tag:theconversation.com,2011:/fr/topics/dance-review-36527/articlesdance review – The Conversation2024-03-20T19:03:09Ztag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2260042024-03-20T19:03:09Z2024-03-20T19:03:09ZAdelaide Festival 2024: a moving marriage of local and international works – with Indigenous voices front and centre<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/583039/original/file-20240320-30-grg01y.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=113%2C47%2C6177%2C3489&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Jada Narkle photographed by T.J. Garvie.</span> </figcaption></figure><p>Between COVID, increasing production and transport costs, and changing audience tastes, the country’s largest arts festivals have had to rebadge themselves.</p>
<p>Festivals in Melbourne, Sydney, Brisbane and Perth have all undergone major cultural shifts – generally away from internationalism. The new kid on the block, Hobart’s <a href="https://darkmofo.net.au/program">Dark Mofo</a>, offered a brew of Tasmanian winter funkiness. This vision was transferred to <a href="https://rising.melbourne/call-to-artists">Melbourne’s Rising Festival</a> in the wake of lockdowns. </p>
<p>This leaves the Adelaide Festival, founded in 1960, as the venerable grandparent of the region’s art festivals. Against the odds, the Adelaide Festival continues to offer a carefully curated program of international work, placing it in active conversation with domestically produced work.</p>
<p>From 2017-2023, festival co-directors <a href="https://www.adelaidefestival.com.au/news/latest-news/changes-at-the-top-of-australia-s-leading-international-arts-festival/">Neil Armfield and Rachel Healy</a> delivered a solid program that balanced high-culture spectacle with local work. Their curatorial choices required mutual approval, extensive travel to international festivals, and healthy <a href="https://iview.abc.net.au/show/getting-their-acts-together">doses of fortitude</a>.</p>
<p>This year’s was the first full program curated by experienced international festival director <a href="https://www.fiftyplussa.com.au/arts-culture/introducing-ruth-mackenzie-adelaide-festival-artistic-director/">Ruth Mackenzie</a>, who has worked extensively in the UK and Europe. Under her watch, the festival placed high-quality Indigenous Australian work front and centre, while also showcasing superb offerings from the nation’s smaller companies. </p>
<p>On the international front, it brought big-ticket extravaganzas alongside outstanding theatre and dance groups from outside the mainstream. </p>
<p>I saw all the shows in this year’s theatre, music theatre, dance, dance theatre and opera categories. The music and visual arts program, as well as the events of Writer’s Week and WomAdelaide, were too much to take in simultaneously. </p>
<h2>Indigenous Australia front and centre</h2>
<p>When it comes to programming Indigenous work in the festival, pulling existing work off-the-shelf isn’t possible. And if it were, it wouldn’t be respectful or desirable.</p>
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<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Dancers Maanyung and Rika Hamaguchi performed in ‘Baleen Moondjan’ on the shores of Pathawilyangga (Glenelg) beach.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Daniel Boud</span></span>
</figcaption>
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<p>Indigenous artists must be in positions of cultural and artistic leadership. Perhaps the greatest challenge is identifying and obtaining the financial resources from local and national funding bodies to support these artists.</p>
<p>Such work requires tact, solid community contacts and a deep knowledge of how funding and local systems work. Mackenzie, with the help of chief executive Kath M. Mainland and a capable festival staff, appears to have mastered these challenges.</p>
<p>This year’s festival featured outstanding works by Indigenous artists both local and national. For me, the standout was <a href="https://www.adelaidefestival.com.au/events/baleen-moondjan/">Baleen Moondjan</a>, Stephen Page’s first commissioned work since leaving the helm of the Bangarra Dance Theatre.</p>
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<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Baleen Moondjan was staged amid a row of large whale bones at Pathawilyangga (Glenelg) beach.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">SA UAVs</span></span>
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</figure>
<p>Staged on a sandy ridge amid a row of whale bones extending to the water’s edge at Glenelg (Pathawilyangga) Beach, the work dramatised the transfer of faith, spirit and knowledge across the generations. </p>
<p>Masterfully blending music, dance, movement, song and text, it featured powerful performances from Elaine Crombie as Moondjan elder Gindara, and Zipporah Corser-Anu as her granddaughter.</p>
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<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Baleen Moondjan is Stephen Page’s first commissioned work since leaving the Bangarra Dance Theatre.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Roy VanDerVegt</span></span>
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</figure>
<p>Guuranda, written and directed by <a href="https://www.jacobboehme.com.au/about">Jacob Boehme</a>, was another breakthrough work of local Indigenous storytelling. Like Baleen Moondjan, it was commissioned by the festival and supported by donors to the Adelaide Festival First Nations Commissioning Program. </p>
<p>The creative team drew from consultations with four elders from Narungga Country, traditional owners of the Yorke Peninsula region. Their personal stories were connected to creation stories linked to physical features of the land. </p>
<p>These ancient, living stories were beautifully evoked through dance and song. Lyrics in Narungga, written by Jacob Boehme and Sonya Rankine, were powerfully delivered by Rankine, Warren Milera and the Narungga Family Choir. </p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/583003/original/file-20240320-26-nv4olv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/583003/original/file-20240320-26-nv4olv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/583003/original/file-20240320-26-nv4olv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583003/original/file-20240320-26-nv4olv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583003/original/file-20240320-26-nv4olv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583003/original/file-20240320-26-nv4olv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583003/original/file-20240320-26-nv4olv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583003/original/file-20240320-26-nv4olv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Guuranda’s creative team drew from consultations with Narungga country elders.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Tim Standing</span></span>
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</figure>
<p>Another standout was the Australian Dance Theatre’s production of <a href="https://www.adelaidefestival.com.au/events/marrow/">Marrow</a>, choreographed by Daniel Riley. </p>
<p>The starting point for this work, Riley noted in post-show remarks, was the heartbreak that followed <a href="https://www.abc.net.au/news/2023-10-17/sa-aboriginal-leaders-call-to-learn-from-referendum-result/102981736">the failure</a> of the Indigenous Voice referendum in October.</p>
<p>This work evoked that disappointment viscerally. Dancers moved with difficulty, against obstacles, then walked backwards toward the audience. Later they were tossed about, as if responding to external blows. </p>
<p>The work’s trajectory suggested it is the power of the land itself that provides the strength to continue the fight. </p>
<p><div data-react-class="InstagramEmbed" data-react-props="{"url":"https://www.instagram.com/reel/C3jyYtGvp41","accessToken":"127105130696839|b4b75090c9688d81dfd245afe6052f20"}"></div></p>
<h2>A celebration of indie creators</h2>
<p>Australian work has long had a strong presence in the festival. But this year’s programming brought festival audiences into unaccustomed spaces to experience work by some of the nation’s most consistently interesting non-mainstream companies. </p>
<p>No longer was the best work of our independent companies relegated almost exclusively to the nation’s two large Fringe festivals (Adelaide and Melbourne). Mackenzie had the curatorial confidence to program their work alongside audacious, high-brow, big-ticket extravaganzas from some of the world’s most famed directors and choreographers.</p>
<p>Among the local standouts was <a href="https://www.adelaidefestival.com.au/events/private-view/">Private View</a> by Adelaide’s Restless Dance Theatre. Their honest, gentle and confronting exploration of the ups and downs of love drew from the experiences and imaginations of the company’s troupe of dancers living with and without disabilities. </p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/583010/original/file-20240320-26-os9kab.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/583010/original/file-20240320-26-os9kab.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/583010/original/file-20240320-26-os9kab.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583010/original/file-20240320-26-os9kab.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583010/original/file-20240320-26-os9kab.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583010/original/file-20240320-26-os9kab.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583010/original/file-20240320-26-os9kab.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583010/original/file-20240320-26-os9kab.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Private View was a gentle and confronting exploration of the ups and downs of love.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Matt Byrne</span></span>
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<p>The work broke down barriers between audience and onlooker, able and disabled. It ended with many of us on our feet, dancing in a sea of confetti, joyous.</p>
