Sarah Crompton 

Frederick Ashton: Links in the Chain review – fascinating study of a master choreographer

Lynne Wake’s film about Ashton, available online, is a compelling glimpse into the way his great works are reinterpreted by new generations of dancers
  
  

Wayne Eagling teaches Francesca Haywood the Hamlet Prelude in Frederick Ashton: Links in the Chain.
Francesca Haywood learning Ashton’s Hamlet Prelude with Wayne Eagling, who created the role, in Links in the Chain. © Frederick Ashton Foundation Photograph: © Frederick Ashton Foundation

One of the great privileges of writing about dance is that sometimes you find yourself in a rehearsal room when a ballet is being remounted, listening to one generation of dancers passing on to the next what they have been taught by a previous generation.

One of the pleasures of Links in the Chain, Lynne Wake’s 2021 documentary about Frederick Ashton, is that it allows you to eavesdrop on similar conversations. Screening at a special event at the Royal Academy of Dance in London on Tuesday, with guest speakers including dancers Vadim Muntagirov and Francesca Hayward, it’s a beautifully edited insight into what Christopher Nourse of the Ashton foundation calls “the DNA of what is a national ballet”.

The 40-minute film mixes archive footage and interviews of great Royal Ballet performances of the past with today’s dancers talking about what they have learned about the style created by the company’s founding choreographer. They emphasise the almost sacred nature of the steps. Anthony Dowell remembers that having a role created on you by Ashton was “like the holy grail”; when he teaches the Dance of the Blessed Spirits to Muntagirov, the younger dancer talks about hoarding each word “like a treasure”.

Wayne Eagling created the role of Hamlet in Ashton’s Hamlet Prelude in 1977. His part was meant to be danced by Rudolf Nureyev; Ashton worked with Eagling while waiting for his star to turn up. “But then Rudolf did one performance and I did 15,” Eagling remembers. His partner in the work was the 58-year-old Margot Fonteyn. Her part was “a reminiscence of all the roles” that Ashton had made for her.

Watching Fonteyn dance in rare film of Symphonic Variations in 1946, you note the freedom, as well as the steely technique. Seeing Hayward and William Bracewell learn the roles, new emphases emerge even as Eagling recalls the intent, essence and shapes of Ashton’s choreography. As Bracewell wisely remarks: “You give a different generation the same steps and they do them differently. That’s the beauty of it. It’s evolving.” Wake wisely and sensitively records it all. It is utterly fascinating.

 

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