Photo by Byron Perry
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Choreographed by Antony Hamilton
Performed outdoors, in Melbourne
March 2011, as part of Dance Massive
Approaching the site, it’s dark. Scratchy, alien noises are emanating from the car stereo. Under a soaring concrete overpass, we stop, huddled in our vehicle.
Dust-coloured creatures are visible, holding on to each other as if to avoid being separated in a storm. They are dressed for the elements, wearing boots, craftily aged jackets and pants, outfits reminiscent of a previous decade, possibly borrowed from the set of Star Wars. Occasionally lights flash, briefly illuminating the bridge above. We have been transported to another world, or at least another age.
Gradually the shuffling of the three hooded beings develops into idiosyncratic movement. Isolated, insular, the sense of otherness is heightened by these unfamiliar manoeuvres. Standing closely together, their appearance and actions have a tribal likeness.
It’s a technique choreographer Antony Hamilton has employed before, though this spears to be a more sophisticated stage in the evolution of his style. Small movements, inspired by hip hop but with a focus on spatial and rhythmic invention, popping through the torso and arms of a group of closely placed dancers.
After several minutes, something changes… they leave. Enter a woman, bare breasted, dragging a long, smooth tree branch. She begins a sequence of spinning, gathering momentum until the wooden limb is airborne. The contrast of her soft flesh against the unbending timber is painfully marked, the weight of it pressing against her body as she swings it. There is something ritualistic, pagan, ancient but also naïve in the scene. Like a child in the wilderness, or a priestess enacting a sacred dance, it’s primal, simple, unaffected.
The dust creatures return, surrounding the newcomer. The sense of tribalism and ritual is heightened when they begin a unified sequence of rhythmic stamping and hand movements. There’s a sense of danger, desperation and exhaustion. Is she being converted, captured, or saved?
Intermittent grids of light flash and move across the roof of this post-industrial space, which could just as easily be a scorched planet in another galaxy as a post-apocalyptic earth. Viewing it through the prism of a car windscreen adds to the sense of unreality. We could be at the drive in, watching a sci-fi movie, or in our own personal space-pod, observing alien life forms. It’s a pleasant change to the ubiquitous black box theatre experience, and Hamilton’s ambitious scenario easily justifies the outdoor setting.
The four dancers are totally committed, the sound broadcast to our car stereo by Robin Fox is out of this world, Paula Levis’s costumes are worthy of a film-set and the site specific projections by Kit Webster are sparse enough to be a constant surprise, subtle enough not to intrude and so well focussed as to appear native to the space.
It begs the question, why don’t we have more site specific dance in Melbourne? Maybe this production will spark a new wave of thoughtfullly devised ventures outside the theatre.
Performed by Alisdair Macindoe, Jess Wong, Melanie Lane, and Lily Paskas as the intruder.
Alisdair Macindoe and Marnie Palomares, photo by Jeff Busby
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Connected
Choreographed by Gideon Obarzanek for Chunky Move
CUB Malthouse, Melbourne
March 15, 2011
As part of Dance Massive
It’s been a while since Gideon Obarzanek created anything even close to a pure dance work. Not that Connected is pure dance. Featuring a kinetic sculpture by Reuben Margolin and snippets of spoken word, it’s a hybrid creation which heralds a new maturity in Obarzanek’s choreographic output.
The whole piece is in tune with the quiet grace of Margolin’s contribution. A delicate white grid, suspended by strings and attached to a wooden wheel, the sculpture is both set and subject, at times almost another performing body. Whether directly controlled by the performers, or in the mathematically precise and mesmerizingly beautiful waves created by a small motor, it’s amazing.
A mellifluous duet for Alisdair Macindoe and Stephanie Lake is one of the best Obarzanek has produced. It’s a variation on the manipulation technique he has favoured for years, now developed into a sophisticated and seamless exchange of undulating bodies, which echoes the sculpture’s oscillations.
The kaleidoscopic patterns shaped by the five dancers in the final scene, particularly when in full silhouette, are an embodiment of elegant geometry, constantly unfolding through symmetrical forms. This abstraction is balanced by a humanistic section inspired by gallery security workers.
Anna Cordingley’s flatteringly functional monochrome costumes and Benjamin Cisterne’s restrained but effective lighting states continue the simple, clean aesthetic, while the exquisite soundtrack by Oren Ambarchi and Robin Fox winds through cyclical progressions using electro-acoustic instrumentation.
The scope of this multi-faceted work is wide, but Obarzanek draws all the elements together with finesse.
Performers: Stephanie Lake, Alisdair Macindoe, Marnie Palomares, Harriet Ritchie & Joseph Simons
A version of this review was first published in The Age newspaper.
Paul White and Kristina Chan, image by Regis Lansac
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I'm sure there will be some beautifully well-rounded responses to this work (including this one by Jana Perkovic, and this one by Stephanie Glickman), but mine is not one of them. It's just a few notes I scribbled down after seeing the show.
In Glass
Choreography by Narelle Benjamin, performed by Paul White and Kristina Chan
CUB Malthouse, Melbourne
March 16, 2011
As part of Dance Massive
Paul White and Kristina Chan are EASILY two of the best dancers in Australia, but In Glass isn’t the masterpiece it could be.
