonist.”

Bethany Kingsley-Garner, a veteran Scottish Ballet principal who created the role of Cinderella in Hampson’s previous production for the company, was ecstatic at the change. “I couldn’t wait to hold the ball on my own,” she said. In this version, Princess Louise now gets the kind of ballet entrance usually reserved for men: a flamboyant Prokofiev fanfare heralding her arrival, followed by high-flying jumps.

Kingsley-Garner, who will retire after “Cinders!,” added: “It was about time that I got a chance to lead in that way.”

Similarly, the role of Cinders allows for a level of vulnerability that male ballet dancers rarely learn to portray onstage. “I get to show loads of different emotions — I get to be timid!” Micchiardi, the first-cast Cinders, said. “The dream would be that in 20 years, when boys are doing a solo in school, they’ll want to do male Cinders.”

Yet for audiences, the changes will be much milder than a “gender reversal” might lead many to expect. Hampson — who said he had changed about 70 percent of the choreography from his previous production — primarily wanted to shift the story, rather than to challenge the technical divide between men and women. His male Cinders isn’t on pointe and the Princess isn’t asked to lift her partner.

“Is a woman doing a tour en l’air going to add to the story?,” he asked, referring to a step typically reserved for men.

Over the run of “Cinders!,” male Cinders/Princess and female Cinders/Prince pairings are set to alternate, with some dancers playing two roles: Jessica Fyfe, the first-cast Princess, will also perform the title role in later performances. And when she switches to Cinders, she won’t be performing all-new choreography. The pas de deux and some variations remain the same regardless of the gender combination. “It’s been quite mind-bending sometimes,” Fyfe said with a smile.

As the Princess, Fyfe is swept by her male partner into the same lifts and turns as female Cinders — yet she has to bring different intentions to them, to give the sense that she is leading. In a rehearsal, Hampson spent time finessing a section in which Fyfe drapes an arm over her Cinders’ shoulder, while he spins her around in an arabesque.

“We had this idea that the promenade came from her, pushing from the arm over the shoulder,” Hampson told the dancers. “It’s gone back to being reactive.” Fyfe and Micchiardi repeated the sequence several times, trying to hide the fact that Micchiardi does a lot of the physical leading.

“I’m trying to get to the point where the Princess instigates movements, where she drives the floor pattern,” Hampson said later in his office. “It’s really challenging me as a choreographer. I hadn’t fully realized that there are some tropes that I go to that I’ve not questioned enough.”

Micchiardi, who worked closely with Hampson and Fyfe to create the new-look lead roles, said they were all still figuring it out. “Maybe in 20 years’ time, pas de deux will be different, with the woman being more active,” he said.

As for the glass slipper, the female Cinders leave a pointe shoe behind as they flee the ball, and the male Cinders will leave a soft ballet shoe adorned with jewels. The change had a domino effect on casting: In most versions, the Prince comes to Cinderella’s home only so the stepsisters can try the “slipper” on. To solve that narrative roadblock, Hampson added a stepbrother, Tarquin, who tries on Cinders’ jeweled shoe.

Tarquin may not win the Princess’s hand, but he has his own happy ending: a same-sex romance with a duke from her court. Harvey Littlefield, 23, who identifies as gender queer, said being cast as the duke was the first time they have been able to play a gay character in ballet; there are next to none in the repertoire. “It feels like I can put myself fully into it,” they said. “It was quite a hopeful moment.”

Like Littlefield, Fyfe and Micchiardi said they were inspired by the creation process. “A lot of ballet companies are going down a more contemporary route to create new works, but this is very classical,” Fyfe said of “Cinders!” “And I think that’s one of the hardest things to do at the moment — to keep that classicism, but bring it into this century.”

“It makes you fall in love with the art form all over again,” Micchiardi said.

And Hampson is now certain that other classics can be given a similar treatment. “It’s doable for every ballet,” he said. “I can’t see why it wouldn’t be, because we’re telling the human condition story. I just know as a little boy, I would have loved to have seen this show.”

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Strictly Musicals Week Routines đŸŽ¶

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All of a sudden, it’s Musicals Week on Strictly ! The five remaining celebrities will be dancing :

Annabel and Johannes: Foxtrot to For Good from Wicked

Bobby and Dianne: Salsa to (I’ve Had) The Time of My Life from Dirty Dancing

Ellie and Vito: Quickstep to Belle from Beauty And The Beast

Layton and Nikita: Paso Doble to Backstage Romance from Moulin Rouge! The Musical

Nigel and Katya: Charleston to Step In Time from Mary Poppins

Make sure you join us this Saturday at 7:25pm on BBC One!

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