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<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Many of the audience members ended the show on their feet.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Matt Byrne</span></span>
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</figure>
<p>Another supremely memorable show from the independent sector was <a href="https://www.adelaidefestival.com.au/events/grand-theft-theatre/">Grand Theft Theatre</a> by Pony Cam, led by David Williams. With equal amounts of humour, charm and earnestness, highly skilled actor-dancers reminded us not just why we go to the theatre, but of how this experience can change lives.</p>
<p>It was a pleasure to also see work from <a href="https://vitalstatistix.com.au/">VITALStatistix</a>, a company that has been making high-quality, socially engaged work in Port Adelaide since 1984. The company’s <a href="https://www.adelaidefestival.com.au/events/i-hide-in-bathrooms/">I Hide in Bathrooms</a> was staged in their home in the historic Waterside Worker’s Hall. </p>
<p>Writer/performer Astrid Pill offered a quirky, serious and moving take on life, partnership and death. We were left with an obvious but often overlooked truth: “We will all be left, and we will all leave.” </p>
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<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Astrid Pill’s I Hide In Bathrooms offered a quirky yet moving take on life, partnership and death.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Sam Oster</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>International fare</h2>
<p>Mackenzie brought in work by four of the established superstars of the international festival circuit: directors Barry Kosky, Robert Lepage and Thomas Ostermeier, and choreographer Akram Khan. </p>
<p>She also programmed a deeply satisfying selection of carefully crafted, timely works by smaller companies, mostly based in Europe. </p>
<p>Among the outstanding works in this category were <a href="https://www.adelaidefestival.com.au/events/qui-a-tue-mon-pere/">Qui a tué mon père (Who Killed my Father)</a> and Antigone in the Amazon.</p>
<p>In the former, acclaimed German director Ostermeier teamed up with Édouard Louis in a theatrical adaptation of Louis’ novel. The writer himself narrated and enacted the story of his troubled relationship with his father, and of growing up gay in a conservative, working-class town a world away from Paris, condemned to “poverty, homophobia and conformity”. The work suggests the ultimate killers of his father were a long line of national leaders from Jacques Chirac to Emmanuel Macron. </p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/583013/original/file-20240320-17-r6duw6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/583013/original/file-20240320-17-r6duw6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/583013/original/file-20240320-17-r6duw6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583013/original/file-20240320-17-r6duw6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583013/original/file-20240320-17-r6duw6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583013/original/file-20240320-17-r6duw6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583013/original/file-20240320-17-r6duw6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583013/original/file-20240320-17-r6duw6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">German director Thomas Ostermeier teamed up with Édouard Louis in this theatrical adaptation of Louis’ novel.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Roy VanDerVegt</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>For me, however, the most emotionally taxing but rewarding work of this year’s festival was <a href="https://www.adelaidefestival.com.au/events/antigone-in-the-amazon/">Antigone in the Amazon</a>. It’s a collaboration between the Belgium company NTGent and the Amazonian activist group Movimento dos Trabalhadores Rurais Sem Terra (MST).</p>
<p>Brilliantly directed by Milo Rau, the work offers complex, multi-layered insights into the ongoing battle between Indigenous peoples in the Amazonian rainforest and those profiting from the land through deforestation and habitat destruction. The dramatic recreation of a well-known <a href="https://www.amnesty.org/en/latest/press-release/2016/04/the-eldorado-dos-carajas-massacre-20-years-of-impunity-and-violence-in-brazil/">massacre of 17 civilians</a> in the state of Pará on April 17 1996 was masterfully paired with Sophocles’ ancient Greek tragedy, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Antigone_(Sophocles_play)">Antigone</a>. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/583016/original/file-20240320-26-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/583016/original/file-20240320-26-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/583016/original/file-20240320-26-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=457&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583016/original/file-20240320-26-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=457&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583016/original/file-20240320-26-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=457&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583016/original/file-20240320-26-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=574&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583016/original/file-20240320-26-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=574&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583016/original/file-20240320-26-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=574&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Antigone in the Amazon offered multi-layered insights into the struggles of Indigenous peoples in the Amazonian rainforest.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Kurt van der Elst</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Live action was cleverly linked to videos shot in remote locations in the Amazon. In turn, the onstage actors appeared in sequences shot on location with actors associated with the MST. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/583019/original/file-20240320-21-5johew.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/583019/original/file-20240320-21-5johew.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/583019/original/file-20240320-21-5johew.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=457&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583019/original/file-20240320-21-5johew.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=457&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583019/original/file-20240320-21-5johew.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=457&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583019/original/file-20240320-21-5johew.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=574&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583019/original/file-20240320-21-5johew.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=574&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583019/original/file-20240320-21-5johew.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=574&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Antigone in the Amazon drew on Sophocles’ ancient Greek tragedy, Antigone.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source"> Kurt van der Elst</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The result was an uncanny and powerful doubling. Drawing from Sophocles’ play, the work concludes with the tragic observation that “the killers and the killed” are “all one family”.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/583017/original/file-20240320-18-jcr03b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/583017/original/file-20240320-18-jcr03b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/583017/original/file-20240320-18-jcr03b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=457&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583017/original/file-20240320-18-jcr03b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=457&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583017/original/file-20240320-18-jcr03b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=457&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583017/original/file-20240320-18-jcr03b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=574&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583017/original/file-20240320-18-jcr03b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=574&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583017/original/file-20240320-18-jcr03b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=574&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Live action was linked to videos shot in remote locations in the Amazon.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Kurt van der Elst</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The festival’s three big-ticket items were clear crowd-pleasers. </p>
<p>Berlin-based Australian Barry Kosky offered up a dark, brilliant staging of Bertolt Brecht’s <a href="https://www.adelaidefestival.com.au/events/the-threepenny-opera/">The Threepenny Opera</a>. Actors moved up, down and across a massive black constructivist set, playing a game of cat and mouse that ends with the capture of arch-villain Macheath. </p>
<p>All are equally complicit in creating misery in this Weimar-era German classic, in which Kurt Weil’s lilting tunes contrast with Brecht’s hard-hitting lyrics to create that sense of estrangement Brecht is famous for.</p>
<p>Canadian director Robert Lepage’s <a href="https://www.adelaidefestival.com.au/events/the-nightingale-and-other-fables/">The Nightingale and Other Fables</a> came in two parts: a prelude of Russian folk tales, ingeniously presented with human bodies creating shadows, and a wildly extravagant staging of Igor Stravinsky’s short opera, The Nightingale.</p>
