Posts Tagged ‘contemporary dance

26
Feb
18

[Mis]conceive

 

[Mis]conceive

Thomas E S Kelly

Supercell Festival of Contemporary Dance Brisbane

Brisbane Powerhouse Visy Theatre

February 18 2018

 

Reviewed by Ruth Ridgway

 

 

… I speak through the lens of a dancer and creator. But I also speak through the lens of my ancestors, the Bundjalung and Wiradjuri people … I share my culture, which was also theirs through the songs, stories, and dances I create, all inspired by the land of which I have ancestral custodianship.

 

Rather than sitting by and letting the ancestral stories of past, present and future dissolve, I share them with everyone who is listening and willing to learn.

 

Thomas E S Kelly

My art. My culture. Our country.

 

[Mis]conceive aims to expose contemporary misunderstandings of Indigeneity and to create understandings instead. The multitalented Thomas E S Kelly is the choreographer, one of the four performers, and composer of the music. Co-performers are Caleena Sansbury, Taree Sansbury and Natalie Pelarek. Alethea Beetson is the dramaturg.

 

[Mis]conceive was the final main stage work to be performed as part of the Supercell Contemporary Dance Festival in Brisbane this year. Originally created for the Next Wave Festival in 2016, it runs for 50 minutes.

 

Kamilaroi Elder Bob Weatherall introduced the performance, acknowledging the traditional owners of the Brisbane lands, the Jagera and Turrbal peoples and their ancestors. He asked us to think about the ancestors and the land, and to walk lightly on it, to be a ‘friend of the earth.’

 

This reflective appeal led smoothly into the opening scene, where Kelly sits in a pool of dappled light, as a song in Aboriginal language plays. At first wearing only black trunks, he then gets up and puts on the modern uniform of jeans and a Tshirt, which the three women also wear. The dancers don grey hoodies at times and use these in different ways as versatile props throughout the performance.

 

The choreography combines motifs from traditional Aboriginal dance with contemporary dance and hiphop movement, creating a distinctive and visceral style. The dancers point, prowl, and use body percussion, including stamping, clapping and hitting parts of the body.

 

Repeated gestures include making ‘talking’ motions with one hand to the other, clapping a hand to the side of the face and sliding it down, pointing upwards with one arm and grabbing it with the other to pull it down. Sudden sharp movements are accompanied by audible exhalations of breath.

 

The work develops through distinct sections. With the hoodies used to signify school uniform, the dancers put up their hands hyper-enthusiastically, as if to answer questions in the classroom, raising a laugh of recognition from the audience. However, they then show, each in their own way, how it feels for this enthusiasm to be ignored.

 

In the dim light of a later scene, the dancers repetitively and submissively fold the hoodies on the floor, to music that sounds like the rhythms of machinery. The image is of hard labour in some institution or factory. They put on the hoodies, with hoods shadowing their faces, for a scene in which one of the women resists being part of the group (perhaps a group of people rejecting traditional ways in favour of European ones).

 

Around halfway through the work, the impetus and direction shift, with the focus now including the spoken word (mainly recorded). Some of the impetus of the previous dance scenes is diffused, but then regathered after this change of gear.

 

 

Kelly asks whether you can tell nationality from someone’s voice. He recounts his experience of being mistaken for other nationalities, despite his insistence that he is Aboriginal — other people refuse to believe him, almost as if Aboriginal people do not exist. He asks ‘What am I?’

 

Kelly’s solo at this point emphasises what a powerful and charismatic performer he is – tall, his movement expansive and full of energy. Complementing him, the three women are concentrated bundles of energy, expressive and committed.

 

In a bitingly amusing and thought-provoking scene, the performers act out people’s responses to a survey about the imaginary beings they believe in and the (mis)conceptions they have about Aboriginal people. Following on from the previous theme of disbelief about Aboriginal people, the implication is that they too are imaginary. In parodying the racist stereotyping of the (mis)conceptions, the performers show how ridiculous and mistaken these are.

