Michael Oladipupo Arowolo's ‘Sacrilege’ finds power in movement and myth

A lot of people would argue that dance has its own language, while others would say otherwise, but Sacrilege, staged at the National Theatre, Onikan, Lagos, in collaboration with the Department of Theatre Arts and Music, LASU, proved that the language of dance is unique and can communicate as much as words can.

This libretto both spoke and danced. And it danced in a way that carried the weight of a people’s memory, the urgency of a moral warning, and the joy of watching a story unfold through bodies in motion.

Michael Oladipupo Arowolo was the mind and muscle behind the work, serving as both choreographer and lead performer. As Ade, the fresh graduate whose hunger for wealth leads him to steal Daraniju’s sacred crown, he balanced the storytelling demands of the role with the physical and creative demands of guiding the entire piece.

The opening moments of the show set the tone. A slow, grounded procession introduced the town of Daraniju. One thing was obvious: the dancers moved in curved patterns, echoing the shape of rivers and pathways, which we later find out were metaphorical parts of the story world. This brilliance was not only lauded but also showed the meticulous work that went into putting the piece together.

Drums from Ajose Semako, Gangbe Mattew, Etuk Daniel, Israel Oyesanya, and Desmond Jegede kept a measured pace, the kind of rhythm that feels like breath. It invited the audience in and found a way to keep them engaged throughout the ninety-minute show.

When Ade first laid eyes on the crown, the atmosphere on stage and even in the audience changed. The music tightened. Movements became chaotic, as though the harmony of the land had been fractured.

Ade’s accomplices, embodied by Osho Olawale and other ensemble members, also did a great job of keeping up. Arowolo’s choreography here was particularly sharp, allowing the audience to follow the story through physical cues alone.

Perhaps the most arresting passage was the meeting between Ade and Mirabel. Here, the choreography softened. Lifts and turns replaced the earlier jabs and stamps, creating a visual language of hesitation and longing. Their duet became a conversation of glances and near-touches, charged with the knowledge that love here was both possible and impossible.

The climax returned the performance to full force. The queen mother’s arrival to reclaim the crown and punish Ade was a storm of movement. The ensemble, including Adams Blessing, Sohe Anuoluwa, and Gabriel Olayinka, moved in synchronised formations, as though waves of the underworld were swallowing the human realm. The drumming reached a relentless pitch, Jegede’s orchestral team joining in to build a wall of sound that left no corner of the hall untouched.

If there was one area for growth, it would be the lighting design. The storytelling was clear, but moments that blurred the mortal and spirit worlds could have been made more potent with bolder lighting contrasts. A richer interplay of shadow and colour might have deepened the sense of crossing between realms.

Still, these were minor notes in an otherwise deeply stirring work. The dances were electric, not merely in their athleticism, but in their connection to something older and larger than the performers themselves.

Arowolo and his collaborators have given Lagos a reminder that dance, when grounded in culture and performed with conviction, is more than art. It is a vessel of history, morality, and spirit.