<p>Based on a Chinese classic tale, it tells the story of a nightingale (sung by soprano Yuliia Zasimova) who enchants the emperor and ultimately returns every night to sing to him.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/583021/original/file-20240320-22-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/583021/original/file-20240320-22-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583021/original/file-20240320-22-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583021/original/file-20240320-22-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583021/original/file-20240320-22-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583021/original/file-20240320-22-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583021/original/file-20240320-22-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The work used Vietnamese water puppetry, with the puppets manipulated from a pool of waist-deep water.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Andrew Beveridge</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Lepage’s staging relied on the charming and enchanting tradition of Vietnamese water puppetry. While puppets were manipulated from a pool of waist-deep water in the orchestra pit area, the stage of the Festival Theatre was filled to capacity with members of the State Opera of South Australia Chorus and the Adelaide Symphony Orchestra.</p>
<p>It was a thrilling production with inventive and ingenious puppets of all sizes, even if excessive in its visual splendour at times.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/583020/original/file-20240320-30-h1inp7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/583020/original/file-20240320-30-h1inp7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/583020/original/file-20240320-30-h1inp7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583020/original/file-20240320-30-h1inp7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583020/original/file-20240320-30-h1inp7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583020/original/file-20240320-30-h1inp7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583020/original/file-20240320-30-h1inp7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583020/original/file-20240320-30-h1inp7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">One part of the production included a staging of Igor Stravinsky’s short opera, The Nightingale.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Andrew Beveridge</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/583022/original/file-20240320-30-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/583022/original/file-20240320-30-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/583022/original/file-20240320-30-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583022/original/file-20240320-30-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583022/original/file-20240320-30-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583022/original/file-20240320-30-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583022/original/file-20240320-30-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583022/original/file-20240320-30-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The Nightingale and Other Fables was a vibrant, visually enchanting production.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Andrew Beveridge</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Choreographer <a href="https://www.akramkhancompany.net/">Akram Khan’s</a> work famously builds on the vocabulary of the traditional South Asian dance, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kathak">Kathak</a>, as a basis for his company’s unique style of contemporary dance. His work <a href="https://www.adelaidefestival.com.au/events/jungle-book-reimagined/">Jungle Book reimagined</a> is far from the Disney version.</p>
<p>In this darkly dystopian world, climate change has brought devastation to the planet. Humans are useful only for what they can teach the remaining animals.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/583023/original/file-20240320-28-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/583023/original/file-20240320-28-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/583023/original/file-20240320-28-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583023/original/file-20240320-28-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583023/original/file-20240320-28-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583023/original/file-20240320-28-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583023/original/file-20240320-28-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583023/original/file-20240320-28-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The Kathak-inspired dance in Jungle Book reimagined involved extraordinary precision, speed and athleticism.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Camilla Greenwell</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Though I found the use of text intrusive and confusing at times, the dance work involved all the extraordinary precision, speed, athleticism and full use of the body associated with Khan’s choreographic practice. </p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/583035/original/file-20240320-16-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/583035/original/file-20240320-16-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/583035/original/file-20240320-16-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=840&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583035/original/file-20240320-16-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=840&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583035/original/file-20240320-16-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=840&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583035/original/file-20240320-16-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1056&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583035/original/file-20240320-16-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1056&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/583035/original/file-20240320-16-7taj2r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1056&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Jan Mikaela Villanueva played Mowgli in Jungle Book reimagined.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Camilla Greenwell</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>An old vision realised</h2>
<p>The depth, breadth, range, grit and good-heartedness of this year’s festival made me reflect on one of the most infamous of international festival fails: the dismissal of artistic director <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peter_Sellars">Peter Sellars</a> in November 2001, months prior to the opening of the 2002 Adelaide Festival.</p>
<p>Sellars, who met great success as a theatre and opera director in Europe and his native US, <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/books/2001/nov/17/books">had a compelling vision</a> for an Adelaide Festival. He wanted one that was international, yet intensely local, and which featured new Indigenous Australian work.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, for a range of reasons – not least of which was a lack of understanding of how things work in Australia – Sellars was sent packing.</p>
<p>Some 22 years later, we have a festival that in many respects realises Sellars’ three-pronged vision. It’s made possible because Ruth MacKenzie and her team did their homework, and did it well.</p>
<p><div data-react-class="InstagramEmbed" data-react-props="{"url":"https://www.instagram.com/reel/C4mZembvEdb","accessToken":"127105130696839|b4b75090c9688d81dfd245afe6052f20"}"></div></p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/the-magic-tricks-and-the-deep-souls-of-theatre-dance-and-music-at-the-2024-perth-festival-225343">The magic tricks and the deep souls of theatre, dance and music at the 2024 Perth Festival</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/226004/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>William Peterson does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>The theatre, dance and music works at this year’s festival have helped fulfil a three-pronged vision from some two decades ago.William Peterson, Adjunct Associate Professor, Auckland University of TechnologyLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2128762023-09-20T03:37:27Z2023-09-20T03:37:27ZDo we really need another Swan Lake?<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/549230/original/file-20230920-17-y20eo4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=25%2C8%2C5716%2C3819&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Kate Longley/The Australian Ballet</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>Last year when, The Australian Ballet announced their 2023 season and I saw <a href="https://www.smh.com.au/culture/dance/the-australian-ballet-announces-a-brand-new-classic-swan-lake-20220412-p5ad24.html">a “new” Swan Lake</a> on the list, I asked myself: did we really need another Swan Lake?</p>
<p>I love Swan Lake. </p>
<p>First staged by the Bolshoi Ballet in Moscow in 1877 – but most known for its 1895 version staged by the Imperial Ballet in St. Petersburg – it is the ballet which makes most sense as a pure classical ballet with its castles of parading royalty, its princes and princesses performing in crowded ballrooms and its lake of gliding swans. </p>
<p>Indeed, had classical pointe shoes not <a href="https://www.moretothepointe.com.au/blog/the-history-of-ballet-pointe-shoes">existed prior</a>, they would have been a great invention for this ballet alone, enabling the fast tippy-toe footwork (<em><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EX4y-YNlybE">bourrées</a></em>) which transform the dancers into swans gracefully skimming across the surface of a lake. And tutus, sometimes strange in other contexts, in this ballet look like the white swans they aim to evoke. </p>
<p>Tchaikovsky’s score is powerful, narrative and broadly familiar. Petipa’s 1895 choreography is held in such esteem that it has been largely unchanged for 128 years. </p>