 

At this point, suddenly the lights blaze onto the audience, and the dancers sit in silence, critically surveying us. The duration of our turn under the spotlight seems long, but is probably only a minute or two. It was uncomfortable to be the watched, rather than the watchers. A lone audience member found this very funny (he said so), and roared with laughter.

 

The mood of the work then gentled, the dancers going back to the more traditional movement, performed with a solemn joy and great energy. A final spoken monologue was one of hope, of still walking in the footsteps of the ancestors, of acknowledging all history, but looking forward for the whole Australian community, with no more division between black and white.

 

The abiding impressions of the performance are of a powerful energy, of a strong vision, of humour, heartfelt hope and generosity. The communication with the audience feels very direct.

 

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19
Feb
18

Everything Remains

 

Everything Remains

Juli Apponen & Jon R Skulberg

Supercell Festival of Contemporary Dance Brisbane

Brisbane Powerhouse Visy Theatre

February 16 2018

 

Reviewed by Ruth Ridgway

 

Performance by JULI/JON entitled “EVERYTHING REMAINS”
18-20.09. 2015, Copenhagen, Denmark

 

 

Everything Remains is choreography for a tired body…

 

 

JULI/JON are not interested in bodies with unlimited possibilities and virtuoso movement repertoire. They are interested in limitations, weakness, tiredness and bodies that are on stage not because they can, but because they can’t. 

 

– Juli Apponen & Jon R Skulberg

 

 

Everything Remains (recommended for 18+) is a gripping and intense experience for the audience. The different elements of the performance — the dancer, sound, lighting, set and structure of the piece — work together to create an intensity of focus that is utterly absorbing. I have never been in an audience that was so quiet during a performance. Afterwards, it was a sensory shock to walk out into the Powerhouse foyer full of light, people and noise.

 

One of the main stage performances of the Supercell Festival, this 50-minute work is by a Scandinavian team, including Juli Apponen (creator, choreographer, space and lighting design, performer), originally from Finland and now living in Sweden; Jon R Skulberg (creator, choreographer, space and lighting design), from Norway; Lil Lacy (composer), from Denmark; Astrid Hansen Holm (dramaturg); and Addis Prag (lighting).

 

On the surface, the piece seems simple: one performer on a rectangle of white floor on a black ground, minimalist music, and slow, controlled and limited movement.

 

The publicity about the show talks about it being ‘choreography for a tired body’. On their website, Apponen and Skulberg reveal that ‘Juli Apponen’s body has undergone a heavy transformation through several surgeries and numerous severe complications’.

 

The title Everything Remains reflects the concept that everything that happens to the body leaves its mark on that body. It’s logical, then, for Apponen to remain naked for the performance. Her body is slim, but without the ultratoned muscularity of many contemporary dancers. A scar runs down her abdomen.

 

Apponen is lying face down on the white floor as the audience enters. The music begins with an almost inaudible peeping sound, and Apponen slowly bends her elbow and draws up her hands, slowly comes up into a crouch, and stands. Movements such as slowly turning her averted face to the audience seem powerfully significant.

 

She walks very very slowly around the white floor, placing each foot directly in front of her, as if walking on a line. Her concentration and focus are palpable, her gaze impassive yet intent.

 

The movement develops to include crouching, lying in different positions (some beautiful, some ungainly), slowly arching off the floor, gradually coming into balances, slow-motion curling and writhing on the floor, and standing to spin slowly, extending and contracting the arms.

 

The music gradually includes more notes and becomes louder, almost painfully booming, chiming, grating and screeching towards the end. The lighting (by Apponen, Skulberg, Prag, and light technician Daniel Goody) varies from cool and dim, to warmer and brighter, and creates different amounts of shadow on Apponen’s body.

 

Performance by JULI/JON entitled “EVERYTHING REMAINS”
18-20.09. 2015, Copenhagen, Denmark

 

At the final climax, Apponen has folded up the white floor covering, and strobe lighting amidst smoke shows her moving round the floor, turning and raising and lowering her arms in a slow frenzy. The varying speeds of the flashes create different effects: slow motion ‘time-lapse’ images, blurred ultra-brief glimpses, and sudden appearances and disappearances. Then suddenly it is quiet, Apponen stands still and everything goes black.

