Ballet National Folklorique du Luxembourg: The Great Chevalier

The Place Theatre ‘accepts no liability’ for the behaviour of Mr Chevalier, newly appointed Artistic Director of Ballet National Folklorique du Luxembourg. Following a genteel greeting by Simone Mousset (BNFL’s Executive Director), Eddie Nixon (Artistic Director of The Place) maps the relationship between the two organisations who reunite this evening, and the fabrication is complete. 

As if the weight of artistic ambition wasn’t enough, Mr Chevalier takes upon his elegant, purple-suited shoulders the burden of preserving Luxembourgish folk dance, aka, national identity. 2026 is also the 50th anniversary of the iconic (insert alluring French accent) ‘Pigeon Dance’. He himself performs a stilted solo of gawky grace and head-jutting gallops, the epitome of Luxembourg culture. 

They’ve done their groundwork. The fictive history of BNFL is so well laid it almost legitimises Mr Chevalier’s cult of personality on which the evening hinges. Unless of course you take a closer look: what directors would be premiering in London while their entire company tours Japan? That’s not to say Mr Chevalier is unrecognisable. In him lies the familiar artist, overly emotional and tormented by their virtuosic pursuits. 

The audience is not exempt from his volatile will; we are cast as a corps de ballet of grass and flowers. Despite the simple chair choreography he teaches us, we fail, accused of ‘not believing’ in the movement (how ironic). His rage casts the faintest shadow on Mousset’s face, who sits sidestage quietly enamoured. Her character is perfectly crafted, as unruffled as his is outrageous. 

Just as European folk dance is utilised to push nationalism, Mr Chevalier justifies bad behaviour with imposing movement, dictated by his own fickle but compelling mood swings. Mousset responds by changing the music on command. He infuses flamenco with stallion tension, throws his legs recklessly to rock guitar and hops whimsically to French melodies. Traces of ‘le pigeon’ emerge, as if our failure as a corps de ballet leaves him reeling and haunted by past success, the heights of which nothing since has achieved.

The art of this performance lies as much in the immersive concept and their impressive commitment to it, as the choreography of spoken word and dance. Tempting as it is to review this work without acknowledging its deceit, I am more intrigued by what it says about dance cult(ure) and power.  Self-important art and its place in a ‘burning world’ is brought into question. Mr Chevalier’s arrogance is appalling, but characteristic of many directors who believe themselves to be doing God’s work. Our gleeful surrender to his charm carries more sinister implications on the real-world stage. 

With an audacious authorship of history, Mousset has constructed a mythological dance company in response to a commission for a piece inspired by Luxembourgish folk dance. The fact that we learn nothing about folk dance from the self-proclaimed ‘bad boy of folk’ evokes the hot air of a politician. Dance can be powerful propaganda, a notion this satire lampoons through leaning into it with extravagance. 

Just as his tantrum wears thin, Mr Chevalier squirms offstage. We are invited to become patron donors, follow him on Instagram, and to a Q+A he may or may not attend. ●