<p>But there are two questions here: do we really need to continue performing Swan Lake? And, if so, how often do we need a new one?</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/549225/original/file-20230920-30-74h5ri.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Production image: Odile" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/549225/original/file-20230920-30-74h5ri.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/549225/original/file-20230920-30-74h5ri.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/549225/original/file-20230920-30-74h5ri.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/549225/original/file-20230920-30-74h5ri.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/549225/original/file-20230920-30-74h5ri.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/549225/original/file-20230920-30-74h5ri.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/549225/original/file-20230920-30-74h5ri.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Bemet is both formidable and vulnerable.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Kate Longley/The Australian Ballet</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>In their 60-year history, this will be The Australian Ballet’s fifth take on Swan Lake and each new iteration takes more rehearsal time, more new sets and new costumes, and much more budget.</p>
<p>And when we see Swan Lake again, it takes the budget and programming from another possible production, perhaps an Australian ballet by an Australian choreographer.</p>
<p>So, how does David Hallberg’s 2023 Swan Lake stack up?</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/the-west-australian-ballets-swan-lake-brings-the-story-to-perth-but-the-noongar-elements-never-feel-completely-integrated-195003">The West Australian Ballet's Swan Lake brings the story to Perth – but the Noongar elements never feel completely integrated</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>Reborn from the archive</h2>
<p>Well, firstly, it is clearly stated on the company’s website that the production was <a href="https://australianballet.com.au/performances/swan-lake">entirely funded</a> through philanthropy, so it hasn’t directly cost the public purse.</p>
<p>Secondly, it is not being called a “new” Swan Lake, but rather a revival of former artistic director Anne Woolliams’ <a href="https://nla.gov.au/nla.obj-1550244644/view?sectionId=nla.obj-1733073797&partId=nla.obj-1550758251">1977 version</a>, which draws heavily on the Petipa 1895 choreography, with a few tweaks to bring it into the 21st century. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/549223/original/file-20230920-29-74h5ri.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Production image: the swans." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/549223/original/file-20230920-29-74h5ri.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/549223/original/file-20230920-29-74h5ri.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/549223/original/file-20230920-29-74h5ri.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/549223/original/file-20230920-29-74h5ri.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/549223/original/file-20230920-29-74h5ri.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/549223/original/file-20230920-29-74h5ri.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/549223/original/file-20230920-29-74h5ri.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">This swan lake draws heavily on the Petipa 1895 choreography.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Kate Longley/The Australian Ballet</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>As such, it is an engagement with the company’s history and a cultural remembering of an important figure from the past – indeed an important and controversial woman choreographer from the company’s past. Woolliams didn’t see out her contract as artistic director <a href="https://nla.gov.au/nla.obj-1544326758/view?sectionId=nla.obj-1728456763&partId=nla.obj-1544645008">stating publicly</a> that she refused to have repertoire dictated to her by the company’s administration. </p>
<p>She believed in creating new and exciting work.</p>
<p>The changes Hallberg has made to Woolliams’ choreography are laid out in detail in the program and apart from new sets and costumes (designed in 2023 by Daniel Ostling and Mara Blumenfeld), there are few. </p>
<p>We really are seeing an authentic and distinct Swan Lake reborn from the archive of The Australian Ballet, and that feels good.</p>
<h2>Joyous movement</h2>
<p>In the first act, dancing groups form out of the gathered crowd in the square and then blend back in with a dynamism more like a flash mob than a ballet. This accentuates the joyous spontaneous nature of the atmosphere and movement. The costumes are lavish with rich greens, golds, blues and purples.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/549222/original/file-20230920-21-jfkcdl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Production image: the Spanish dance in red." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/549222/original/file-20230920-21-jfkcdl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/549222/original/file-20230920-21-jfkcdl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/549222/original/file-20230920-21-jfkcdl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/549222/original/file-20230920-21-jfkcdl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/549222/original/file-20230920-21-jfkcdl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/549222/original/file-20230920-21-jfkcdl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/549222/original/file-20230920-21-jfkcdl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Mara Blumenfeld’s costumes are lavish.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Kate Longley/The Australian Ballet</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>In Act II, 24 swans (up from 18 in Woolliams version) move seamlessly through flock formations both familiar and unique with a striking V formation being repeated to powerful effect throughout. </p>
<p>Woolliams’ insistence on the <em>corps de ballet</em> swans becoming birds is also evident with a rippling of feathers that passes through the flock of dancers bringing them to life as animals. The set is abstract with black branches back lit with moonlight blue.</p>
<p>Act III is a more intimate ballroom than we might usually see. The same emerging and re-merging with the group is evident from Act I as the princesses and their entourages step up to showcase their national spirit.</p>
<h2>Crowd favourites</h2>
<p>But the real power throughout this Swan Lake is its leads, Benedicte Bemet and Joseph Caley on opening night.</p>
<p>Bemet is both formidable and vulnerable, capturing a natural animalism as Odette. She displays impeccable technique through her gruelling set of solos and <em>pas de deux</em>. Caley partners strongly and sensitively. His Act III solos are exacting and commanding.</p>
<p>The cygnets don’t disappoint. They are always a crowd favourite.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/549221/original/file-20230920-23-qsugsm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Production image: the dance of the cygnets." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/549221/original/file-20230920-23-qsugsm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/549221/original/file-20230920-23-qsugsm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/549221/original/file-20230920-23-qsugsm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/549221/original/file-20230920-23-qsugsm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/549221/original/file-20230920-23-qsugsm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/549221/original/file-20230920-23-qsugsm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/549221/original/file-20230920-23-qsugsm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The cygnets are always a crowd favourite.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Kate Longley/The Australian Ballet</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>In fact, on opening night everything seemed to be a crowd favourite. Ecstatic applause followed almost every variation.</p>
<p>With the entire season of the company’s Swan Lake in four different cities across Australia already close to a sell-out, it would seem the people have spoken. They, at least, needed another Swan Lake.</p>
<p>And a sell-out season brings in a lot of money which can fund other projects, other ballets with living choreographers – maybe even Australian, women or First Nations.</p>
<p>While this will not be the last Swan Lake we see from The Australian Ballet, Hallberg says it will be the one we see for the next couple of decades. I don’t think the fans will be disappointed.</p>
<p><em>Swan Lake is at Arts Centre Melbourne until September 30, then touring to Adelaide, Brisbane and Sydney.</em></p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/60-years-of-the-australian-ballet-and-90-years-of-australian-ballet-identity-asks-us-to-reflect-on-australian-dance-today-203931">60 years of The Australian Ballet and 90 years of 'Australian' ballet: Identity asks us to reflect on Australian dance today</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/212876/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Yvette Grant does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>In their 60-year history, this will be The Australian Ballet’s fifth take on Swan Lake. It has opened in Melbourne before touring nationally.Yvette Grant, PhD (Dance) Candidate and Dance History Tutor, The University of MelbourneLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2039312023-05-03T05:00:53Z2023-05-03T05:00:53Z60 years of The Australian Ballet and 90 years of ‘Australian’ ballet: Identity asks us to reflect on Australian dance today<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/524002/original/file-20230503-28-i6gs2i.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=36%2C0%2C8142%2C5457&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Daniel Boud/The Australian Ballet</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>When The Australian Ballet was founded in 1962, its charter stated that, alongside international repertoire and visiting international choreographers, it must engage Australian choreographers and produce Australian works.</p>
<p>But what does “Australian” look like in ballet? </p>
<p>In 1989, dancer, teacher, choreographer and director of The Ballet Guild (later Ballet Victoria) Laurel Martyn <a href="https://nla.gov.au/nla.obj-216768786/listen?searchTerm=Laurel%20Martyn">was asked</a> about what it meant for ballet to be Australian: </p>