 

Apponen’s performance is utterly absorbing, expressing her experiences in a way that deeply moves other people.

 

The powerful and economical structure of this work and the way it develops are a tribute to the work of co-creators Apponen and Skulberg, and dramaturg Hansen Holm— while there are no explosive, virtuosic movements and expansive action, you are in a state of suspense, constantly waiting for the next movement or change in movement.

 

While minimalist, Everything Remains contains a lot of variety, although this is expressed in minimal ways. It shows that limitations and restrictions can focus to an intensity that makes a powerful impact.

 

JULI/JON´s two first performances are part of a trilogy in development. Everything Ends With Flowers, (2012), Everything Remains (2015) and a third piece which is in development.

 

19
Feb
18

The Blokes Project

 

The Blokes Project

Joshua Thomson and Matt Cornell

Flowstate

In association with Supercell Festival of Contemporary Dance Brisbane

February 13 – 18 2018

 

Reviewed by Ruth Ridgway

 

 

 

Men are meant to be something, they’re meant to be stoic, they’re meant to be independent. Some of these ideals are not actually working for us as a society.

Joshua Thomson

 

Supercell is a contemporary dance festival in Brisbane, now in its second year. It consists of multiple performances, classes/workshops and talks/discussions — mostly one-offs. I cannot claim to review the whole festival, or give an overview of it, as I saw only three performances. What I can say, though, is that I wanted to see many more, and that next year I intend to take a week off so that I can go to as many events as possible.

 

The Blokes Project was one of the few festival shows that ran for multiple performances. On its first night, a summer storm hit Brisbane. The storm wasn’t quite a supercell, but dramatic enough to echo the festival name, and provide a primal environment for co-creators and performers Joshua Thomson and Matt Cornell.

 

 

Flowstate, the new temporary creative space at South Bank, includes a performance space with a roof and no walls. The Blokes Project set was not covered by the roof, and the performance had to stop after 40 minutes instead of the scheduled 60, as rain made the conditions too hazardous for the dancers. (In the audience, we experienced only a bit of fine spray blowing in over us.) The set is a flat-roofed shed-like structure built from scaffolding and panels. (The original set, for earlier performances in other states, was a shipping container, pictured below.)

 

 

 

 

Wearing shorts, jeans, Tshirt/singlet, workboots and Akubras, the dancers began by slouching and moving through various tough ‘masculine’ poses and expressions (sometimes reminiscent of poses in a workwear catalogue). This develops into a slow, controlled duo where these movements and poses are extended into acrobatic lifts performed with a slow nonchalance. Thomson and Cornell support each other, and the movement of each depends on the weight, strength and counterbalancing of the other.

 

The dancers reproduce, amplify and extend the physical bearing, poses, expressions and gestures of working men into dance sequences involving lifting, manoeuvring on networks of ropes, climbing scaffolding, and fighting.

 

The dance sequences are interspersed with audio (including brief discussions of what lies behind male suicide and domestic violence) and video projections (by Claire Robertson) on the front of the ‘shed’, showing, for example, footage from a car driving along a dirt road in the wake of dust from a vehicle ahead, and an older man against an outback landscape and blue sky, accompanied by a monologue about talking to an older man, and expressing feelings.

 

The soundscape (by Tristen Parr) includes sounds like a small plane taxiing, and music dominated by dark strings.

 

After changing into dry clothes, Thomson and Cornell took part in a Q&A with the audience, and spoke engagingly and interestingly about their creative process and their experiences in thinking about what it means to be ‘a man’. As part of their preparation, they worked in ‘speed apprenticeships’ with men doing manual work across northern Australia, as well as drawing on their own blue-collar backgrounds. They are interested in the physical intelligence involved in manual labour — how much force is needed to do particular tasks, for instance. This is likened to the physical intelligence involved in dance — which is, perhaps, developed and discussed by its practitioners in a more conscious way.

 

The work is informal, with moments of humour. It does feel like watching two blokes at work on a project — as well as watching two highly skilled performers.

