One dead body. Two sisters. Two pairs of yellow gloves. The wiping away of the evidence; one sister efficiently, the other lazily. And in the background, an enigmatic score.
So begins the Ballet Black adaptation of my debut novel, My Sister, the Serial Killer. I have dreamed of it coming to life via various visual mediums – film, TV, as a musical, as a play. Not once did I consider it as a ballet production. And not because I don’t love the medium – in a former life I joined a ballet school, which we won’t dwell on here – but because, in creating this story, I focused heavily on dialogue and a ballet is essentially wordless.
Still, when I was approached by Ballet Black, I was intrigued. Ballet Black is a company founded by Cassa Pancho, with the mission to showcase diversity on stage and promote inclusivity for Black and Asian content. And perhaps, because of that, the perfect company to handle my story, which is set in Nigeria – a majority black environment.
Cassa directs the adaptation and her vision for it is clear. The plot is truncated, keeping only the elements required to get the story across in a 50-minute production – the murderous femme fatale, the put-upon sister, the doctor caught between them, the endless male victims and the knife at the heart of it all.
The first time I watched the performance, I was moved to tears. Ayoola, played to perfection by Helga Paris-Morales, entered the scene, and it was like seeing a friend from decades past. I would have known her anywhere. Certainly, there were differences – this Ayoola is more “psychotic” – but the way she carried herself, the way she twisted her waist, the little shakes of her hips, the long, slow smiles, the playfulness, the teasing; all Ayoola. During her pas de deux with Dr Tade, played by Ebony Thomas, she allows him to feel in control, to pull her closer, and reach for her as she dances on pointe around him.
Then there’s Korede, the protagonist in my story and in this ballet, and the more complex of the two sisters. Korede is played by the gifted Isabela Coracy. Isabela takes the character and illustrates her seriousness, her vulnerability and her pain. The agony can be seen in the way she hugs her body, and hunches her normally elongated form. Cassa was particularly insightful in giving Korede’s demons life via the talented dancers that surround her, tug at her, torment her and pull her down into their harrowing depths.
And the team’s attention to detail is truly impressive. One example: Ayoola’s poisoning of her lover’s drink perfectly synced to the beat of Toots and the Maytals’ 54-46 Was My Number. And they nod to the source material’s culture in the inclusion of Fela Kuti’s Water No Get Enemy, a wonderful accompaniment to the original score by composer Tom Harrold which managed to be jaunty, mystical and compelling. I also thoroughly appreciated the authentic look of the Nigerian police uniform, courtesy of costume designer Jessica Cabassa.
My Sister, the Serial Killer is part of a double bill with Chanel DaSilva’s A Shadow Work, a more abstract piece saturated with strong routines. There is so much of note – the thumping/fluttering of hands to chest, the helicopter spins the dancers perform, the arms swinging in pendulum style, the fixed smiling faces that could not be any creepier, the futuristic score and the silent, musicless communication at the centre of the piece. It is a work that explores the struggle when trying to come to terms with one’s inner demons or alter ego. There is certainly a link that can be made with My Sister, the Serial Killer.
It goes without saying that I am highly biased towards this adaptation but I was not alone. Behind me, I heard a woman mutter “psycho bitch” at one of Ayoola’s actions. And I often caught the odd gasp. My husband, who is as familiar with the ins and outs of My Sister, the Serial Killer as I am, laughed several times. The performance was engaging, cheeky, funny, an excellent way to spend the evening with family, friends or even on your own – it won’t matter because you’ll be sucked in by the narrative and the bodies pirouetting effortlessly across the stage.
At Birmingham Rep on 27-28 March, then touring
My Sister, the Serial Killer by Oyinkan Braithwaite (Atlantic Books, £9.99). To support the Guardian and Observer, order your copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply.
