AIM by Kyle Abraham review, Sadler’s Wells: Remixed Mozart feels both dreamlike and earthbound

Abraham’s adaptation of Mozart’s ‘Requiem’ often lacks pace, but remains striking

Donovan Reed in ‘Requiem: Fire in the Air of the Earth’ (Peter Hönnemann)

Kyle Abraham’s Requiem: Fire in the Air of the Earth remixes Mozart with ideas of ritual and rebirth. It can feel both dreamlike and earthbound. There’s some striking imagery, with muscular movement and shimmering electronic light, but the pacing lacks momentum.

Abraham is in demand as a choreographer, with recent works for The Royal Ballet and Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre. His style is eclectic, drawing on everything from ballet to hip-hop, while his own company is rooted in Black culture and history. And he’s returned to death as a theme, from the fallen man haunting 2012’s Pavement to the more stylised approach of this Requiem.

Giles Deacon dresses the 10 dancers in dappled silks, with a hint of Pierrot troupe in their ruffs and ruffles. The soundtrack, by electronic dance artist Jlin, layers Mozart’s Requiem with beats and washes of sound.

In the first section, all-Mozart, the dancers bend and ripple, forming into lines or bringing an explosive force to small movements. There’s a lot of force here, yet Abraham can feel stuck in the moment. He pays little attention to the score’s larger structure, with the dancers staying in place as the music changes around them.

Abraham finds more contrast as the work goes on. One solo has an intricate hip-hop edge. The other dancers applaud, then launch into their own solos, suggesting a breakdancing competition. Two turn to face each other, in a courtly gesture, before everyone takes partners, as if for a waltz. They’re different dance rituals with shared ideas: ways of expressing respect, power, closeness.

Claude ‘CJ’ Johnson and Dorchell Haqq (Peter Hönnemann)

The company move as a group or step forward as characters. When one points commandingly, another drops to hands and knees, scampering like an animal. Dan Scully’s bold lighting shifts from a moonlit glow to bright neon, underlining the changing moods. A circle of light hangs over the stage: a moon, a fingerprint, or a screen for images of a wedding celebration.

There’s a patchiness to Requiem: Fire in the Air of Earth. The different scenes could be knitted more closely together. But it also has moments of intensity or surprise. As one man crumples to the ground, the patterns of his costume suddenly look like blood stains. Other dancers mourn him in hunched, grieving movements. Then the energy twists: pulling themselves upright, they draw him back to life. Abraham’s afterlife has room for the unexpected.