h, to have been in Paris in the belle époque. As dance reinvented itself – from the Folies Bergère to the Ballets Russes, Loie Fuller to Isadora Duncan – it’s where a young woman also might choose to reinvent herself. Like 26-year-old Dutch divorcee Margaretha Zelle, who became the exotic dancer Mata Hari. Dutch National Ballet’s artistic director Ted Brandsen explores the misunderstood Mata Hari in a very fine ballet that is a window on a moment of dance history as well as the plight of a woman trying to survive outside society’s norms. We meet a young woman escaping from duty and conformity by marrying a military captain in Indonesia, then the Dutch East Indies. Their glamorous expat life soon frays, her husband being a violent, jealous alcoholic, and their son dies. (The cause was either poisoning, syphilis or an overdose of the mercury used to treat syphilis. You will want to do a lot of Googling about Mata Hari’s life after watching this.) In Paris, her talent for seduction, on and off the stage, makes her the toast of the town, but her career dives as the first world war comes into view. A penchant for military men and need for cash leads to a conviction for spying and execution by firing squad. It’s a gift of a story, necessarily simplified by Brandsen (the true number of lovers would be far too confusing), and carried magnificently by Anna Tsygankova in the lead. Almost constantly on stage, she is a dancer of utter grace, even when being thrown about by an angry husband. The ballet has many interesting strands. Mata Hari’s fascination with Indonesian culture translates into her “exotic” dance routines, timed perfectly with Europe’s obsession with orientalism. Brandsen draws the line of influence, from his balletic impression of temple dance to Mata Hari’s dreamy peach-chiffon striptease, then the arrival of the Ballets Russes (a company with whom she desperately wanted to dance) and the gaudy silks and jewels of Fokine’s Scheherazade. We’re offered a sympathetic portrayal of a woman condemned more for the transgressive nature of her life and her brazen sexuality than for espionage, which apparently she didn’t do much of at all. Tsygankova plays her with dignity and with all of her vulnerabilities on show – Mata Haris’s main weakness is being a woman who can’t resist being irresistible. Ultimately, she finds fleeting peace melting into the arms of Russian soldier Vadim Maslov (Artur Shesterikov). It comes late in the ballet, a sudden shift after the endless flirtation to something profound. Beautifully portrayed in the choreography, the world slows right down with waves of tenderness and care; the experience seems almost religious for Mata Hari. Maslov outstretches a hand in a final farewell, but she throws herself forward to her knees in a desperate embrace. It’s a powerful pas de deux. Throughout the ballet, Tarik O’Regan’s music is an equal partner in raising the drama. Irregular time signatures bring impatient energy, and he knows what to do with a big emotional moment. The filming effectively prioritises close-ups and dramatic intimacy rather than full-stage views. Brandsen’s choreography is full of long, leaning lines, and there are some strong solos – Edo Wijnen as a cabaret MC, Erica Horwood playing a guileless Isadora Duncan – but it is Tsygankova’s show. We know there won’t be a happy ending, but it’s quite the journey.