Melbourne Reviews

For many westerners, the “High art” Swan Lake lurks in our cultural background, an unexamined collection of magical echoes tinged with tragedy. That’s because many of us have seen little of it, live or otherwise. UK comic Elf Lyons thinks it’s time for a deeper look at Tchaikovsky’s revered ballet, through their “punk”, one-person (well, mostly) adaptation: Swan. Quirks of the source – and of the environment that sustains it – are cleanly exposed in a high-energy hour of physical comedy, delivered with moments of avian grace.

Lyons, dressed as a colourful parrot, advised us that this show premiered in the UK in 2017. They wondered aloud how male critics would judge Swan now that it is performed by a woman over 30. Those of us unfamiliar with Lyons’ work might guess this is a feminist stance against some injustice. Certainly more is revealed (take that in a broad sense) by the show’s conclusion.

The work’s punk label seems initially aligned with how we may understand the movement that produced acts like The Sex Pistols. Such bands had a rebellious spirit (say against pop-music excess) and also a DIY aesthetic. Both key attributes were on display, combining in an effort to knock some sequins off of ballet, and contributing to the inventiveness of the piece. 

But the opening shows there’s more to it than that. Lyons adopted the sneering tone of a Parisian intellectual (maybe a Dadaist?), giving an overview of their history in French, with an amount of French-accented English. I didn’t catch all of this opening spiel; a lack of amplification didn’t help. There’s a risk that some of the work’s framing will get lost in translation here. Whilst it’s common for a London schoolkid to learn French, Aussies don’t have the motivation of being a mere 500km from Paris.

One likely important (yet fleeting) clue to the work is how Lyons didn’t complete a PhD, instead detouring into comedy. Even just being accepted into a PhD program at a respectable institution indicates substantial intellectual ability and curiosity. The aspiring scholar is expected to know when it is appropriate to challenge the titans of their discipline. (Sounds pretty “punk”, doesn’t it?!)

Lyons clearly has this instinct, and employs it with precision as they dissect Swan Lake’s story beats. The show becomes a kind of live autopsy as our performer notes, with comical annoyance, unmotivated plot twists or unlikely similarities between characters, and how these drive the story.

Humour also followed from the limitations of choreography available to the ballerina. (Everyone except the ballet aficionado should be able to handle some flattening of the artform here in the service of comedy.) We see again how turning 30 carries particular risks for women in an artistic discipline.

Lyons confidently handled the work’s pacing, and when volunteers were sought, knew how much freedom to give them, and when to (nicely) assert control to keep us on track. There was also a good running gag relating to some quite-academic discussion of the swans’ habitat. Costume changes would assist in defining characters, as well as subverting our expectations of how a scene would play out.

The quality of the clowning on offer makes this an accessible show for those familiar with Australian acts like Lano & Woodley or Garry Starr (both at MICF 2026). The concealed cleverness will appeal to those looking for a tightly wrought show with ideas.

Those often disappointed by modern comedy’s failure to provoke audiences will likely feel an even greater level of satisfaction – Lyons expresses what some of us feel about the retreat of dissent and discernment. In recent years festival punters have faced a quest to find rare gems amongst the unambitious dross. In years past, informed reviewers would have helped our festival search, but now there are few of those. Instead, people review their mates, and few scores are below four stars, making it even harder for good work to stand out from the pack.

Lyons’ example shows that we don’t have to just accept what we are given, even by cultural giants. We can, and should, be sceptical about what is presented to us by those with power, tenure, or a platform. Maintaining our ability to think critically (say, by recognising that grievances are not a meaningful policy platform) is especially important in an age where many liberal democracies are in decline; our future freedoms will depend on it.

What an unexpected delight it is that a female clown, one over the age of 30 even, should bolster our resolve in this polycrisis era. At the show’s conclusion, Lyons reflected on 2017, recalling how they were criticised in the UK for being frivolous whilst the silliness of male comics was celebrated. Clearly this show still has silliness, yet there’s so much more. Through their conclusion, Lyons’ proud defiance of misogyny and ageism takes Swan beyond comedy, and into an inspiring act of resistance. That’s some feather-ruffling we can all get behind.