<blockquote>
<p>It’s Australian because it comes out of our experience, what we think, how we do things […] It must come out of our own lives, our own way of seeing.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Martyn had choreographed her first Australian ballet in 1941. The project of creating Australian ballet is not a new one.</p>
<p>In 1964, Robert Helpmann claimed his ballet The Display was the first Australian ballet, because it was the first with an Australian score, designer, story and choreographer. </p>
<figure>
<iframe width="440" height="260" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/naw7IkMLO6M?wmode=transparent&start=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>
</figure>
<p>His ballet met all those criteria with its Aussie rules football, machismo, bush picnics and lyrebirds – but there had been many much earlier than his.</p>
<p>Like Helpmann’s ballet, some focused on Australian cultural life, such as Kira Bousloff’s The Beach Inspector (1958) and Rex Reid’s The Melbourne Cup (1963).</p>
<p>Others celebrated Australian industry. Joanna Priest’s The Lady Augusta (1946) was about the maiden voyage of a steamship along the Murray River to transport wool. Valrene Tweedie’s Wakooka (1955) was about life on a sheep station.</p>
<p>Still others looked to the rich natural environment, such as Martyn’s Voyageur about Australian migratory birds (1956).</p>
<p>And there were those that appropriated Australian Indigenous culture in their attempt to create an identity of this place. The most infamous of these was Beth Dean’s Corroboree with white dancers in blackface performing for Queen Elizabeth II in 1954.</p>
<p>Since then, Australian ballet has radically transformed the way that it includes First Nations identity in its construction of what it means to be Australian. The 1989 founding of Bangarra Dance Theatre was key to this new Australian identity in dance.</p>
<p>A reflection of this transformation was The Australian Ballet’s 1997 work Rites, a creation of then Bangarra artistic director Stephen Page. Page brought the two companies together in a First Nations’ reimagining of Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring.</p>
<figure>
<iframe width="440" height="260" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/84pnW-eHBjs?wmode=transparent&start=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>
</figure>
<p>At The Australian Ballet’s 30th anniversary in 1992, the company staged an Australian reimagining of The Nutcracker, choreographed by Graeme Murphy. </p>
<p>Murphy’s ballet told a story of the importance of migration to Australia: a history of how war in Europe had led many Russian dancers to stay, enriching our cultural landscape and firmly setting ballet’s roots in this country.</p>
<p>Now, for its 60th anniversary, the company is again asking what is an “Australian ballet”. This time it’s answering the question with a two-part program Identity. Identity features Wiradjuri man Daniel Riley’s THE HUM, a collaboration with Australian Dance Theatre, and Alice Topp’s Paragon, which brings back to the stage many company alumni.</p>
<p>Both works demonstrate an approach to creating an Australian ballet that, as the program suggests, “explores the community of the stage”. They each return to Martyn’s statement that for ballet to be Australian it must come from us. </p>
<p>Who is on that stage as part of that community, then, becomes critical.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/explainer-what-is-contemporary-dance-25713">Explainer: what is contemporary dance?</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>THE HUM</h2>
<p>THE HUM has a powerful First Nations presence including choreographer Riley, composer Deborah Cheetham Fraillon, costume designer Annette Sax and dancer Karra Nam, and engages a conversation not only with white settler Australia but also between contemporary dance and ballet.</p>
<p>Dancers encounter each other with a deep breath in. Holding their gaze, they drop twice at the knees with two short sharp outbreaths: confrontation and common ground. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/523998/original/file-20230503-20-3tvmov.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Dancers on stage under a neon orange sun." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/523998/original/file-20230503-20-3tvmov.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/523998/original/file-20230503-20-3tvmov.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/523998/original/file-20230503-20-3tvmov.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/523998/original/file-20230503-20-3tvmov.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/523998/original/file-20230503-20-3tvmov.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/523998/original/file-20230503-20-3tvmov.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/523998/original/file-20230503-20-3tvmov.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">THE HUM brings together dancers of The Australian Ballet and Australian Dance Theatre.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Daniel Boud/The Australian Ballet</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Black rock formations that frame the stage are turned around and repurposed, their constructed nature exposed, a metaphor for our inherited Australian identity. </p>
<p>Neon lights and projected computer-generated images combine with the natural moon, water and tree branches, reminding us we are both of country and city in the 21st century. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/524000/original/file-20230503-20-7d39uc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Dancers" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/524000/original/file-20230503-20-7d39uc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/524000/original/file-20230503-20-7d39uc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524000/original/file-20230503-20-7d39uc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524000/original/file-20230503-20-7d39uc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524000/original/file-20230503-20-7d39uc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524000/original/file-20230503-20-7d39uc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524000/original/file-20230503-20-7d39uc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Who is on the stage as part of a community becomes critical.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Daniel Boud/The Australian Ballet</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>THE HUM shows a community where members are finally facing each other but haven’t yet worked out who they are together – although they know where to begin. The audience is equally tasked with this provocation.</p>
<h2>Paragon</h2>
<p>In Paragon, Topp shows us who The Australian Ballet has been in footage, images, dance styles and in the returning dancers who carry the company’s history in their bodies. These include Marilyn Rowe, who had her debut with the company in 1965, Simon Dow, who joined in 1974, and Lucinda Dunn, who danced with the company for 24 years until 2014. </p>
<p>Topp also shows us who we might be into the future in the bodies of the company’s young dancers. </p>
<p>And in bringing these elements together on the one stage, she shows us where we are now.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/524003/original/file-20230503-21-6c6ist.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="David McAllister" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/524003/original/file-20230503-21-6c6ist.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/524003/original/file-20230503-21-6c6ist.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524003/original/file-20230503-21-6c6ist.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524003/original/file-20230503-21-6c6ist.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524003/original/file-20230503-21-6c6ist.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524003/original/file-20230503-21-6c6ist.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524003/original/file-20230503-21-6c6ist.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Paragon brings company alumni to the stage with the current crop of dancers.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Daniel Boud/The Australian Ballet</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The work exudes a combination of strength and tenderness. Avoiding any trumpet blowing, it offers a thoughtful and sometimes playful celebratory reflection: achingly nostalgic yet its own contemporary work.</p>
<p>Divided into 12 parts, it juxtaposes lyrical <em>pas de deux</em> in Grecian white with powerful ’80s Spartacus-style male <em>corps de ballet</em> in black; almost floating 19th-century ladies in long gold ball gowns moving through elegant formations with sets of duos in studio wear moving independently or in canon.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/524004/original/file-20230503-22-dytqdu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Amber Scott and Adam Bull" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/524004/original/file-20230503-22-dytqdu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/524004/original/file-20230503-22-dytqdu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524004/original/file-20230503-22-dytqdu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524004/original/file-20230503-22-dytqdu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524004/original/file-20230503-22-dytqdu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524004/original/file-20230503-22-dytqdu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524004/original/file-20230503-22-dytqdu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Paragon is achingly nostalgic yet its own contemporary work.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Daniel Boud/The Australian Ballet</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The ages of the dancers are highly visible. Older and younger bodies dance on the ballet stage together, demanding our attention. Much like THE HUM, Paragon is a result of this community, an honouring of ancestors and a revelation of ever-present history.</p>
