Tutu: Dance in All Its Glory review at Pleasance Courtyard, Edinburgh – ‘crude and loveless’
Tutu is a disappointing all-male production that relies on cheap visual gags in an attempt to satirise several styles of dance. Ballet comes in for a battering, but it’s a limp and unimaginative affair in which a bloke in pointe shoes and gold tutu wafts around next to an ineffectual partner while Tchaikovsky plays.
Philippe Lafeuille’s choreography lacks the vital wit and invention displayed by the likes of Matthew Bourne and Les Ballets Trockadero, who take the piss out of ballet’s formalities with flair and fondness.
The Rite of Spring is re-imagined as a flat Freudian spectacle whereby a bunch of babies stomp, shit and furtle in their tutu-nappy hybrids. A spangly Strictly send-up composed of cheesy hip-thrusts and crotch-flashes comes to nothing, while the skewering of contemporary dance’s pretentious and po-faced intellectualism proves dull.
A ribbon-waving circus troupe in leotards simper, giggle and catch some balls – particularly crass during an Edinburgh Fringe in which the discipline’s male bias has been excellently exposed.
A reimagining of The Dying Swan is a partially compelling exercise in the rippling of sinew while the vignette during which a dancer is assaulted with questions about diet and flexibility has a more thoughtful quality.
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