Posts Tagged ‘supercell

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.

 

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.