<p>The Australian identity is a work in progress, but in Identity it is heartening to witness that one of our iconic cultural institutions is up for the challenge.</p>
<p><em>Identity is at the Sydney Opera House until May 20, and then at Arts Centre Melbourne June 16-24.</em></p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/5-australian-women-choreographers-you-should-know-and-where-to-see-them-in-2023-193213">5 Australian women choreographers you should know (and where to see them in 2023)</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/203931/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Yvette Grant receives funding from an Australian Commonwealth Scholarship.</span></em></p>The Australian Ballet’s new double-bill Identity stages the work of Daniel Riley and Alice Topp in a reflection of the identity of Australian dance – and Australia.Yvette Grant, PhD (Dance) Candidate and Dance History Tutor, The University of MelbourneLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1997792023-04-04T04:10:00Z2023-04-04T04:10:00ZChoreographic legacies, human connectivity, and a psychedelic rainbow celebration: FRAME is a joyous festival of dance<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/518927/original/file-20230403-2571-gvrfgl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=16%2C16%2C5542%2C3684&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Exposed by Restless Dance Theatre.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Roy Vandervegt/Arts House</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>Staying true to its objectives of representing dance artists from across practices and lineages, the inaugural FRAME Dance Festival offered a diversity of performance styles and forms in locations around Melbourne and beyond. </p>
<p>The program included shows, films and workshops in venues ranging from courtyards to galleries to dance studios. </p>
<p>Some offerings were political and academic, some were celebratory. Some told us personal or cultural stories; some had 100 dancers, some had one. </p>
<p>FRAME felt like a community coming together after three very difficult pandemic years for dance and dancers in Melbourne. Here are my highlights of the festival.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/5-australian-women-choreographers-you-should-know-and-where-to-see-them-in-2023-193213">5 Australian women choreographers you should know (and where to see them in 2023)</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>Mohini</h2>
<p>In a mesmerising queer retelling of Lord Vishnu’s transformation into the enchantress <a href="https://vedicfeed.com/mohini-female-avatar-of-lord-vishnu/">Mohini</a>, Raina Peterson – a Fiji-Indian and English dancer/choreographer – draws us into their sensual, visceral world where they shift from transgender storyteller to demon to Hindu goddess. </p>
<p>True to the classical Indian idiom, their wide-open unblinking eyes, bouncing brows and long articulate fingers lead the narrative, which begins on a dimly lit stage covered in low billowing clouds. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/518928/original/file-20230403-4321-dyp05b.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="A woman dances in a sari, one nipple is exposed." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/518928/original/file-20230403-4321-dyp05b.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/518928/original/file-20230403-4321-dyp05b.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/518928/original/file-20230403-4321-dyp05b.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/518928/original/file-20230403-4321-dyp05b.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/518928/original/file-20230403-4321-dyp05b.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/518928/original/file-20230403-4321-dyp05b.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/518928/original/file-20230403-4321-dyp05b.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">This is a mesmerising queer retelling of Lord Vishnu’s transformation into the enchantress Mohini.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Anne Moffat/Arts House</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Peterson is joined by Marco Cher-Gibard, who hits long, loud notes on electric guitar to a background of tinkling chimes. </p>
<p>As the story climaxes with Mohini’s recovery of the elixir of life, there is a visual metamorphosis on stage from quiet monochrome intimacy to explosive psychedelic rainbow celebration with the projection of a spinning vortex around Peterson’s ecstatic silhouetted form. </p>
<p>It is an intense and captivating experience.</p>
<h2>Slip</h2>
<p>In Slip, dancer Rebecca Jensen, dressed as the enigmatic <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Girl_with_a_Pearl_Earring">Girl with a Pearl Earring</a>, exposes the illusions created by technology in our everyday lives. </p>
<p>The bare stage appears like a workspace with only a sound desk and a scattering of quotidian objects. The performance begins with a demonstration of the sound-effect technique <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Foley_(filmmaking)">Foley</a> from Jensen’s collaborator Aviva Endean.</p>
<p>Upon entering, Jensen sits centre stage and eats, drinks and reads a newspaper while Endean creates sounds to match her actions. When Jensen eats chips, live and synchronised Endean amusingly crunches on a celery stalk. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/518965/original/file-20230403-28-ryky79.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="A woman lies on the ground." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/518965/original/file-20230403-28-ryky79.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/518965/original/file-20230403-28-ryky79.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=399&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/518965/original/file-20230403-28-ryky79.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=399&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/518965/original/file-20230403-28-ryky79.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=399&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/518965/original/file-20230403-28-ryky79.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=502&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/518965/original/file-20230403-28-ryky79.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=502&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/518965/original/file-20230403-28-ryky79.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=502&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Slip is an energetic and intellectual work.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Sarah Walker/Darebin Arts Speakeasy</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>This measured synchronicity creates a comforting rhythm – until it gradually begins to slip. </p>
<p>The sound and action become out of sync. The crunching accompanies walking. The walking sounds like water being poured. The artificiality of the sound’s relationship to the action is disturbingly laid bare. </p>
<p>The pace picks up as Jensen and Endean interact with the objects, each other and as animated dancers projected on the back screen.</p>
<p>An energetic and intellectual work, Slip keeps the audience holding on by a thread, never letting up or settling in.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/ballet-dancers-in-sensor-suits-new-research-explores-how-dance-is-used-as-a-form-of-communication-200870">Ballet dancers in sensor suits: new research explores how dance is used as a form of communication</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>Us and All of This</h2>
<p>In our era of social dysfunction, environmental disasters, pandemics and war, Us and All of This is choreographer Liesel Zink’s meditation on human connectivity. </p>
<p>The sound of loud humming white noise accompanies the 100 very slow-moving quiet bodies as one by one they fill the Arts Centre Melbourne forecourt. </p>
<p>They stand separate, motionless, facing different directions and gazing to the distance. They represent the breadth of our society: all ages, races, genders and abilities. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/519164/original/file-20230404-26-16rzvc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="A crowd of people stand with their hands outstretched." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/519164/original/file-20230404-26-16rzvc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/519164/original/file-20230404-26-16rzvc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/519164/original/file-20230404-26-16rzvc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/519164/original/file-20230404-26-16rzvc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/519164/original/file-20230404-26-16rzvc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/519164/original/file-20230404-26-16rzvc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/519164/original/file-20230404-26-16rzvc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">These dancers represent the breadth of our society: all ages, races, genders and abilities.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Mark Gambino/Arts Centre Melbourne</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>A few begin to breathe their arms gently and slowly up and down like wings. They are joined by a few more until everyone is breathing together. Changes to the movement starts with a few and gradually ripples through the whole 100 dancers. </p>
<p>As momentum builds, the synchronicity breaks down. </p>
<p>Different intense movements are now distributed randomly through the crowd: a highly energetic arm winding, a desperate curling in, a spinning with arms fully stretched and a pushing down hard towards the ground. The dancers are engrossed.</p>
<p>Sometimes they move closer to each other, sometimes further apart. And while they do not acknowledge each other until the very end, in this immersive experience we as the audience are drawn in from the start with a sense we are all in this together. </p>
