Scottish Ballet Mary Queen of Scots Review
June 4, 2026 | David H. Koch Theater – New York, NY, USA
It can be challenging for artists to use history without their work being reduced to mere historical depiction. If audiences are unfamiliar with the history, that adds another layer to the issue.
Sophie Laplane’s Mary, Queen of Scots lands well on its own merit, aiming not only to revive the past, but to draw on history as a means to create new choreography. In collaboration with her co-creator, James Bonas, they utilize the queen’s epic story as a launchpad rather than a follow-along manual for generating creative material.
Through strong collaboration, imaginative choreographies and inclusive casting, Laplane and Scottish Ballet reframe a familiar biography into new fantasies.
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Scottish Ballet Mary Queen of Scots Review
The cohesive teamwork behind Mary, Queen of Scots deserves first mention. Every element of the production appears to support the choreographic vision, making it one of the most successful interdisciplinary collaborations I have seen recently.
Mikael Karlsson and Michael P. Atkinson’s music blends Scottish jigs with heavy drums, whimsical electronica, and lyrical cello suites.
Soutra Gilmour’s sets and costumes bring sophistication through minimalist decor, while the Renaissance-inspired fashions hint at Paris Fashion Week – chic, functional, and finely crafted.
Bonnie Beecher’s lighting design casts the historical drama in striking new ways, and Anouar Brissel’s video projections modernize the atmosphere while providing context for some of the production’s most visually arresting scenes.
The curtain rises on a disheveled Elizabeth (Charlotta Öfverholm), wearing only white undergarments and knee pads, dancing downstage in a pool of spotlight amid falling snow – far from a Queen of England in my mind. Performing in her sixties, Öfverholm portrays Elizabeth reminiscing her past, striking sudden angular shapes, trembling through her hands, and collapsing to pound her fists against the floor, consumed by her inner demons.
What Laplane does so brilliantly here is choreograph psychological states, allowing the audience to feel the character’s turmoil so they can make their own connections to the characters.
When art evokes that kind of emotional response, it becomes more than storytelling; it becomes relevant.
In contrast, principal dancer Roseanna Leney enters as Mary, Queen of Scots, a role created for her. Wearing a short black velvet dress, she bourrées delicately on pointe, projecting an edginess but also a sense of impending doom.
Mirroring Leney’s every move is a younger, lankier version of Elizabeth, danced by male soloist Harvey Littlefield – a strikingly unconventional casting choice for ballet. Their parallel choreography defines the relationship between the two queens: they aim, fall, drag, and promenade with expressive upper-body gestures, filling the stage with estranging tension and unresolved conflict without ever making contact.
The ballet then reimagines Mary’s turbulent rise and fall through friendship, marriage, betrayal, motherhood, imprisonment, and ultimately execution.
The most significant choreography choice is how the story is Mary’s but told from Queen Elizabeth’s imagination, posing the question:
How did Elizabeth see her cousin Mary, Queen of Scots?
With careful design, Mary’s choreography is never overshadowed by Elizabeth’s. And throughout the work, Elizabeth sees Mary, but Mary never sees Elizabeth, which subtly reinforces how Laplane and Bonas saw the rivalry as a space for creative possibilities. The choreographic concept is so intriguing that I can’t pick sides; instead, I find myself wanting to understand the complexities of both royals.
What also stood out is how the ballet advocates for more inclusive casting. It is clear that gender and physical ability are not determinants of a role.
An older woman can lead a full-length ballet, a man can embody a queen, and partnering can shift fluidly across combinations. I am more of a ballet purist, and usually would not recommend pushing these choreographic boundaries. But here it worked for me because the choreographic approach is trying to turn facts into fantasies.
Women partner women; for example, the graceful proxies of Mary and Elizabeth (danced by Anna Williams and Grace Horler, respectively), whose choreography idealizes the sisterly innocence they once shared. Men partner men as well: when Darnley (Mary’s second husband, danced by Nicol Edmonds) has a passionate affair with Rizzio (Mary’s friend, performed by Bruno Micchiardi).
Even within the heterosexual pas de deux between Mary and Darnley, traditional gender expectations are inverted: Darnley is given more classically “Cavalier” ballet vocabulary, while Mary assumes a more dominant physical role, with assertive leans, lifts, sensual contact, sudden straddles, and moments of physical control.
The boldest pairing occurs when the two Elizabeths partner each other – one older, one queer – a choice that expands diversity in contemporary ballet.
Humor and visual juxtaposition emerges through the dancing green jester (Kayla-Maree Tarantolo) who appears to represent death and is arguably the production’s most imaginative character.
Tarantolo’s performance is the opposite of what one might associate with mortality – more like a neon-green rubber band than an undertaker, full of elasticity, energy, and technical brilliance.
Her feet are sharply pointed, almost banana-like, her extensions frequently reach beyond her head, and her laughter during some of the production’s most violent scenes creates an eerie effect that lingers.
It is difficult to pinpoint her exact symbolic function, which is strategically ambiguous.
Thomas Edwards is particularly memorable as Walsingham, Elizabeth’s spymaster. In one ensemble section, he stands atop a riser manipulating the dancers below controlling them like a master puppeteer. He attacks the role with such force (and perfect middle-split jumps) that you can tell how much he loves dancing it.
And the ensemble work is consistently strong, especially when men in white Trojan-like attire bust out a fusion of contemporary and Renaissance court dance, expanding the ballet’s movement vocabulary and inventiveness.
A recurring fascination with insects may suggest resilience as a central theme.
Laplane incorporates a centipede-like group shape into the icy Catherine de Medici scene and later evokes a mysterious death of a drunken Darnley eaten alive by a spider video-projection. The flies swarming around Walsingham also become his espionage group.
The most difficult sequence to watch is Rizzio’s execution scene, which is staged with such visceral brutality that it becomes almost unbearable to sit through (thankfully followed by an intermission).
In contrast, one of the most conceptually striking moments is the representation of Mary’s son James: a balloon-like form that gradually expands before transforming into a human figure. And to add another layer of gender fluidity, he was danced by a woman.
Some suggestions came to mind. Without prior familiarity with the program, I might have struggled to immediately interpret the dual Elizabeths, particularly when Littlefield appears on stilts, which comes across as exaggeration rather than imagination.
The ending felt somewhat rushed and could have been articulated more clearly. Perhaps projecting Mary’s 1587 epitaph, “My end is my beginning,” will better contextualize James’s eventual inheritance of the English throne following Elizabeth’s death.
These are minor suggestions in an already ambitious production, one that was met with a standing ovation here in New York. Mary, Queen of Scots engages with themes of power, sexuality, mental health, betrayal, imprisonment, death, and the resilience of women, resonating strongly with contemporary audiences.
I enjoyed seeing the details of the production come to life, including being greeted by a Scottish Ballet representative in a green kilt on my way into the theater.
And I certainly didn’t anticipate walking away liking history just a tad more.
Featured Photo of Scottish Ballet‘s Roseanna Leney as Mary in Sophie Laplane and James Bonas’ Mary, Queen of Scots. Photo by Andy Ross.
