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Christopher Gerty and Genevieve Penn Nabity in The Four Seasons.BRUCE ZINGER – Photographer/National Ballet of Canada

  • Title: The Four Seasons/Morpheus’ Dream/The Leaves are Fading
  • Choreographer: David Dawson, Antony Tudor, Marco Goecke
  • Company: National Ballet of Canada
  • Venue: Four Seasons Centre for the Performing Arts
  • City: Toronto
  • Year: To March 2, 2025

The curtain fell on David Dawson’s The Four Seasons on Wednesday night in Toronto to thunderous applause, a good omen for the announcement that followed. Dawson, a renowned British choreographer who has been closely affiliated with the Dutch National Ballet for two decades, was appointed the National Ballet of Canada’s resident choreographer, a position that hasn’t been filled since James Kudelka left in 2007.

It’s a symbolic decision for many reasons, some of which seem manifest in The Four Seasons itself, the final work on the evening’s triple bill. Set to Max Richter’s reworking of Vivaldi’s four-part concerti, the 50-minute ballet is a great showcase of the National Ballet’s young talent and athleticism. There’s been a huge turnover of dancers in the past few years, and the work captures where the company is right now – eager, skilled, emboldened and ambitious – but maybe not quite sure how to channel it all.

The Four Seasons, which premiered at the Semperoper Ballett in Dresden, Germany, in 2018, shows Dawson’s knack for inventive ensemble configurations, which emerge and dissolve seamlessly. Our attention is focused and scattered; there’s a palpable tension between order and pure mess. Stylistically, Dawson plays against the ornamentation and expressiveness of the music. The stage is bare save for huge geometric shapes that descend and rotate individually, while the dancers, dressed in small groups of matching monochrome unitards – green, brown, purple, crimson, blue – suggest something of the shifting seasons.

This aggressive minimalism is paired with Dawson’s trademark skidding partner-work and a port de bras that’s redolent of a gymnast’s starting pose: arched back, chest forward and arms outstretched on a diagonal. The motif is often accented with beautiful upper-body suppleness, which recurs in different guises throughout the work.

Principal dancer Genevieve Penn Nabity, a naturally athletic performer, is in her element here, attacking the choreography with energy and finesse. She is matched by an equally dynamic partner, second soloist Larkin Miller, and we’re treated to vibrant performances from first soloist Calley Skalnik and principal Spencer Hack.

Otherwise, The Four Seasons is sure to divide audiences. Some will no doubt find it thrilling, while others will be waiting for something emotional to land amid all the swiftness and speed. There’s no questioning Dawson’s musicality, but he doesn’t sharpen our understanding of the music the way that, say, choreographer Alexei Ratmansky does with Shostakovich in his Shostakovich Trilogy. Nor does Dawson deepen our emotional engagement with Richter’s score, as Crystal Pite does in her 2016 The Seasons Canon, which is set to the same music. What we’re left with feels performative.

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Set to Max Richter’s reworking of Vivaldi’s four-part concerti, The Four Seasons is a great showcase of the National Ballet’s young talent and athleticism.Karolina Kuras/National Ballet of Canada

In many ways, the evening’s first ballet is the more interesting one. Antony Tudor’s The Leaves are Fading is a curious creature. Tudor made the work for the American Ballet Theater in 1977; the original cast starred the enigmatic ballerina Gelsey Kirkland. Set to music by Dvorak, the ballet is framed by the appearance of a woman (Alexandra MacDonald), who crosses the stage with her gaze cast upwards, as though lost in thought. The choreography is beautifully light and ephemeral; the dancers sweep by against a lush pine-green backdrop, often moving through the music instead of punctuating it with steps. There’s a sense of cinematic flashback, an old videotape playing footage of the past.

Tudor’s choreography has a few puzzling quirks. The men repeatedly make fists in sideways lunges, which looks cartoonishly combative, and there’s a recurring partnering lift that can only be described as “butt-in-the-air.” However, other idiosyncrasies embellish the wistful mood. The women shimmy their shoulders in a way that’s playful but disarming, as though quivering as a memory strikes.

In Kirkland’s role, principal dancer Tirion Law seems to float on air. Her technique is immaculate, her arms weightless, her presence magnetic. She is supported by fine dancing from members of the corps de ballet, with Erica Lall and Connor Hamilton standing out for their lightness of touch and effortless embodiment of the bittersweet mood.

Sandwiched between these ballets is a work with a very different vibe: Marco Goecke’s Morpheus’ Dream. The ballet’s provenance is a bit mysterious; the program lists it as a world premiere, but it was staged under a different name for the Stuttgart Ballet in 2021. Those unfamiliar with Goecke’s work may know him better as the choreographer who, in 2023, was charged with assault and lost his job at the Hannover State Opera House after smearing dog feces in a critic’s face.

Set to Lady Gaga’s Bad Romance and Keith Jarrett’s contemporary piano compositions, the 10-minute duet brings Penn Nabity and principal dancer Ben Rudisin into tense interplay expressed through sharp, muscled movement. Intimate and combative, things start to get really interesting when Goecke makes it funny. The jerks and contractions loosen on the dancers’ bodies into something sultry and self-conscious. A striking effect is created when Rudisin literally plays with fire, lighting a match over and over again and letting the flame burn on an otherwise dark stage.

In the interest of consistency across all critics’ reviews, The Globe has eliminated its star-rating system in film and theatre to align with coverage of music, books, visual arts and dance. Instead, works of excellence will be noted with a critic’s pick designation across all coverage. (Television reviews, typically based on an incomplete season, are exempt.)

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