Sadler's Wells, London
I love dance programmes that are dedicated to just one choreographer's work. Run of the mill in modern dance, they are rare in ballet, where the imperative to create an entertaining mix tends to rank higher than delving under one choreographer's skin. In the case of Hans van Manen, veteran of Dutch National Ballet, the satisfaction of spending two and hour hours in his company is underlined by the fact that Britain sees so absurdly little of the great man's work.
Most revealing about Master of Dance is the wit and daring of Van Manen's musicality. It opens with Adagio Hammerklavier (1973), which is set to one of Beethoven's sparest piano concertos, Op 106. From this bold choice of music, Van Manen creates a work of riveting intellectual tension and expressive power. Much of the choreography (for three couples) is a paring down to fundamentals. Small details – the turn of a head, the stretch of a foot – acquire a disconcerting, even erotic, impact. The flow of the choreography is constantly disrupted – a lift that freezes in mid-air, a pliant body stiffening. It's a dance of inquiry and retreat, emphasised by the way the choreography maintains a similar distance from the music, moving above the notes in its own parallel pattern. When, finally, Van Manen allows the choreography to flow and pins it back to the melodic line of the score, the impact is all the more piercingly lyrical.
Solo (1997) is pitched to another extreme, a euphoric relay race in which the tip-tilted turns and jumps of its three male soloists appear all the more virtuosic for their rigorous timekeeping with Bach's accompanying score. But it is Concertante (1994), set to music by Frank Martin, that is the masterwork of the evening, not only for the astounding variety of patterns configured through its eight dancers, but also for the exuberance with which it embodies the theatricality of Martin's score. There is a wildly colourful inflection of jazzy, oriental and classical styles playing over the choreography, but also a subtext of big dramatic gestures – ferocious glances, yearning expressions, warring arms. A hundred stories are suggested, yet none are detachable from the pure, scintillating logic of the dance.
Closing the programme is Grosse Fuge (1971). With its ritualised confrontations between the sexes, its overtly erotic styling (bare-chested men with leather belts, leotards with a hint of corsetry), this is the Van Manen work we see most regularly in the UK. It's also the weakest of the night. Van Manen's imposition of a four-square beat over Beethoven's music seems more wilful than illuminating, and a disappointingly underpowered performance from its cast does not help. Even so, the programme is aptly titled: Van Manen is one of the great masters.