The Australian Ballet
Oscar
Zellerbach Hall, Berkeley
September 25th, 2026
There’s a drawing in our home of five historical figures – a collection of folks that my husband would invite to his ideal dinner party. One of those individuals is Oscar Wilde. I recently asked why he included Wilde in the mix and he answered that the Irish literary genius was known for his witty banter. A quip-ster if you will. Wilde’s writing was famously clever and sharp, and every social event needs a least one such personality.
Those adjectives filled my mind as I headed to UC Berkeley on Friday evening to see The Australian Ballet in the American premiere of Christopher Wheeldon’s Oscar (2024). It’s been a minute since the company, under the Artistic Direction of David Hallberg, was back at Cal Performances and the evening did not disappoint. Oscar gave a two-hour narrative exploration of the life, work and imprisonment of Oscar Wilde - from his family to his writing to his romantic and sexual relationships with men. And the piece succeeds in a very balanced portrayal of Wilde. Winsome and charismatic moments were aplenty. Moments where you could see how Wilde was the much-anticipated guest - the consummate life of the party. Equally present were moments of desire (both hidden and realized), regret, torment and tragedy. But I couldn’t help but feel that something thematically deeper was happening on the Zellerbach stage. At its heart, Wheeldon’s ballet reads as a piece about remembrance. Wilde’s conviction and two-year detention for gross indecency in 1895 frame both Acts. And from there, remembrance begins. Act I recounts the various events prior to his arrest and confinement, while a more abstract Act II finds a broken Wilde, brilliantly portrayed by Callum Linnane, desperately trying to remember and cling to who he used to be. Different remembrances, surely, but remembrances nonetheless.
Scored by a brief introductory narration from performer Seán O’Shea, Act I opens in the courtroom and Wilde receives his two-year prison/hard labor sentence. Transported to his cell, he lays on a cot, legs straight above him in the air. His left leg starts to tick like a clock moving in reverse; Wheeldon’s choreography indicating that the story is traveling back in time. The chapters that follow are a recollection of what had transpired up to this point. Early scenes brings portraits of family, parties and salons – Wilde living life to the fullest and holding court in society. Linnane’s solos in these social settings floated with exuberant buoyancy, witty tone and angular staccato gesture. At one such event, Wilde seems done with being alone and gravitates towards a man. There is flirting and seduction – stretched lines in the legs and arms reaching longingly towards each other.
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| The Australian Ballet in Wheeldon's Oscar Photo Kristen Loken |
During Act I, Wheeldon frequently juxtaposes a starkly pointed foot against a completed flexed one, a beautiful comment on how two extremes can exist in the same instant. Taking that idea into this story, perhaps it is indicative of how Wilde was concurrently pulled to his wife and to men (there is significant debate and varying opinions as to whether Wilde was gay or bisexual). Also throughout this first half, many of Oscar’s themes are played out in the natural world - magical forests, with an array of birds and other mythical creatures. Obviously a nod to specific selections from Wilde’s vast literary canon, this was an opportunity for Jean-Marc Puissant’s costumes, Jon Goldman’s lighting and David Bergman’s video to shine brightly. All these theatrical elements were quite dazzling. Having said that, the number of different characters and dancers onstage during these otherworldly sequences was busy and over complicated the narrative. In fact, that actually could be applied to the entire ballet. Too many supporting characters led to a crowded stage and at times, it was challenging to know them and understand what they meant to the story.
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| The Australian Ballet in Wheeldon's Oscar Photo Kristen Loken |
Act II again takes the viewer inside Wilde’s cell, and based on his startling appearance, years have clearly passed and taken their toll. This time, his remembrance is more of a fever dream, almost an induced mania, as Wilde remembers different forces in his life – his wife, his sons, his lovers, characters from his writing. As these images from the outside world infuse his mind, bits of past choreography recurs. He tentatively mirrors postures and phrase material, tortured by who he used to be, who he loved (and still loves), where he ended up and what his life has become.