 

In between sequences, one leans on a door and appears to chat to the other inside the ‘shed’. It is an interesting exploration of ‘blokiness’ — and an examination of masculine behaviour that in everyday life is often not examined.

 

The rain added some unforeseen elements to the performance that the blokes took in their stride.

 

27
Feb
16

Piece For Person And Ghetto Blaster

 

Piece For Person And Ghetto Blaster

Brisbane Powerhouse & Mobile States

Brisbane Powerhouse Turbine Studio

February 25 – 27 2016

Reviewed by Xanthe Coward

Nothing happens if you always do things the same way…

– Marina Abromovich

nicolagunn_piece4

Consider for a moment this moral conundrum. You’re a woman… (that’s not the moral conundrum)

You’re a woman and you’re in a foreign country…

Enter the eccentric, charming and mischievous world of creator Nicola Gunn as she navigates the complexities of trying to be a better person in this critically acclaimed new work.

Are you willing to take part in conflict in order to transform and change the future for the better?

An incident lasting all of ten minutes is told from three different points of view: a woman is out running and sees a man throwing stones at a sitting duck. What happens next leaves the woman coming to terms with the event and its consequences.

It dissects the excruciating realms of human behaviour in an attempt to navigate the moral and ethical complexities of becoming a better person.

As acclaimed writer and performer Nicola Gunn recreates scenarios on stage, she will attempt to dissect our motivations for conflict and ask the big question: why can’t we all just get along?

Again, I arrive late to Brisbane Powerhouse and the Turbine Studio downstairs. I’d raced over from QPAC (by raced I mean drove, through six o’clock city traffic, which is not nearly as bad as five o’clock city traffic), where I’d stayed to see Triumphs And Other Tribulations in the Cremorne, following an afternoon of production excerpts in the Concert Hall and The Stance outside in QPAC’s Cultural Forecourt for the Australian Performing Arts Market: APAM2016. It was a big day! And bigger – much, much bigger – for some than others. In retrospect I can say I wisely went home earlier on the evening of DAY1 rather than stay for opening night drinks. One of the delegates informed me that each year it was generally agreed everyone would try not to go too hard on the first night but each year it seems that this was generally forgotten. I proposed a leisure day on DAY2 in 2018 to break up the program and give everyone the opportunity to catch a Citycat or visit the galleries (or the shopping end of James Street) but was promptly reminded that everyone at APAM is working.

I find Ruth in the crowd outside the studio doors. Shimchong has already gone in (a couple of delegates have been locked out of the Visy and are now trying to gain access to “What is it in the studio?”), and Dave Sleswick, with his clipboard list of delegates, announces that Presenters have first right of refusal. It’s a marketplace after all, so we wait. We look around. No Presenters present! Luckily for us I’d actually registered to see the show and we were allowed to find seats…yes, that old chestnut. We walked past the entire seated audience, past Nicola Gunn, bright-eyed and beaming warmly at us from a corner of the performance space, and up the little steps to THE BACK ROW, BABY.

The house lights stay up. Gunn begins moving and speaking, speaking and moving, seemingly randomly, often quite rhythmically, and at times very violently, without any apparent correlation between the text and the physical activity she performs…at first. She scuttles and stretches and squats and shakes and shimmies. She steps from side to side, launches into considered commando rolls, purposeful kicks, deliberate backbends, peaceful asanas, and pulls herself along the floor as if she’s an early childhood teacher being a child being a caterpillar on the carpet (back when early childhood teachers were allowed ample time to teach such vital skills as being a caterpillar – I’m so grateful my child got in on the end of those days). Gunn completes entire sequences as she chatters away to us, about David Suchet, Hercule Poirot and Marina Abromovich, about skimming stones (the trick is to skim them at an angle of 20 degrees), the enduring brilliance of Noel Coward’s Brief Encounter (it might be one of the greatest love stories of all time) and the man she saw throwing stones at a defenceless duck in Ghent, Belgium… A 10-minute morally challenging moment in life becomes an engaging, entertaining, deeply thought provoking 70-minute physical performance.

