In the performing arts time and space becomes a conceptual void, one that is unpacked to reveal emotional, intellectual and metaphysical dimensions. In turn, these same dimensions are comprised of an eclectic array of personal realities. And so it is in Moving Works, during which eight, ten minute performances are given the once over by a panel of judges and an audience required to offer discernment via a peoples' choice award. It's a rewarding night in the theatre, one largely instigated by the challenge set for artists to find a complex and defined movement vocabulary, then compress such into a ten minute reverberation of breath, body, conceptual rigor and emotional catharsis. No easy feat to be sure, yet the performing arts cannot escape the contemporary 'Need for speed' that characterises the present. Like it or lump it, we who populate society are all swept up in an ever increasing rate of exponential transformation.
Curator, Rochelle Carmichael prefaces each work separately, beginning with Phoenix, a meditation on fire, flight, return and regrowth. Choosing not to begin with what will become in other works an obligatory musical accompaniment, Phoenix sustains an extended period of silence during which its creators concentrate upon the expressive qualities of their chosen movement vocabulary. There are delicate moments of helplessness entrapped within a shimmering landscape that, once the inferno has subsided, give way to the joy of vigorous regrowth and the part this plays in nature's cycle of destruction and creation. A quiet work, Phoenix nevertheless has a measured tone that belies a solid structural base. On show here is a formal sense that could amplify to include the form of catastrophe, such as the ferocious microclimate created when a wildfire unleashes its full fury. Auto, the second work, instead wants us to understand the physicality of great pain. Raw and somewhat less dainty than Phoenix, it is what an audience comes to expect from a dancer using personal experience as the material for art. Contortions and twists, heaves and flourishing flips, Neroli Jamieson's oeuvre of balletic pose and crash test dummy makes for an invigorating contrast. As body in traction Auto succeeds in conveying the sense of restriction caused by a body entrapped by physical impairment, one forced to capitulate by the limitations of a physical crisis.
Intimate Alien breaks the spell of solo performance presented by its two predecessors. It is a distinctive, rare dissection of cinematic schlock horror, convulsive irony, and a disciplined desire to find the movement vocabulary of exaggerated horror and the artifice of film. Booming overhead is the ever increasing specter of musical suspense that in itself, can never find enough pitch simply because B-movie horror just keeps on comin' at ya'. Monstrous configurations of hands enwrapping faces suggesting creatures exploding from chests give way to the hideous, vampire inspired female ready to press her tongue on your lips then sink her fangs into your neck. It's all very suggestive though, which is quite a challenge really, as blood sucking gore and Frankenstinian side steps tend toward cliche'. Self consciously dark and disturbing, Intimate Alien is the first work to crack open the humour bin; making it a wry, yet disciplined foray into live performance's potential for subverting that domineering stigmata, the moving image. The following work, Crow, continues with this humorous precedent as it takes the mickey out of grief in a Ted Hughes inspired rumination that is simultaneously funny while being funereal. As well respected poet, Hughes will always be the husband of Sylvia Plath; and perhaps there's also a dig in the ribs here at Modernism's tendency toward stoicism when faced by the horrors of its defunct epoch, the blighted twentieth century. Performer Daniel Cole is suitably trussed up in black dress with its back unzipped, while wearing a bowler hat. His scream could be apocalyptic, but when he winks an eye and lets us in on the joke, the audience laughs along with him at his androgynous creation; or is it Ted Hughes in metaphorical drag ? A poetic Queen haunted by the celebrity ghost of his suicidal nemesis and mentally ill wife..?
Interval at Theatreworks is a hearty affair, with booze and perambulating conversation countering the 9.00 pm chill. In contradistinction to the snap of a cold wind, the fifth work in this sequence of eight, ten minute shows is a warm and respectful rendition of one woman's torrid love affair with a violin. Hoops with Strings is the first and only piece to utilise video projection, and it does this well. Who would have thought that a Stradivarius could dominate the life of a human being ? Many of us are faced with the predicament created when parents project insecurities onto their children, often manifesting as the mistaken assumption that 'Any child of mine' will by birthright, become a musical prodigy. Yet performer Simone Litchfield always keeps herself nice, instead allowing the overwhelming video impression of composer Jen Anderson drawing a painful bow across excruciating violin strings, to brood upon a rear wall. While at performer's stage left there sits the violin itself; complete with battered case and what appears to be a discarded basketball hoop. But Anderson is not embittered by her musical experience. Resentful, yet respectful and appreciative, her regard for the instrument is expressed in movement that is at once wary, but also full of warm resignation.
In critical mass and therefore engaged in a crisis of confidence, Concrete Solace is a male-female duet complete with model, inner-city skyscrapers. Its a scintillating work, one electrified by the hazardous discharge of a solarised lighting design that compliments the urban decay implicit in each dancer's paroxysms. Added to this mix is a degree of difficulty involved in each performer slipping hollow model skyscrapers onto all four limbs, and then dancing to the rhythms of an urban centre in complete meltdown. My people's choice for the night, Concrete Solace nevertheless takes one risk too many, resulting in a slight descent into a generalised clunkiness toward its end. Even so, a fora such as Moving Works should remain a space within which aspirations can be realised and risks taken. The creators of Concrete Solace take full advantage of this opportunity. Clunkiness aside, this was an inventive, challenging and astutely choreographed piece of movement theatre. By contrast, StickSandStones is a considered study in athleticism, one that finds vigorous expression in the rippled body of Kathryn Newnham. Wearing a deathly baby doll, its embellished transparency revealing Newnham's muscular hips subdued by a pair of black briefs, there is invoked a suspicion that something dastardly has happened. Here, the choreography emphasises the quintessential 'Strong woman', but it's not entirely convincing. 'Sticks and stones will break my bones but names will never hurt me' is of course the ritualistic chant that arises in a cruel schoolyard. And in spite of a pretense toward a child not being emotionally stung, each and everyone of us know that the schoolyard shapes the adults we become. Grief and pain are integral to the sculpting of the vulnerable artist. Formally very competent and of precise structure, StickSandStones would benefit from a specific and articulated emotional dilemma underscoring its formal beauty.
The final work of the night, Michael Foster's The Question, is a playful composition of slapstick comedy and mime. Like Concrete Solace, its entertainment is similarly derived from watching a performer keep time with a soundtrack that reflects Foster's specific tasks on stage. He changes a light globe and drops the removed globe on the floor. He steps forward and discards a broom by throwing it behind a curtain. What's evident is the precision with which Foster must keep up with the recorded sound, and this is achieved, making the piece a pleasure to watch. It's never easy being the last show on a program, and even though there are times when the intended meaning of The Question is unclear, Foster ends his piece the same way it began; with a sad, funny little man walking across stage carrying a ladder. In an age in which it is increasingly difficult for independent practitioners to get a look in, Moving Works created a performance structure within which the above could not only occur, but also, was a thoroughly entertaining night in the theatre. Rochelle Carmichael, Theatreworks, and all involved in each production, are to be congratulated. As for me, I'm already looking forward to Moving Works 2010.
Moving Works: SIPart Event #2
Phoenix, Auto, Intimate Alien,
Crow, Hoops with Strings,
Concrete Solace, StickSandStoneS,
The Question
Various performers & choreographers
July 8 - 11, Theatreworks, Melb.
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