<h2>Exposed</h2>
<p>Directed by Michelle Ryan, Restless Dance Theatre’s diverse dancers take us on an exploration of the physical, mental and emotional vulnerability exposed in the face of global upheaval. </p>
<p>A huge screen becomes translucent and we make out the seven dancers beyond it scattered across the stage slowly getting dressed. </p>
<p>They begin to look up as if there is something there they cannot see but are afraid of; something invisible but menacing. They start slowly turning. The screen transforms into a lung breathing over their heads. Only now do they start seeing each other. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/518930/original/file-20230403-3178-uf3nlb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Six bodies look up at a blue sheet above their heads." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/518930/original/file-20230403-3178-uf3nlb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/518930/original/file-20230403-3178-uf3nlb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/518930/original/file-20230403-3178-uf3nlb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/518930/original/file-20230403-3178-uf3nlb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/518930/original/file-20230403-3178-uf3nlb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/518930/original/file-20230403-3178-uf3nlb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/518930/original/file-20230403-3178-uf3nlb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">We see the vulnerability exposed in the face of global upheaval.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Roy Vandervegt/Arts House</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>They are jumpy, afraid of each other and of other things we cannot see. This fear develops into an emotional desperation in some. Others become violent. Still others show signs of physical suffering. </p>
<p>They begin to attempt to help each other. </p>
<p>The screen moves once more to become a backdrop. The dancers now move with each other, connecting, smiling, learning to give and accept care. The motifs of the breath and physical turning and rolling throughout the work, together with a serene and repetitive score, create a sense of continuation and inevitability, of a human condition that insists on struggling on, that has no choice. </p>
<p>This tender work closes as it began, the dancers separate and turn inward once more as they slowly and quietly undress.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/guttered-a-joyful-immersion-and-subversion-of-expectations-between-the-bowling-lanes-156204">Guttered: a joyful immersion and subversion of expectations between the bowling lanes</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>Somewhere at the Beginning</h2>
<p>Known as the mother of modern African dance, Senegalese French dancer Germaine Acogny moves us through the continual returns of inescapable pasts in a haunting post-colonial epic. </p>
<p>With direction by Mikael Serre, this multimedia bricolage shifts from the intimate corporeality of the weight of a stone on a foot to the museum-like objective formality of 20th century film footage and documentary voice over. </p>
<p>A beaded curtain which divides the stage into back and front is traversed throughout, representing the movement between different worlds, past and present, African and European. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/518931/original/file-20230403-3782-y1wzv3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="A Black woman dances surrounded by feathers." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/518931/original/file-20230403-3782-y1wzv3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/518931/original/file-20230403-3782-y1wzv3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/518931/original/file-20230403-3782-y1wzv3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/518931/original/file-20230403-3782-y1wzv3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/518931/original/file-20230403-3782-y1wzv3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/518931/original/file-20230403-3782-y1wzv3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/518931/original/file-20230403-3782-y1wzv3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Germaine Acogny is the mother of modern African dance.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Thomas Dorn/Arts House</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>In a long, grey dress, Acogny moves deliberately and heavily with only a book, a stone, a pillow and a chair to accompany her. We are confronted with a variety of stories: some deeply personal, some culturally shared and some highly academic. </p>
<p>Themes around identity relentlessly recur throughout the work imitating the insistence of the colonial legacy they illustrate. The same story of powder used to whiten faces manifests at different times in projection, voice and in its sprinkling around the stage. </p>
<p>Without lightness or relief, Somewhere at the Beginning demands we bear witness to its account of the tragedy and persistence of cultural and colonial trauma.</p>
<h2>NEWRETRO</h2>
<p>Lucy Guerin’s three-hour marathon 21st-birthday celebration is a director’s cut of 21 works reenacted by 21 dancers who, along with their audience, move in and out of all four galleries of the Australian Centre for Contemporary Art. </p>
<p>In this shift from blacked-out theatre to white cube, Guerin shows us a version of her works we have not seen before. We encounter the dancers on and off stage: close-up, sweaty and raw. As the audience we not only see, but are also seen. </p>
<p>The larger main gallery exhibits a built-up remix of vocabularies with different groups of dancers simultaneously performing excerpts clearly drawn from different Guerin works. The movement is at times hyper-energetic, pounding with unexpected grunts and screams, and at other times minimal, quiet and pedestrian. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/518967/original/file-20230403-16-bhn2vb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="A white room, an audience around the edge, a mass of dancers in black." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/518967/original/file-20230403-16-bhn2vb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/518967/original/file-20230403-16-bhn2vb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/518967/original/file-20230403-16-bhn2vb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/518967/original/file-20230403-16-bhn2vb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/518967/original/file-20230403-16-bhn2vb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/518967/original/file-20230403-16-bhn2vb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/518967/original/file-20230403-16-bhn2vb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Close-up, sweaty and raw where we encounter the dancers on and off stage and as audience.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Gregory Lorenzutti/ACCA</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The more intimate and darker corner gallery has a schedule of five duets, while the other two galleries show original footage of all 21 works and a demonstration of the process undertaken by the dancers working with footage to learn the choreography. </p>
<p>With a cast of some of Melbourne’s most beloved dancers including Lilian Steiner, Deanne Butterworth and Melanie Lane, NEWRETRO is a landmark event in its memorialisation of a local woman choreographer who has not only produced 21 works in 21 years but has also supported and mentored many others as both dancers and choreographers. </p>
<p>It felt like a very satisfying way to end my FRAME journey.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/in-motion-picture-dancers-drive-a-cinematic-story-onstage-39105">In Motion Picture, dancers drive a cinematic story onstage</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/199779/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Yvette Grant works as a lecturer in Dance at The Victorian College of the Arts and as a graduate researcher and receives some funding from The University of Melbourne and a Commonwealth government scholarship.</span></em></p>Some offerings were political and academic, some were celebratory. Some told us personal or cultural stories, some had 100 dancers, some had one.Yvette Grant, PhD (Dance) Candidate and dance history tutor, The University of MelbourneLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1950032022-11-22T03:27:18Z2022-11-22T03:27:18ZThe West Australian Ballet’s Swan Lake brings the story to Perth – but the Noongar elements never feel completely integrated<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496348/original/file-20221121-17525-tigpzo.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C5%2C3362%2C2230&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">West Australian Ballet/Bradbury Photography</span></span></figcaption></figure><p><em>Review: Swan Lake, West Australian Ballet</em></p>
<p>Opening this production of Swan Lake is the traditional Noongar black swan dance and the song that accompanies it. </p>
<p>Led by Noongar Leader Barry McGuire, the Noongar swan dance from Gya Ngoop Keeninyarra (One Blood Dancers) is a gentle, measured piece.</p>
<p>The five dancers come across in a line, raise their legs into a sharp angle just below the hips and push the leg down precisely – but not with the force of many Indigenous dances. </p>
<p>In this scene, and when they reappear throughout the ballet, each has a flexible bower or rod before their chest which is shaken gently. The nature of this object varies: at one point white feathers fan over the wounded Odette (Kiki Saito); later it is black feathers.</p>
<p>The placing of the Noongar dancers into a snaking line resonates with the later straight lines of ballerinas, such as the ballet’s famous cygnet dance, integrating the Noongar dancers into the choreography.</p>
<p>But the Noongar materials are small dramatic interjections into what is otherwise a typical late Romantic ballet. Choreographer Krzysztof Pastor reproduces something familiar with a dash of local flavour. </p>