nicolagunn_piece3

Every move and every breath is strictly choreographed (Jo LLoyd), although there’s nothing particularly strict about the way it comes across; it mostly feels almost completely improvised, at times untidy. There are even times when Gunn stops herself, incredulous, disbands whatever movement she was in the middle of and exclaims, “What the fuck am I doing?! Fuck it!” before beginning a new sequence and a new version of the story. These are gorgeous, natural, very funny rehearsal room type moments, which underscore Gunn’s musings about the nature of art and life, and our response to the little things. And the momentous things. The things that matter. Do you know what matters to you? The conversation is fascinating and the execution impressive. Gunn is rarely out of breath and ably manipulates the mood so that we’re laughing one minute and the next, contemplating the meaning of life and right and wrong. She’s intensely focused and yet easily distracted. Extremely disciplined and happily relaxed. She’s a walking, dancing, daring, dialoguing contradiction. 

Gun’s show is a philosophical discussion with strangers in a daggy aerobics class. She brings life and perspective and guts and ridiculous fun to a simple, yet complex, moral dilemma.

The references to performance artist, Marina Abromovich, range from admiration to parody to a final, spectacular homage in a stunning coloured coat and head piece. It makes no sense; it’s the post script that never needed to make it onto the page.

An increasingly layered, synthesised soundscape by composer Kelly Ryall and intense lighting by Niklas Pajanti help to create the hectic atmosphere of a subterranean rave – there are lasers and haze and the electronica and the pulse and the voice, looped and looped upon itself again and again; it’s hypnotic. All of this though is the duck speaking…

It’s amusing (I’m more bemused) and it’s a stunning visual effect, but it doesn’t actually work as the conclusion to this show…or does it? Others ADORE it. Others RAVE about the rave element. Others love watching Abromovich sitting in a chair for eight hours a day too. It’s a real Abromovich moment. With Kate Bush and Lady GaGa looking on, nodding approvingly. Is it Gunn’s final statement (for now) on the state of the arts? Is it a protest? Is it a glorious effort to reinforce the fact that artists can make their art for…themselves? Is it something that seemed like fun so, “Why the fuck not?” Or is it simply that the duck is on acid and we’re along for the trip? It’s a great ride but suddenly we’re in an entirely different theme park.

nicolagunn_piece1

I want to hear what happened to the duck! And to the woman! And to the man! But there is no neat ending to the narrative, just as there is no neat ending in life, and we are left to dream on what we’ve experienced. I walk out a little bit bewildered. Ruth and I compare notes. We are wondering why the show took the turn it did. One of the delegates bends down to feel the white dance floor… Is this a work of sheer brilliance or another example of too much time and money to create it? I don’t want to see work like this not being able to be created… With so little funding available for the arts in this country already, it seems sacrilege to even pose the question. But one wonders. And one continues to discuss it…

PPGB short trailer – no credits from Performing Lines on Vimeo.

15
Feb
16

BLACK

 

BLACK

QPAC, Expressions Dance Company & Guangdong Modern Dance Company

QPAC Cremorne Theatre

February 12 – 20 2016

Reviewed by Ruth Ridgway

I believe in these programs, keeping EDC connected to the world and bringing new aesthetics and ideas to our company. I am proud EDC is part of such a heartfelt and meaningful dance exchange.

Natalie Weir, Artistic Director, Expressions Dance Company

EDC_Black_16_event

Black is a program of three works resulting from a collaboration between Expressions Dance Company (EDC) and Guangdong Modern Dance Company (GMDC), mainland China’s first professional contemporary dance company. This is part of EDC’s Chinese Australian Dance Exchange Program 2015–2020, in which EDC will later partner with BeijingDance/LDTX, and City Contemporary Dance Company from Hong Kong.

First, GMDC performs Sumeru, created by resident choreographer Liu Qi, followed by EDC performing Don’t, choreographed by Artistic Director Natalie Weir. The program concludes with the work Black, created for the combined companies by Hong-Kong-based choreographer Xing Liang.

