Alice

Undeniably sumptuous, frequently elegant and weak on narrative, Ashley Page’s vision of Lewis Carroll’s celebrated children’s story is, on the surface, a psychedelic series of disconnected scenes. Unlike Michael Clark, or Page’s own Fearful Symmetries, the choreography is seductive, charming and occasionally humorous, in an all ages slapstick style. The set dominates the dancers, who are still struggling to dance in unison, and the solos are the undoubted highlights.

Given the furore surrounding Page’s departure from Scottish Ballet – having energised the repertoire through contemporary and commissioned works, he leaves not of his own will - Alice may be regarded as a crucial moment in the company’s history. Page does not depart too far from his formula that has made the Christmas ballets a popular success: the emphasis on costume and the attempt to dig into the psychology of familiar stories take this beyond a mere children’s ballet.

As a whole, Alice is a good expression of where 2011 finds Scottish Ballet. Page is a master when he adapts classical ballet towards an awkward modernism, and his pas de deux are passionate and filled with elegiac longing. He reimagines characters as surreal Jungian symbols, emerging from the subconscious, hinting at deep meanings, and emphasises the themes of the adventure – growing up, alienation and fear – over the narrative. In smaller groupings, the dancers’ blend of athleticism and classical ballet is bracing: larger corps de ballet set pieces, inspired by the strict geometry of Frederick Ashton, are rendered shambolic by poor timing.

Alice falls uncomfortably between the two stalls, however: neither bracing contemporary nor precise neo-classical. Alice does not break any moulds, lacking either a profound sense of adventure in reinterpreting the material, or settling on a more traditional discipline. Nevertheless, the soloists, especially Tomomi Sato, have the lyrical grace to capture his romantic influences.

Robert Moran’s commissioned score prods the action along efficiently, veering from sinister drone to comic swanee whistle ensembles, supporting Page’s characterisation and lending a disorientating atmosphere: the set is overwhelming, and not helped by stage hands wandering around, tugging it around the place. It does work superbly in the meeting of Humpty Dumpty and the Jabberwock, adding to the claustrophobia that Sophie Martin’s Alice conveys through her dancing. Eric Cavelleri, technically superb, is unfortunately inexpressive, never really evoking Carroll’s emotional rollercoaster that parallels his heroine’s growth.

There is much to admire in the production, despite the company’s failure to address the problems that have dogged them for years – the slopping timing of the corps de ballet and the sense that they are not quite ready to jump whole-heartedly into a more radical vision of ballet. It is this that obscures the potential of Page’s interpretation: he has made Alice into a journey from childhood to maturity, reflecting the chaos and confusion that chokes the adolescent. Behind the costumes, between the yearning of the barely suppressed emotions and the curve of Sato’s arabesque, Page longs to chip away the idea of ballet as a cliché and is preparing it for serious contemporary considerations.