Pierrot Lunaire review, Royal Opera House – Sparse but forceful revival of a classic

A melancholy clown swings from a scaffolding pole, yearning for the moon. Created in 1962, Glen Tetley’s Pierrot Lunaire is a classic of midcentury modern dance. The Royal Ballet’s deluxe revival marks the centenary of Tetley’s birth, with richly detailed dancing and live performance of Arnold Schoenberg’s sparse, jagged score.

Pierrot Lunaire was Tetley’s breakthrough work, with three star roles that quickly made it popular for ballet as well as modern dance companies. The staging is brilliantly spare, dominated by Rouben Ter-Artunian’s scaffolding tower, while the three characters are stock figures from Italian commedia dell’arte: his naive Pierrot wrestles with life, inspired and tormented by the beautiful Columbine and the sinister Brighella.

Joshua Junker’s Pierrot has beautifully clear lines, unfolding into stretched, flowing shapes as he reaches for things he can’t have. Tetley sends him swinging around the scaffolding like a gymnast on the asymmetric bars. It looks effortless and perilous, the set acting as both haven and cage.

Natalia Osipova ripples through Columbine’s steps: she’s weighted but light, throwing herself to the floor and up again. In her first scenes, she’s dressed in elaborate white costumes, floating untouchably past Pierrot. (He does touch; she slaps him.)

She makes one entrance on Brighella’s shoulders, wrapped up in pale gauze so they look like one immensely tall person. Then she peeks out, a painted face and lurid red wig emerging naughtily. Where Pierrot is melancholy, Brighella is active and aggressive, all swagger and dick jokes. Patricio Revé can take a pose and scrunch it, twisting juicily into the next step.

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Tetley conjures bold images from very little: Columbine hooks a washing line over a corner of the scaffolding, then lets it go with a twang, sending vests and bloomers springing back into the wings. When Pierrot steps away from the tower, she and Brighella attach strings to his limbs, working him like a puppet. In the final image, Pierrot is cradled between the two of them, dangling high above the ground, their heads resting gently on his chest.

In 2007, the last time The Royal Ballet danced Pierrot Lunaire, it was on the main stage. This revival benefits from the intimacy of the smaller Linbury Theatre: a close-up view of a tightly focused piece. It suits the chamber scale of music, too. Schoenberg’s score is tautly conducted by Yi Wei, and sung with bite by Alexandra Lowe.

Between the sharp edges of Schoenberg’s atonal score and the stylised nature of the characters, Pierrot Lunaire holds you at arm’s length. But the movement in this revival is visceral and distinctive – and given sumptuous force.

At the Royal Opera House until 20 February 2026