Bale de Rua

Balé de Rua means ‘street ballet’. This Brazilian dance company was founded in the 1990s as a community project for marginalised young people. Most of the cast in the production currently packing out the Opera House every night were previously untrained dancers brought in from the favelas – the sprawling shantytowns of Brazil’s big cities that were brought to worldwide attention by the film City of God.

The focus of this production is Brazil itself. And while it appears a largely joyous celebration of samba culture and snake-hipped Latin sexuality, there is something downbeat to the rhythm if you choose to hear it.

For one number, the black performers, stripped to near nakedness, use large bowls as boats to indicate their original passage as slaves from west Africa. Costumes in later dances reflect the poverty of the favelas. But the upbeat conclusion in which giant flowers erupt from scaffolding while the performers cavort in a riot of colour suggests that, even in the gutters, there is beauty and life.

That said, you could happily enjoy this spectacular extravaganza on aesthetic merit alone without troubling yourself with the deep and meaningful. As dance shows go, this one is a universal crowd pleaser. She will probably enjoy the easy-on-the-eye performers with six-packs a-ripplin'; he will be wowed by the sheer athleticism of the breakdancing and bodypopping on display. Indeed, this is an awe-inspiring demonstration of the athletic capabilities of the human body, particularly when one guy performs headspins on top of a tray that is balancing on top of the head of another.

The street ballet is a blend of samba, hip hop, acrobatics and capoeira – the suddenly ubiquitous rhythmic Afro-Brazilian art form that combines elements of martial arts, music and dance. The fast-stepped, loose-limbed choreography is flawlessly sharp. Not only do they all perform the same movements at precisely the same time, but the angle at which they position themselves seems to measure up precisely.

The performance starts with the entire cast of 14 men and one woman strutting on stage in white suits and fedoras as if they’re extras on Michael Jackson’s ‘Smooth Criminal’ video clip – even down to the moonwalking.

It’s all soundtracked by live percussion and a sultry vocalist who sashays on and off stage, singing what sounds like an album entitled Café del Mar: The Copacabana Sunset Sessions.

It’s infectious and by the end of the night, everyone in the stalls, at least, has got the rhythm and is dancing in their seats. Dan Rookwood