This program isn’t all black! The colour white is the dominant visual impression of Sumeru, the first work. The dancers all wear various combinations of white tops, shorts, skirts and dresses in soft, light fabric. The effect, combined with the power and yet softness and flow of the movement, is of ethereality overlying great energy.

The title of Sumeru is the name of a sacred mountain, believed to be the centre of the world in Buddhist and Hindu cosmology. In creating this work, choreographer Liu Qi was inspired by an ancient saying to the effect that a tiny mustard seed contains Mount Sumeru, and Mount Sumeru contains the mustard seed.

The fluidity of the movement, sometimes in slow motion reminiscent of tai chi, and sometimes flying through the air in whirling lifts, creates a mesmeric effect matching the enigmatic and reversed perspectives of the saying. The music (by Thomas Lee Pettersen and Kung Chi Shing) contributes to this effect, with the sounds of bells, gongs, piano, and drumming.

Sumeru is beautiful to watch.

Natalie Weir’s Don’t, originally choreographed in 2012 and performed in Melbourne, has been reworked for its Brisbane premiere as part of this season. The opening and closing images are memorable: Richard Causer, shirtless and with his back to the audience, undulates and flexes his back and arm muscles, lit in such a way that the pattern they make takes on an independent life of its own. Causer is making a welcome return to EDC after four years in London.

EDC's Black_Image shows L-R Zhang Congbin and Liu Qingyu in SUMERU_Image by David Kelly_low res

Don’t is about the concepts represented by simple words, including ‘don’t’ and ‘stay’, and their interpretation in relationships between men and women. Tension in relationships is the driving force, especially around the word ‘don’t’, with its connection to issues such as consent, and violence. Couples variously draw close to each other, and break free, with other permutations in between.

The words are presented very literally, using cut-out letters manipulated by the dancers. This literalness felt and looked awkward at times: perhaps the words could be represented in a more subtle way, or not appear at all?

The EDC dancers infuse Weir’s inventive choreography with maximum drama, particularly Causer, Michelle Barnett and Elise May. Trainee Jag Popham, a third-year student from the New Zealand School of Dance, made an impressive debut with the company.

Black, the work for the combined companies, was created in 2015 in Guangzhou. There EDC and GMDC spent four weeks working together, and first performed the piece as a work in progress. Choreographer Xing Liang and the dancers have explored the associations and expressions of the colour black, and occasionally its opposite, white – which are the only colours used in the costumes (designed by Linda Lee).

The piece is impressionistic, with a series of disconnected evocations of the colour black, creating some beautiful moments and strong images in a series of ‘clips’ rather than a cohesive flow. Black is associated with pain, concealment, a primordial darkness, violence, protection, and a meditative peace.

At the beginning the male dancers gasp and exhale loudly, and groan raspingly as if in pain. After a period of silence, the women fold, wave and flow in slow motion. They crouch and scuttle like creatures hiding in the dark, or appear to be hatching out of the darkness, or flocking together for protection.

In a threatening scene, four men menace another, and surround him as he tries to escape. Later, the lighting silhouettes the dancers, some standing, and others glimpsed crawling and sliding on the floor.

A woman dressed completely in white moves stiffly and awkwardly, as the antithesis of black. Appearing early in the work, she is also the final figure on stage, reaching up into a shaft of light in an image of yearning.

The music (by Kung Chi Shing) varies from bell sounds in slower sections, to piano and birdsong, to faster, more aggressive percussion sequences.

Natalie Weir's Don't - image shows Cloudia Elder - image by David Kelly 2

In this collaborative program for EDC and GMDC, it was interesting to compare the styles of each company. The GMDC dancers combined strength with a wonderful fluidity and control, while the EDC dancers’ strength was sharper and more staccato. EDC overlaid the movement with more drama; for GMDC, the movement itself was the drama.

An abiding impression from this triple bill is how wonderful it would be to see EDC double in size. The company’s seven outstanding dancers certainly held their own, but GMDC’s fifteen dancers demonstrated the power of a larger ensemble.

