Carmina Burana Reimagined: A Ballet That Strips Emotion Bare at Dubai Opera

What happens when a centuries-old cantata is stripped of its traditional grandeur and rebuilt through modern choreography? At Dubai Opera, Edward Clug’s Carmina Burana answered with stark minimalism, unsettling repetition, and jarring emotional depth. Performed by the Ballet of the Slovene National Theatre Maribor, the production defied easy interpretation—and left no viewer untouched.

There’s something surreal about encountering emotions up close—especially when you’ve only ever watched them unfold from a distance. That was the essence of a recent weekend at Dubai Opera, where we sat face-to-face with a storm of human expression: raw, visceral, and almost unreal in its intensity.

What unfolded was a bold reinterpretation of Carl Orff’s Carmina Burana, choreographed by Edward Clug and performed by the Ballet of the Slovene National Theatre Maribor. This contemporary ballet, staged in May 2025, transformed the grand opera house into a pulsating emotional arena—where music, movement, and meaning collided in a hauntingly beautiful spectacle.

Dubai Opera’s vast stage felt suddenly intimate under the emotional weight of the performance. Clug’s choreography didn’t just echo Orff’s iconic themes—it reawakened them. The dancers moved like fragile structures—matchsticks in a gale; popsicle sticks shaping dollhouses—always on the verge of collapse yet miraculously holding strong. They swayed like the branches of a deeply rooted tree, bound by an invisible force, their limbs responding to musical crescendos as though strung directly to the score.

At times, the performance plunged into stark vulnerability. The shedding of clothing onstage became more than symbolic—it was a stripping of ego, a surrender to truth and transformation. As the music shifted and layers fell away, the atmosphere thickened: the scent of sweat, the echo of breath, and the dim, urgent lighting—all conjured an immersive intensity that verged on panic. The dancers moved like pendulums in an ancient clock, their momentum in sync with the audience’s heartbeat. When a large metallic ring appeared—cold, looming—dancers moved around and even perched atop it. Their fragile humanity, cast against its hard geometry, struck a visceral chord.

We sat at the edge of our seats, watching as bodies shivered, almost as if attached to invisible springs. The heart raged against the chest at the sight of it. And that’s how, without words, you begin to grasp the world’s cruelties and truths in a way you never thought possible.

This was art that demanded interpretation. Was it a reflection of starvation, of death, of rebirth? The performance offered no easy answers—only fragments of meaning for the audience to assemble. And while that freedom can be liberating, it also proved disorienting. Around the 45-minute mark, a few attendees exited the theatre—an unfortunate and distracting moment. But it may reflect more on modern audience expectations than on the piece itself. Still, a simple program note contextualizing the Goliard texts and Clug’s vision might have offered a bridge to deeper understanding.

Carl Orff’s Carmina Burana is a 20th-century cantata inspired by a 13th-century manuscript of medieval poetry discovered by the composer in 1934. Composed in 1936 and premiered in Frankfurt in 1937, the work is a dramatic commentary on fate, fortune, desire, and the human condition. Its thunderous opening movement, O Fortuna, is one of the most iconic in classical music—its relentless rhythm captures the volatile nature of destiny. The original texts, written by wandering clerics known as the Goliards, explored love, nature, and the wheel of fortune with biting satire and spiritual ambivalence. Orff envisioned a large-scale theatrical work combining music, dance, and striking visuals—a vision that Clug honors and reimagines in this stirring new production.

Those who stayed were rewarded. The stamina, precision, and emotional depth of each dancer were undeniable. Clug’s reinterpretation is a physical essay on torment and resilience, unity and disarray—on the recurring forces that shape the human experience: love, loss, hope, and fate.

Costume designer Leo Kulaš’s palette of black, red, and nude amplified the narrative—from the heat of passion to the exposure of vulnerability. The design never distracted—it only deepened. Set designer Marko Japelj and lighting designer Tomaž Premzl brought stark elegance to the stage, using minimal elements—shadows, silhouettes, and sculpted light—to create a space where every movement spoke louder.

When the curtain fell, stepping back into the cool Dubai night felt jarring. The myth and music evaporated, replaced by the city’s glass, steel, and silence. The experience was cathartic—perhaps even exhausting. And that, in many ways, is the hallmark of great art. It unsettles, provokes, lingers.

Edward Clug’s Carmina Burana is not an easy watch. It’s not meant to be. But it is unforgettable—a visual and emotional awakening that reminds us of what it means to feel, to endure, and to question.

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Authored by Purva Grover

Purva Grover is an author, journalist, and creative entrepreneur. She is the founder-editor of storiesoverart.com, a sanctuary for all who find solace, inspiration, and purpose in art. In a world that often overlooks the significance of art, she stands firm in her belief that it is essential, more so than anything else.