From the pas de deux
Manon
The Australian Ballet
Friday 10th October, 2025
Regent Theatre, Melbourne
Choreography: Sir Kenneth MacMillan
Staged by Laura Morera and Gregory Mislin
Composer: Jules Massenet orchestrated and arranged by Martin Yates
Set and costume design: Peter Farmer
Lighting design: Jacopo Pantani
Relighter: Jason Morphett
With Orchestra Victoria
Conductor: Charles Barker
Manon: Robyn Hendricks
Des Grieux: Callum Linnane
Lescaut: Maxim Zenin
Lescaut’s Mistress: Isobelle Dashwood
Monsieur G.M.: Adam Bull
Madame X: Gillian Revie
Gaoler: Joseph Romancewicz
Devotion and Desire, my response to The Australian Ballet’s Prism, drawn up especially for Fjord Review. The Australian Ballet’s Melbourne season of Manon is dedicated to the memory of Colin Peasley OAM, a founding member of The Australian Ballet who devoted his life to the company and to the art form.
Sir Kenneth MacMillan began his choreography for Manon with the pas de deux[i], and from this shining, central point spun outward. Building the story from its heart, almost as if from the inside out, the pas de deux reveals not only the emotional connection between the two dancers, but their place in the world. In a continued radiation outward, MacMillan, through his expressive, delicious choreography, makes this ballet relatable, and real. On the opening night of The Australian Ballet’s Melbourne season of Manon, I am drawn to the undeniable connection of Robyn Hendricks’s Manon and Callum Linnane’s des Grieux.
Falling off centre to risk everything for love, every part of the story can be read in the pas de deuxs they share. Hendricks’s Manon and Linnane’s des Grieux are everything, as they swerve and lean into each other and become entwined. From the moment they first physically connect when Linnane positions himself so that Hendricks will literally step backwards and fall into him, to me, at its core, Manon is their love story. They eke out a place where they can be together, in the renowned Bedroom pas de deux, where every step conveys a sense of if only they could stay here, live forever in this moment. If only we could stay here, toys Hendricks as she lightly, playfully leads Linnane away from the desk and back towards the bed. Their story asks how far would you go for the one you love. And as their story unfurls, how far would you go for the one you love takes on a different emphasis at each of Manon’s three distinct junctures.
But of course, as we all know, one cannot remain suspended in this state. The world will crash in. Society upholds certain rules and it is respondent to power, no matter the pull of true love. If this staging of Manon is about how far would you go for the one you love, it is set against a backdrop of the plight of women, and Manon’s own fear of what being poor entails and the shame that accompanies such poverty. And so, the world Hendricks and Linnane inhabit, even in the bedroom, is one of rags, beautiful, artful rags, in sets designed by Peter Farmer. In the splendour of the Regent Theatre, and from my vantage in the dress circle, the set, with all its players, looked like an exquisite storybook jewel I would like to fold up and store in my pocket. Appearing perfectly at home in this environment, with the lighting design of Jacopo Pantani, relit by Jason Morphett, rags and beggars are woven through every part of the fabric of Manon, an ever-present reminder of the reality Hendricks’s Manon operates within. Hendricks reveals the curtailed power Manon has through the almost unreachable quality she imbues during a scene in Madame X’s hôtel particulier in which she all but skips over the heads of the men who would have her. Placing the emphasis upon Hendricks’s control of her body, she is not passively passed from man to man like a commodity, she is active, aloft, elsewhere. She is finding what power she can in a scenario that is ultimately impossible for her to steer.
The language Hendricks shares with Linnane is altogether different. In their swirling pas de deuxs, she floats above him, but because of their connection, rather than in spite of their connection. As they glide across the stage, reminiscent of ice skaters[ii], they are transcendent. MacMillan’s choreography gives the dancers room to add their own personality and reading of the characters, thereby ensuring a continual interpretation of a classic. Adam Bull[iii] as an oily Monsieur G.M.’s pas de trois with Hendricks’s Manon, and Manon’s brother, Lescaut, played by Maxim Zenin, typifies the limited roles open to Manon and the unjustness of society. Lescaut’s actions might make him family in name only, yet Zenin ensures his demise is felt. Isobelle Dashwood as Lescaut’s Mistress pours a needed dash of humour to a tonic of beguilement. From the courtesans to the infamous rat catcher, have fun, but know your place, when playing a game of Snakes and Ladders.
Manon and des Grieux’s devastating final pas de deux sees Linnane try desperately to animate Hendricks’s now listless form, as musically Jules Massenet (orchestrated and arranged by Martin Yates) provides a sense of love prevailing. Recurring movements and motifs have been guiding me here all along. Of course things conclude in a swamp. But what a swamp!
Robyn Hendricks and Callum Linnane in Sir Kenneth MacMillan’s Manon photographed by Kate Longley
[i] Deborah Jones, ‘Doing the two step’, The Australian Ballet, https://australianballet.com.au/blog/doing-the-two-step, accessed 11th October, 2025
[ii] Deborah MacMillan describes Kenneth MacMillan as being “obsessed with ice skating” at the time of working on Manon and the impression they gave of gliding across the floor. ‘Manon: Darcey Bussell and Deborah MacMillan on Kenneth MacMillan’s masterpiece’, The Royal Ballet’s YouTube channel, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XC3ZNU3bAUg, accessed 11th October, 2025
[iii] In a full circle moment, Adam Bull played des Grieux opposite Lucinda Dunn when the company last performed Manon in 2014.
Image credit: The Australian Ballet’s Robyn Hendricks and Callum Linnane in Sir Kenneth MacMillan’s Manon by Kate Longley
