Matthew Bourne doesn’t look like a pillar of the Establishment. He eases into a corner table in the Sadler’s Wells canteen, a tall man in a green plaid shirt. His voice is soft, respectful, easily amused. Anyone who has seen the tyrannical artistic director in Black Swan might expect Britain’s most successful choreographer to make a bigger, shoutier noise. But Bourne doesn’t need to throw a strop to make people listen.
Ever since he staged his audacious, heart-stopping version of Swan Lake in 1995, with its pack of feral male swans, audiences have followed. He has staged Edward Scissor-hands, Dorian Gray and, most recently, a Cinderella, set at the height of the Blitz, that pulled in unprecedented numbers both at Sadler’s Wells and on tour.
A commercial and artistic success, he must be a tricky chap to buy gifts for. So what to get for last year’s 50th birthday? His company, New Adventures, together with friends and former colleagues, settled on an unusual pressie — they have funded a new biennial award for an emerging choreographer. Goodness, I say. Wouldn’t Bourne have preferred a yacht? He smiles. “I wasn’t expecting anything, really. I expect they were racking their brains. It seemed perfect, and touching, because so many people contributed to it.” Indeed, more than 120 people pledged almost £15,000 within 48 hours of the appeal going out.
The award, which will be presented in July, aims to help an artist build a career, with mentoring from Bourne and his polished organisation. There’s a reason why there are so few Bournes out there. Dance requires costly resources, studios, dancers, colleagues. You simply can’t do it alone. “It’s about giving a person a chance to do more work,” he says. “You need that chance to be able to show your work, and so few people get the opportunity to do it once they’ve left college. Then you’re out there on your own, and it’s about money, hiring space.”
You won’t survive, he insists, without understanding budgets — or hiring someone who does
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Bourne is under no illusions as to why he has endured while other sparky contemporaries have faded away. “What I’ve discovered over the years is that it’s 50% talent and 50% having a business mind. Or having the right people around you, and not just being an ‘artist’.” Working unpaid and calling in favours are the staple of young dance companies. “That’s not making a living,” Bourne sighs. “How long can you go on like that for? That’s where they drop.” You won’t survive, he insists, without understanding budgets or marketing — or hiring someone who does. “I’ve seen people with a touch of genius, but they have no idea what they’re doing on that side of things.” Whoever wins Bourne’s award will spend time with spreadsheets as well as in studios.
Strategic exposure is also key. Bourne’s own career was kick-started by an appearance on a gala cabaret evening for the Dance Umbrella festival. “I never forget the good luck we had early on. They invited everyone involved with Dance Umbrella — all the regional presenters, all the dance press. From that one night, so much grew. We got bookings, a little spark of interest in the press.” Two decades on, Bourne hopes to return the favour via his platinum-quality contacts book. “I can invite the big names and get them to come along,” he admits.
The award is open to all dance styles, with no age limit. “We’re trying to be open-minded and not put too many restrictions on it. Eventually, it’s about a person. I’ll sense the passion.” Bourne’s only interest is in finding someone whose work makes a connection with audiences. His work is remarkable in reaching people with no previous yen for dance. Communication and entertainment are his touchstones. “I think you have to do that,” he argues.
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If this year is about giving something back, next year should be full of fireworks. There are multiple anniversaries — 10 years of New Adventures and 25 since the foundation of its previous incarnation, Adventures in Motion Pictures. His sweet-toothed Nutcracker is 20, and returns to Sadler’s Wells this Christmas. Bourne will also revive some of his spikiest pieces. Play Without Words (2002) is a dazzling work, originally made for the National Theatre and based on the Dirk Bogarde film The Servant. A posh young chap, his manipulative valet and the other characters are played by multiple dancers in simultaneous scenes that mean you can never quite trust your eyes. It’s a seamy and sophisticated piece.
Winter 2012 brings something quite new. Bourne has persuaded Sadler’s Wells that a Christmas show doesn’t have to be overtly Christmassy, and hopes to create a piece to the music of the film composer Bernard Herrmann. Best known for his scores for Hitchcock — the swirling theme of Vertigo, the stabbing shower scene in Psycho — Herrmann also, as Bourne notes, “had an amazing, long career — from Citizen Kane to Taxi Driver. There’s some gorgeous stuff that people don’t know well. It’s great theatrical music, so I’m trying to build a story around that. It will be a great end to a celebratory year”. The Herrmann project is also a sign of confidence: “I feel that I can be a little bit bolder. I feel we’ve got the audience’s trust, which is a nice feeling. I always feel the pressure to want to please — I still get very nervous with new things.”
We met in early March, the day after Bourne’s return from Glasgow, premiering an unusual new piece. Lord of the Flies adapts William Golding’s novel about a pack of boys gradually turning to primitive violence when stranded on a desert island. What made this project startling wasn’t merely the savage subject matter, but the participants. The all-male cast combined dancers from New Adventures and Glasgow schoolboys, many of whom had never even seen the inside of a theatre.
“That was a hard place to start,” Bourne admits. “I’m used to being surrounded by people who are really eager and enthusiastic, so the early stages of this project were terribly difficult — 80% to 90% of the boys couldn’t care less, or gave that impression. Some had quite troubled backgrounds. I had a lot of doubts along the way. I didn’t think we could do it.”
Lord of the Flies may show civilisation falling to pieces, but the work paradoxically brought everyone together. The Glasgow lads were mentored by Bourne’s dancers and, slowly, studied indifference became genuine engagement. “The change in them in a few weeks was enormous — a change of personalities, completely. There’s something about being chosen that really helps someone’s confidence, being talked to and listened to. If they had an idea, we tried to include it. We saw them blossom in a way I had thought was impossible.”
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The show is no worthy community project; Bourne brought in his A team, the designer Lez Brotherston and the composer Terry Davies. “I wanted to do a good job and give the boys a good experience.” That they had: one boy in particular, “a little tough guy, was in floods of tears in the corridor on the last night, on his own — he didn’t want to show anyone. It was a life-changing experience for a lot of them”.
Bourne is an affable interviewee, but periodically morphs into a walking factsheet to reinforce the company’s vital role in Britain’s dance ecology. “Some interesting statistics for you?” he asks. And they’re impressive: about how New Adventures is “the biggest dance export this country has, by far”. About how 70% of its Sadler’s Wells audience are wholly new to dance, while its regular venues outside London are now discussing two-week runs of the productions. Despite the statistical onslaught, Bourne retains an endearing diffidence: “I can’t believe I’m still doing this after 25 years.” But really, I tease, shouldn’t Britain’s biggest dance export have a peerage by now? Doesn’t Lord Bourne of Bourneville sound good? To my surprise, he breaks out a shy grin. “Something in me really likes the idea, because it’s so crazy. I dunno, yeah. It would be such a crazy thing.” So, grateful nation, shall we club together?