There have been relatively few biographical films about choreographers, but it’s hard to think of a better one than John Cranko, about the late South African who made his name in England and Germany. Stay well away from “Eureka!” Other moments and clichés within this genre of the artist’s portrait, find the advantage of Joachim A. Lange’s extraordinarily vivid means of conveying how the mind of a driven creator works by constantly incorporating the dance ideas in his head into the everyday life depicted. With a fine performance by Sam Riley in the lead role, this handsome production – with no end to Terpsichorian’s first-rate screen performances – should reignite interest in a character whose rising international profile was curtailed by his untimely death in 1973, at the age of 45 .
Lang confines himself to the years when Cranko found a mature professional niche with the Stuttgart Ballet. He ended up there through circumstances briefly alluded to: After moving to London to further his training and prospects in 1946, he rose to prominence very quickly, becoming resident choreographer of the Sadler’s Wells Theater Ballet (later the Royal Ballet) at the age of just 23. He achieved successes not only there, but also in directing operas and plays.
Then in 1959, he was entrapped by an undercover police officer who arrested him for “homosexual activity.” The embarrassment turned into a public scandal, he suddenly became persona non grata, and the momentum of his career stalled.
The film begins in 1960, when he accepts an offer to stage one of his works for the Stuttgart Ballet. Frank regarding his damaged reputation in England, the organization’s Director General Walter Erich Schäfer (Hans Zischler) assures him that “it won’t happen here.” This initial collaboration works out well, and he is immediately offered the position of artistic director – even though this means pushing aside his current friend Nicholas Biryuzov (Stefan Weinert). After some struggle, Cranko agrees.
But not without conditions. Despite his relative youth and shaky professional standing, he is indeed an eccentric, demanding, mercurial and stubborn character who will either work his own way or not at all. This immediately irritates him as he clashes with the resident ballerina (who flatly rejects his choreography, saying it’s “not my style”), and then insists on replacing her with Marcia Heidi (Elisa Badinis), a Brazilian dancer whom no one is enthusiastic about. As in many things, his questionable instincts on this matter lead to remarkable results.
Riley, who was hit hard as Joy Division’s Ian Curtis on “Control” 17 years earlier, goes to the impressive opposite here. Beloved by his dancers, an occasional headache for others, Cranko was a bundle of contradictions: generous, enthusiastic, brooding, highly cultured with a penchant for rough trade, capable of focused work after drinking enough to incapacitate a lesser human. .
There are many examples depicted when he cruelly insulted his closest collaborators, just out of anger, and then apologized profusely hours or moments later. He mourns his inability to find a long-term life partner, but we can see why that won’t happen: his crazy highs and lows would exhaust anyone’s patience. (He eventually lives platonically with other dancing couples, mostly so they can warily monitor his transgressions.) Reilly’s astonishingly committed performance makes these warring qualities seem innately helpless rather than showy. We believe in this guy’s German fluency as much as we believe in the choreographic ideas that seem to flow from him.
This creative imagination is also depicted in a clever, organic way, as we see how Cranko’s mind works. Whether he’s in the rehearsal hall or sitting on a park bench, he constantly imagines dancers testing out concepts. A gritty scene early on prompts him to discuss the plot for “Romeo and Juliet” with the talented young set designer Jürgen Rose (Louis Gregorovich). As they speak in one of the stunning rooms of the Stuttgart Opera House, the hall fills with performers depicting Tybalt’s death scene, stopping and starting repeatedly as the choreographer internally revises his vision. While some of the later images of Cranko’s triumphs including “Onegin,” “Initials,” and “Traces” are primarily on-stage montages that give a limited sense of the entire piece, the film is always characterized by its depiction of the full body in action. There’s no music video-like hyperactivity in the editing or photography, which reduces the dancing to fragments.
Cranko’s transformation of the company to international status was dubbed the “Stuttgart Miracle”, eventually leading to debuts in established dance capitals, not least New York. Lang’s script escalates while maintaining reform on the mental and physical health of the workaholic hero. At more than one low point he attempted suicide, which was also rumored to be when he actually died. It’s a bit strange that the film doesn’t make it clear that his death on a plane returning from an American tour was actually an accident, the result of an adverse reaction to a sleeping pill.
Other troubling holes in the screenplay include Cranko’s grief over the passing of a lover who he thinks might have been “the one” — a character (Gerrit Klein as Alexander) he’s only met briefly, and we have no idea why he’s so special. The decision to exclude the protagonist’s early life generally works, although a few brief flashbacks of childhood trauma raise so many unanswered questions it might have been better to omit them entirely. As an adult, he often complained about negative reviews, yet we were never given any hint of what the critics took issue with.
After providing plenty of excitement on and off stage, “John Cranko” also disappoints a bit by failing to deliver a climactic emotional note. In fact, the entire project feels long as it approaches the two-hour mark, ending with a long credit sequence in which the actors are seen alongside those still alive among their role models. But such minor blemishes do not diminish Lang’s overall achievement in shining a sharp light on his complex personality, his creative process, and the global dance scene 50 to 60 years ago.
With the full cooperation of the current Stuttgart Ballet and other custodians of the subject’s heritage, the film’s material resources are often astonishing, even beyond the exquisite dancing itself. Using largely original locations, Philip Sechler’s widescreen photography is rich in elegance and pastel colors without becoming overly pretty. Although Walter Mayer contributes some short transitional recordings, the majority of the music heard is excerpts from classical compositions by Brahms, Britten, Verdi, Tchaikovsky, Prokofiev, etc., all newly recorded by the Stuttgart State Opera Orchestra.