A collaboration like this one between EDC and GMDC can show everyone – dancers, choreographers, composers, designers, and the audience – other ways and other styles, and is an enriching experience.

Black continues until 20 February, at QPAC’s Cremorne Theatre.

22
Nov
14

Flaunt

 

 

Flaunt

Brisbane Powerhouse & Claire Marshall Projects

In association with Metro Arts

Brisbane Powerhouse

November 18–22 2014

 

Reviewed by Ruth Ridgway

 

BPH_Flaunt_1_20141-1180x663

 

 

We are exploring women’s gender, sexuality and power, and how it can be ‘socially inscribed’ on the body …

Claire Marshall, Director/Choreographer

 

Before the first performance of Flaunt, Powerhouse Artistic Director Kris Stewart made a short, impassioned speech about the Powerhouse’s support for independent dance artists such as Director/Choreographer Claire Marshall and her group of dancers. This support is partly funded by the drinks you buy at the Powerhouse, so drink up, everyone!

 

Flaunt opens with a woman climbing a ladder onto the roof of a metal-framed structure. She writhes and poses there. Later three others appear and two women manipulate the limbs of the others. The end of the work recapitulates these moments.

 

In between are a number of other short scenes. The women struggle to escape from behind a glass screen, on which images of sultry-looking formally dressed women are projected. They walk in the strange crossed-over way that models do, they pose and pout, and do some pole dancing moves, using the uprights of the shelter. At another point, the feel is of a nightclub, with very loud, pounding electronic sound. The soundtrack also features a robotic female voice discoursing on gender and sexuality.

 

In a creepy sequence, the dancers manipulate shop mannequins and dismember them. The cross-section of the bottom half of one mannequin is blood-red.

 

In her program notes, Marshall says the work is ‘about women and power’ – but only sexual power is on display here, and competition between women. The women appear to be trapped by their gender and sexuality, managing occasionally to break out and escape. The ladder offers a way out, but it’s narrow, and can take only one person at a time.

 

The overall impression of the design (Frances Hannaway) is of darkness, and entrapment – overlaid with allure. The costumes were mainly black and silver – dark silver leggings and black tops for the opening scene, clear plastic tops with crisscrossed strips of black, transparent white skirts that looked like organza, and dark silver tops with black bike shorts. They suited the dancers, and had a welcome elegance contrasting with the dark themes of the work.

 

The dancers (Mariana Parizo, Miranda Zeller, Amelia Stokes, Kirri Webb) were strong and athletic, demonstrating a power that their characters in this piece are denied. The strength of the movement, combined with the pouting and posturing that reproduce some of the stereotyped sexualised images of women, results in an uneasy mix of voyeuristic appeal, parody, and critique.

 

Flaunt is an hour long, with no interval. Sometimes the time dragged, and at others the work was absorbing. Final show tonight 7pm.

 

31
Jul
14

The Red Shoes

 

The Red Shoes

Expressions Dance Company

QPAC Playhouse

July 18–26 2014

 

Reviewed by Ruth Ridgway

 

Expressions Dance Company’s The Red Shoes, choreographed by Artistic Director Natalie Weir with the dancers, revisits the ‘story within a story’ of the 1948 movie of the same name and is set in the same era. The main character, Victoria, is performing in a pantomime based on the Hans Christian Andersen fairy tale, and playing out a version of the story in her own life at the same time. In her case, the red shoes represent her obsession with her art form, which leads her into madness.

 

The dancers (particularly Elise May, Daryl Brandwood and Jack Ziesing) are a revelation in their commitment, their emotional intensity, and their execution of Weir’s dramatic and visually beautiful choreography. There are many sublime moments of dance and music, and the production looks striking, with its red, white and black costumes, glittering gold mirrors, and echoes of theatrical grandeur of the past (design by Bruce McKinven, lighting design by Matt Scott).

 

Elise May as Victoria is a glamorous 1940s-style heroine, drawing us into her tragedy, and dancing truly like one possessed. Her grace, stamina, and ability to express emotion in movement are phenomenal in this portrayal of the doomed character who dances to her death.

