By no Means a Surfeit of Culture (part 1)

Surfeit: (noun) an excessive amount of something

or , acc. to Duke Orsino in Twelfth Night Act 1, scene 1"

If music be the food of love, play on,
Give me excess of it; that surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.


Well, for me it wasn’t an excess of anything, just enough, more like, and there’s more to follow yet, and certainly not enough to sicken the appetite; rather, let me call it a sufficiency.


The Sleeping Beauty is a grand, formal and very human ballet. It's packed full of radiant dancing and touches of observation, often both at once; it is danced with great depth, contrast and warmth.

 Magnificent scenery, exquisite costumes,
Tchaikovsky’s exuberant score, and a huge cast, what’s not to like? And, of course, it all ends happily-ever-after, Princess Aurora is awakened by Prince Florimund and wicked Carabosse disappears, never to be seen again.


Nobody speaks, is betrayed, dies or goes mad in Jerome Robbins’s ballet “Dances at a Gathering,” but this hourlong, pure-dance work, set to an anthology of Chopin piano pieces, is nonetheless a multilayered masterpiece of theatre.

"Within months of its 1969 premiere (with New York City Ballet, which revives it this week), there was so much talk about its characters and narratives that Robbins (the choreographer)sent a letter to the quarterly Ballet Review written like a telegram: “THERE ARE NO STORIES TO ANY OF THE DANCES IN DANCES AT A GATHERING. THERE ARE NO PLOTS AND NO ROLES. THE DANCERS ARE THEMSELVES DANCING WITH EACH OTHER TO THAT MUSIC IN THAT PLACE.”

You make of it what you will. You could, like I did, simply watch and follow breathlessly, as Chopin’s various pieces unfold, with music and dance merging into one brilliant experience.

As good as Sleeping Beauty and Dances at a Gathering were they came nowhere near the brand new ballet 'The Cellist', the story of the life of Jacqueline du Pre, who died, at 42, 30years ago. The story is told through the instrument, which is danced by Marcelino Sambe, and goes from her childhood and first lessons through her years as a player of extraordinary talent to her illness and death, the cello falling silent at last.

It was a breathtaking performance, inspirational, powerfully affecting, utterly moving. I rarely go overboard for a ballet, but see this if you can.

So what a huge difference the film of ‘Downton Abbey’ was compared to anything else I’ve seen during the first two months of the year. Firstly, the theatre was crammed full of old people, many on sticks, in wheelchairs, pushing walking aids, accompanied by carers. Chatty and lively, excited to be 'out on licence’, humming like bees in a beehive, they were shepherded to their seats, where they stayed, relatively quietly, waiting for their favourite show to unfold and Maggie Smith’s acerbic comments to tickle their funnybone. There was much laughter at the appropriate moments and quite a few satisfied sighs when Downton’s ‘belowstairs’ got one over on the Royal entourage.

Personally, I thought the film was harmless fun, nothing to get excited over, rather painting-by-numbers and predictable; I watched the TV series and this was in much the same vein. I expect you’ve all long seen it and enjoyed it. I did too, finally.