Bursting with life, this wildly imaginative adaptation of Lewis Carroll’s classic that both entertains and awes.

As a classical style, ballet is an art form that is often thought of as prim and proper, where everything has been coordinated and choreographed to perfection. That stereotype seems to be at direct odds with Lewis Carroll’s novel Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland, which instead embraces non-linearity, surrealism and oddity, and a general sense of chaos. Yet, under the lead of choreographer and artistic director Septime Webre, the Hong Kong Ballet has put on a show that merges both the discipline of the genre and the unbridled joy of the source material to produce a stunning, family-friendly work that makes ballet both accessible and impressive to any audience member in ALICE (in wonderland). Webre himself knows that this is the perfect ballet for many first time audience members, and in his speech before the show starts, also acknowledges the virgin ballet watchers, and eases them in with simple etiquette – primarily cheering and applauding the performers.

From the moment the curtain rises, ALICE (in wonderland) feels like stepping into a storybook—the pristine white set morphs like the turning pages of a grand illustrated tale, with shifting perspectives that play with scale and depth. Its opening scene begins with Alice (Nana Sakai) bored while her family fusses about her as they prepare to take a family photo, and already begins to showcase some of Webre’s choreographic ingenuity; as the dancers stretch and distort, their bodies are elongated by movement, costumes, and clever staging that amplify Wonderland’s topsy-turvy logic, and constantly play with a sense of scale. Sakai’s Alice is innocent, but possesses a modern, almost cyberpunk energy with how her strawberry blonde bob gives her a futuristic edge, establishing her as a force of nature – spunky and bold. Her movements are precise but always infused with curiosity and determination, making her feel like an adventurer in a world designed to defy her expectations.

Whisked away from the family home, Alice meets the perfect foil to her – the White Rabbit (Shen Jie), immediately recognisable by his furry ears and a waistcoat adorned with a clock motif. Unlike his novel counterpart, this White Rabbit is cheeky, kinetic, and full of personality, never panicked and always actively teases Alice, drawing her deeper into the chaos of Wonderland. His interactions with her are playful and mischievous, setting the tone for the madcap adventure ahead. From the moment Alice tumbles down the rabbit hole, the production never stops evolving, immersing us in a Wonderland that feels boundless, elastic, and teeming with energy, with smooth set changes facilitated by the fly bars that bring down gigantic scenography and other elements that fully immerses us into Wonderland.

The descent itself into Wonderland is a marvel of stagecraft. The shifting sets and clever use of harnesses create the illusion that she is literally falling from a great height, while a puppet version of Alice is temporarily lifted up high, spinning in dizzying circles. Through the clever use of different-sized set pieces, a harness, and transitions between an adult and child cast dressed in identical costumes, we are introduced to the strangeness of Wonderland’s logic, where Alice can shrink or stretch before our eyes with a single sip or bite of food.

Caught in despair at how confusing it all is, the Pool of Tears is perhaps where the ballet feels like it pushes the genre beyond convention. This is a hauntingly beautiful sequence; Alice, dwarfed by infinite swathes of cloth representing the flood water of her tears, struggles to stay afloat, before it all melts away into a more tropical setting for the Caucus Race. With a massive flamingo as their backdrop, she meets a flock of pink flamingos flapping their way across the stage, and accompanied by a gaggle of adorable baby flamingos as well (played by guest dancers from the Singapore Ballet Academy). Liz Vandal’s costume design is clearly well thought out, where the children’s costumes mimic the adult dancers’, but are rounder and fluffier to amp up the cuteness factor, and an instant hit with the adoring parents in the audience.

This is also a scene that adds a surprisingly emotional moment to the production. Zou Mengjie’s Eaglet and Yonen Takano’s Dodo Bird add a touch of humour and charm, their exaggerated movements making them feel both birdlike and delightfully absurd. But when they perform a tribute to Swan Lake, one can see their skill built up from years of training and intense rehearsals, showing off rapid pirouettes again and again and again, never once faltering, and it is in that moment you see the dedication of these dancers to honing their craft, and the beauty that results from it. It’s a moment of real magic, where movement and music combine to create something deeply affecting.

As suddenly as it started, Alice is once again dragged off, this time by a Fish and Frog footman (Basil James and Luis Cabrera) who leap around with an invitation to the Duchess’ mansion, heralding the Pig and Pepper scene. This is a scene that showcases Webre’s ability to see both the big picture and fine details, and a prime example of controlled chaos at its finest. James Yan’s Cook is an agent of pure anarchy – with oversized gestures and manic energy, he dominates this scene, sending ingredients flying and transforming the kitchen into a battlefield of absurdity. At the centre of it all is Duchess, performed by Garry Corpuz in drag, with a massive dress and played with an over-the-top flamboyance that wouldn’t be out of place in a high-camp opera. His exaggerated movements, the way he tosses the babies back and forth with Cook like mere inconveniences, and the sheer ridiculousness of the character make this one of the production’s most smile-inducing sequences.

The scene suddenly shifts to a sky full of stars, before Gouta Seki’s Cheshire Cat enters and sidles up to Alice. Seki is pure, slinky seduction, every movement is calculated, deliberate, and fluid, giving him an almost supernatural quality, straight out of Cats. The way he moves feels like flirting with the audience, and with Matthew Pierce’s score, feels like he is given a voice, purring with every step. As he disappears into the night, Alice is suddenly beset by giant blue mushrooms, and meets the Caterpillar (Lai Nok Sze Vanessa). Lai’s performance is a masterclass in control and contortion, feeling straight out of a circus with her otherworldly flexibility that allows her to move in ways that seem impossible, stretching out on her back while lifted by other dancers, her body undulating like a worm. She embodies the transformation from caterpillar to butterfly in a way that feels both intimate and grand, with her eventual metamorphosis a true standout, triumphantly unfurling her massive wings and flying away.