 

Elise May and Benjamin Chapman_The Red Shoes

 

We first see Victoria in the closing moments of the pantomime, taking her curtain calls, and then in an encounter with the Director (Daryl Brandwood). The Director is commanding and elegant in a dark suit, and while admiring Victoria, tries to control her. Victoria, however, is constantly turning away from him or has her back to him, and in a later duo, pushes him away, after dragging him along as a burden on her back.

 

After this rejection, Brandwood has a breathtaking solo – icily precise and classically formal one minute, and the next twisting and distorting as emotion breaks through. He is controlling and manipulating, but also expressing grief, and there is a feeling that he, too, is obsessed and near the edge.

 

The first duo for Victoria and her lover (Jack Ziesing) is tender and languorous, but finishes with Victoria distracted by her obsession with dance. The choreography here and throughout the work incorporates ‘360 degree’ movement and partnering: lifts don’t just go up and come down, but keep going in a circle to continue into another movement. As Weir and her dancers demonstrate again in this new work, her choreography constantly creates new ways for bodies to twine around each other in continuous, beautiful and inspiring movement.

 

In a flashback scene, we see the beginning of Victoria’s career and the start of her obsessive search for perfection in an audition where the young Victoria (Rebecca Hall) is first spotted by the Director. He starts to control and correct her, violently jerking her limbs into the correct positions as if she were a puppet. She then dances an anguished solo, fighting with the classical technique – Hall demonstrating strength and control to express this anguish, with many turns and balances.

 

As Victoria becomes more obsessed with a quest for perfection and with her image in the mirror, ‘Mirror Victoria’ (Natalie Allen) emerges. Allen’s ferocity of movement embodied the dark aggression of this side of Victoria’s character as she fights to take over the ‘real’ Victoria. At this point, film (by Sue Healey) is used to show the confusion in Victoria’s mind, with jumbled images of shoes, ribbons, and faces projected over her.

 

Jack Ziesing and Elise May_The Red Shoes

 

The Lover loses his struggle to reach Victoria as she descends into madness, and dances a grief-stricken solo that is one of the many high points of the work. Ziesing uses his height and strength to great effect, extending body and limbs in imploring movements and contracting and falling in despairing reaction.

 

This solo is followed quite soon after by the pantomime duo with Victoria and the Weeping Angel (Benjamin Chapman), dressed in white, whom Victoria confuses with her lover. Chapman is a compassionate, benevolent presence, with a rounded, flowing quality of movement and a calmness unique among these mainly haunted or haunting characters.

 

Jack Ziesing_The Red Shoes

 

The pantomime concludes with the Weeping Angel comforting and supporting the dying Victoria. The curtain comes down and we in the audience, like Victoria, can no longer distinguish between ‘reality’ and the ‘performance’, applauding what we think is the end of the show, until realising that we are hearing recorded applause, and that May is taking curtain calls as Victoria, not as herself.

 

This is disconcerting, but perhaps deliberate. However, it does lessen the impact of the character’s own death. When we realise what is happening, we see Victoria on an empty stage, in the void of madness, finally collapsing and dying again.

 

From the point where Victoria in the pantomime is compelled to dance to her doom by the Dark Angel (a lithely malevolent Sam Colbey paralleling the role of the Director in Victoria’s life), to the time of her own death, the focus shifts from the earlier intensity and complexity of the choreography to film of Victoria running through varied landscapes, to Victoria herself running and to the music and a flurry of emotion.

 

This concluding section could perhaps be tightened and ‘edited’, and the difference between the end of the pantomime, and the death of Victoria herself made more distinct. Shortening the work a little could, if anything, strengthen its impact. At about 1 hour 20 minutes, it is long for a performance without an interval.

 

The Southern Cross Soloists, playing live on stage, pour out a flood of ‘hauntingly beautiful’ music (Weir’s description in the program) for this production – from baroque to contemporary Italian and Australian composers. All the soloists are featured at some point, each in moments of such close relationship with the dancers and such lovely sound that it takes your breath away.

 

The Red Shoes_EDC_hero

 




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