Unlike Meryl Tankard’s The Oracle, which was also custom built for White, In Glass doesn’t build an overall sense of character for the performers to inhabit. There are glimpses of brilliance, when choreography, cinematography and production design meet in glorious moments of liquefied reality, but then the limits of Benjamin’s choreographic language intervene again and the sublime possibilities are lost.
Benjamin does exploit the extraordinary physical abilities of her dancers, and it’s hard to deny the pleasure of being amazed at the capacity of the highly trained human body.
Her yoga-infused choreography requires hamstrings to stretch beyond any kind of normal range, combined with headstands, lots of manipulation and that ‘stand/sit still and make gestures with your hands’ idea that often crops up in contemporary dance.
Chan often appears to be tying herself in knots, or bourréeing with arms almost outstretched, in something like a Jesus Christ pose. Her solo with a projected mirror suggests body image is the theme, but the dance has trouble communicating that concept – it appears much like any of the other movement sequences.
White has a solo comprised of spins. Wearing a slippery long-sleeved top and leggings, he spirals on knees, thighs, biceps, almost all surfaces of his body, but again, doesn’t quite reach the same heights of virtuosity as in the Oracle. Another solo makes great use of two large hand held mirrors, which he moves around his head, becoming a Narcissus, using facial expressions to finally create some sense of the existence of a character.
The contact duo section is divine, a whirlwind of momentum-driven lifts, spirals and counterbalances that embody all a modern duet can and should be.
The set and lighting design and cinematography/video projection work is integral to the piece, which is great to see. Synaesthesia! One moment which really stood out was when Chan walked between two mirrors, appearing to enter the world on the other side of the glass. When White tried to follow, the mirror suddenly became an opaque wall again. Brilliant timing meant that this simple trick took my breath away.
For the life of me I can’t remember a single thing about the sound.
Despite my griping about the faults in this work, it is still a very exciting experience. A great concept, well developed and presented, just lacking that final step into dance as theatre, rather than just a gymnastic display.
Not long now until the 2010 Green Room Awards will be announced (March 21 at the Spiegeltent). If I were on the dance panel, here's what I'd vote for:
Music Composition & Performance - David Page - Of Earth and Sky (Bangarra Dance Theatre). That final scene with the ghostly voice sent shivers up my spine.
Design - Jacob Nash (Set) - Artefact (Bangarra Dance Theatre). What looked like a giant piece of bark made a wonderful backdrop and prop.
Male Dancer - Waangenga Blanco - Artefact and Riley (Bangarra Dance Theatre). Admittedly, I didn't see Daniel Gaudiello in Coppelia or Tony Yap in Rasa Sayang, but Blanco was particularly good.
Female Dancer - tied between Emily Amisano - We Unfold (Sydney Dance Company) and Carlee Mellow - Expectation .
Ensemble - Another tie, Sydney Dance Company - We Unfold and The Australian Ballet - Molto Vivace
Concept & Realisation - I *shamefacedly* concede that I saw neither Private Dances or The Oak's Bride (I was out of town). So, I won't vote on this one.
Betty Pounder Award for Choreography - as much as I enjoyed We Unfold and Mix Tape, I think I would give this one to Frances Rings - Artefact (Bangarra Dance Theatre). I particularly loved the Weaving section. I didn’t want it to end!
Miwako Kubota as Madame Butterfly
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Madame Butterfly
Performed by the Australian Ballet
25 Feb 2011
Reviewed by Jordan Beth Vincent
Madame Butterfly, choreographed by Stanton Welch and based on Puccini’s opera, tells the story of a naïve geisha (Rachel Rawlins) who puts her trust in a two-timing American cad, Pinkerton (Robert Curran). It is a nod to 19th century romantic ballets with exotic characters, lavish costumes, and tragic content.
In addition to its decadent exterior, Madame Butterfly is riddled with conflicting emotions and cultural clashes. These elements find easy expression in the operatic libretto but are lost in translation in Welch’s classical ballet vocabulary. The dancers ‘explain’ the action through wild gesticulations, and present sketchy characterisations of coquettish geishas, grimacing Japanese warriors, and blond American bimbos.
However, Welch excels at crafting more straightforward emotions, such as in the pas de deux that closes Act I. Pinkerton’s lust for Butterfly is shown through his masterful manipulation of her body– he catches her as though snatching a length of silk from the air. She responds with a spinning serpentine embrace, sliding limply to the floor in a puddle at his feet.
Rawlins is an interesting choice for Butterfly. She has the poise and experience to execute the challenging choreography beautifully, yet is a little too assured to convince as a naïve, lovestruck teenager. Leanne Stojmenov, as Butterfly’s loyal servant, and Tzu-Chao Chou, as the creepy marriage broker, bring outstanding relief to a somber and laboured landscape.
For tragic romantics, Madame Butterfly will hit the mark. Those who cringe at the notion of a 19th century style story ballet had best sit this one out.
A version of this review was published in The Age newspaper