In a cheeky moment, Alice takes a bite out of a magic mushroom and promptly starts to fall asleep. But there’s no rest for little Alice, as the White Rabbit grabs her to go to The Mad Hatter’s Tea Party. We get a glimpse of this with the scene showcased as silhouettes from behind a translucent wall, posing and dancing to a rock-and-roll inspired tune. In tribute to the glam rock of Bowie and Queen and other punk subcultures, the psychedelic scene is anchored by Jonathan Spigner’s Mad Hatter, who is an absolute show-stealer. In his purple suit and massive top hat, his energy is chaotic yet perfectly controlled, his movements erratic yet precise. There’s a sense that he’s leading a dance that is teetering on the edge of losing control but never quite does. Basil James’ March Hare and Leung Salong’s Dormouse complement him perfectly, their interactions bouncing off each other like a comedy trio that has rehearsed for years, and one cannot help but want to join in the party and show off a few disco moves ourselves.

After a brief intermission, we return to the theatre, where Alice is given a royal welcome at the queen’s garden party. Liz Vandal’s costumes cleverly combine both the playing card and rose bush motifs in the guards, the painters and the ballerinas, the latter featuring card skirts with roses on the underside. This all leads to a truly grand parade, and Webre’s choreography feels reminiscent of Hieronymus Bosch paintings, filling every inch of the stage with fascinating details; look anywhere in the phalanx of dancers, and you’ll catch something remarkable unfolding, and the sheer spectacle makes it feel like a high point in the performance. Among them, it is Albert Gordon’s Joker who is a clear standout, showcasing musculature, precision and strength in his solo, while the female cards show poise and grace with how quickly they fall to the ground and recover to pointe position again in one smooth arc.

But we all know who’s the true queen of the party, as the Queen of Hearts (Wang Qixin) herself appears. Wang’s performance establishes the Queen as a tour de force. There is an aura of power and authority about her, a diva who is adored by her loving subjects, and does not hesitate to quite literally step on them. Wang’s interactions with Garry Corpuz’s King of Hearts add a layer of hilarity, with Corpuz playing the role as a hapless, helpless consort who exists only to enable the Queen’s tyranny. All this leads up to the croquet game, which takes the ballet’s playful use of human props to new heights. The dancers embody flamingos, with children as cowering hedgehogs rolling underneath the playing cards, and showcases movement sequences that feel both intricate and wildly comedic, making full use of its massive cast and the huge stage.

Alice, the White Rabbit and the Mad Hatter are sent away to a magical forest, where the production throws out yet another bit of theatre magic, with whimsical creatures such as literal dragon-flies and a rocking-horsefly represented by puppets, flitting about her. This is also where they encounter the enigmatic twins Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum (Jeremy Chan and Basil James). The two showcase perfect synchronisation as a welcome physical comedy double act this ballet needs. Their sequences have a slapstick quality that still feels perfectly in step with ballet technique—clumsy yet calculated, foolish yet precise. But the highlight of this scene is the appearance of the monstrous Jabberwock itself, a gigantic puppet that must be controlled by multiple dancers, genuinely menacing as it snaps and bites at our heroes while fog enshrouds the stage. As they leap at and battle it as best they can, Alice eventually rises to the occasion, slaying it in a single heroic moment that leaves audiences gasping, and reminds us that ALICE (in wonderland) isn’t just fun—it’s a grand, theatrical experience.

In the final scene, Alice and her friends are brought to trial, a nonsense court where everything descends into chaos with how unpredictable it all is, with the verdict already decided before they can defend themselves. The defendants hop about in a panic, a massive guillotine descends, with the Queen of Hearts’ iconic ‘Off with their heads’ scrawled on it, and the world of Wonderland crumbles away like a house of cards, an abrupt end to the otherwise exhilarating adventure. As Alice awakens, we’re left with a sense of wonder – did all of that just happen? The answer doesn’t really matter. What matters is that for the last two hours, the audience was completely lost in a world that defied gravity, logic, and expectation, and had a massive amount of fun.

Hong Kong Ballet’s madcap, carnivalesque, tongue-in-cheek ALICE (in wonderland) is everything a ballet should be— visionary, imaginative choreography, a dazzling mix of theatre magic, circus energy, and technical ballet mastery, meticulous world-building and emotionally resonant. It’s a rare feat for a ballet to be this accessible, this joyous, and yet still feel like it’s pushing the genre to new heights, a reminder of what ballet can be when it embraces playfulness and theatricality without losing its technical brilliance. With a massive cast of both seasoned veterans and young students that delivers both powerhouse performances and silly irreverence, this is certainly a mind-bending tumble into the joyous anarchy of a Wonderland worth getting lost in. If more ballet were this fun, daring, and brilliantly executed, we’d all be living in Wonderland.

Photo Credit: Esplanade – Theatres on the Bay

ALICE (in wonderland) plays from 21st to 23rd February 2025 at the Esplanade Theatre. Tickets available here

Production Credits:

Choreography Septime Webre Music Matthew Pierce Concept and Costume Design Liz Vandal Set Design James Kronzer Lighting Design Clifton Taylor Puppet Design Eric Van Wyk