<p>The European aristocratic Romantic ballet – complete with period costumes, choreographic highlights and most of Tchaikovsky’s original score – is lifted out of its original context and into a Western Australian setting. The success or otherwise depends on whether one feels this is desirable or even possible.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496349/original/file-20221121-18-hnyp88.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="A ballet stage." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496349/original/file-20221121-18-hnyp88.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496349/original/file-20221121-18-hnyp88.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=298&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496349/original/file-20221121-18-hnyp88.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=298&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496349/original/file-20221121-18-hnyp88.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=298&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496349/original/file-20221121-18-hnyp88.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=374&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496349/original/file-20221121-18-hnyp88.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=374&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496349/original/file-20221121-18-hnyp88.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=374&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">This is a familiar ballet, with a dash of local flavour.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">West Australian Ballet/Bradbury Photography</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>A West Australian story</h2>
<p>It is 19th century Perth, rather than Russia. The character of Prince Siegfried becomes Sebastian Hampshire (Oscar Valdés), son of wealthy developer John Hampshire (Christian Luck), and his close friend is now Mowadji (Noongar actor Kyle Morrison).</p>
<p>Changes in story-line come unstuck with the character of Baron von Rothbart, originally a shapeshifting sorcerer, who becomes William Greenwood (Matthew Lehmann). </p>
<p>Although identified of settler descent, he is able to transform into the totemic animal of the <em>waalitj</em>, or wedge tailed eagle, which Noongar scholar Len Collard identifies as the most powerful bird on this Country, a “<a href="https://www.westerlymag.com.au/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/WesterlyVol.54Leonard-M.Collard.pdf">guardian of both the earth and the sun</a>.”</p>
<p>Greenwood uses his evil avian magic to keep Odette under his spell as a white swan (such as one finds in Europe) until a man declares his love for her. </p>
<p>Greenwood also deploys Odile (sometimes played as Odette’s other self, but here a distinct character, peerlessly danced by Chihiro Nomura) the task of wooing Sebastian so Greenwood might join his dynasty with Sebastian’s.</p>
<p>Although she is a lone white swan on Noongar Country, Odette is protected by both the Noongar dancers and the <em>corps de ballet</em> of local magical black swans. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496350/original/file-20221121-13-lm81ff.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Noongar dancers carry Odette." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496350/original/file-20221121-13-lm81ff.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496350/original/file-20221121-13-lm81ff.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496350/original/file-20221121-13-lm81ff.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496350/original/file-20221121-13-lm81ff.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496350/original/file-20221121-13-lm81ff.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496350/original/file-20221121-13-lm81ff.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496350/original/file-20221121-13-lm81ff.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Odette is protected by the Noongar dancers.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">West Australian Ballet/Bradbury Photography</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Dressed in black, the <em>corps’</em> dance by the lake is nevertheless in the traditional mode. Rows of ballerinas crossing in complex patterns are rightly a highlight. Pastor packs an impressive troupe of over 20 ballerinas on stage without it feeling cluttered.</p>
<p>Lehmann as the eagle comes out less well, his beautiful but heavy costume featuring a chainmail vest making it hard to elevate his leaps. He is nevertheless an impressive, weighty presence.</p>
<h2>A confusing marriage</h2>
<p>Indigenous Dreaming stories <a href="https://openresearch-repository.anu.edu.au/handle/1885/114726">often</a> feature battles between supra-natural human-animal hybrids, some of whom are vicious and immoral, even if there are generally important lessons to be learned from dances and songs. Here, the program promotes the West Australian Ballet’s version as offering a lesson in environmentalism and Noongar wisdom. </p>
<p>Greenwood and John Hampshire join alliances to build their power by enslaving swans and manipulating the lovers. This leads to Sebastian trying to save Odette as she is forced into the lake. He follows her into the water and both drown. Mowadji and his friends, the dancers of Gya Ngoop Keeninyarra, bear Sebastian’s body aloft to the grave.</p>
<p>This is however a confusing marriage of motifs. Was Russian magic blended with that of Australia, or are Greenwood’s acts a metaphor for Russian ballet’s history in Australia? It certainly ends badly.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496351/original/file-20221121-13513-ktnoni.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="A grande jete." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496351/original/file-20221121-13513-ktnoni.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496351/original/file-20221121-13513-ktnoni.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=368&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496351/original/file-20221121-13513-ktnoni.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=368&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496351/original/file-20221121-13513-ktnoni.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=368&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496351/original/file-20221121-13513-ktnoni.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=462&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496351/original/file-20221121-13513-ktnoni.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=462&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496351/original/file-20221121-13513-ktnoni.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=462&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Polly Hilton is superb as a Spanish dancer.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">West Australian Ballet/Bradbury Photography</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>In the end, these conundrums are irrelevant. In such a classic model, the story is an excuse for dancing, not a tight narrative vehicle. The retention of ethnic dance interludes – where groups of dancers perform the traditional styles of the Hungarian czardas, a Spanish flamenco, a Neapolitan sequence and a Polish mazurka – demonstrates this. These colourful interjections (and Polly Hilton is indeed superb as the Spanish dancer) contribute nothing to the plot.</p>
<p>In light of this, it is hard not to see the Noongar dance as another dab of ethnic detailing in a multicoloured palette of native tropes. Placing the Noongar swan dance at the beginning does prioritise it. Played as a non-dancing part, Mowadji’s role here is that of a sidekick, gazing in admiration as Sebastian dances centre stage, even if Morrison’s magnetic presence gives his gestures considerable power.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496352/original/file-20221121-62835-dpop34.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="A grande jete." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496352/original/file-20221121-62835-dpop34.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496352/original/file-20221121-62835-dpop34.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=337&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496352/original/file-20221121-62835-dpop34.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=337&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496352/original/file-20221121-62835-dpop34.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=337&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496352/original/file-20221121-62835-dpop34.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496352/original/file-20221121-62835-dpop34.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496352/original/file-20221121-62835-dpop34.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The setting is West Australia – but the ballet is largely unchanged.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">West Australian Ballet/Bradbury Photography</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>In the end, both the strength and the weakness of the production is that Romantic ballet as a cultural and aesthetic concept remains unchanged by the addition of Noongar and Western Australian elements. </p>
<p>Noongar and the ballet company’s artists do not dance together. While the Noongar dancers briefly pose to Tchaikovsky’s score, the settler-descent artists do not dance to McGuire’s singing. Choreographic motifs particular to the races confront each other from across an abyss.</p>
<p>The West Australian Ballet’s Swan Lake is a thought-provoking, beautifully danced piece – but it does not resolve the challenges the artists set themselves.</p>
<p><em>The Swan Lake plays at His Majesty’s Theatre, Perth, until December 11.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/195003/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Jonathan W. Marshall does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Choreographer Krzysztof Pastor reproduces something familiar with a dash of local flavour.Jonathan W. Marshall, Associate Professor & Postgraduate Research Coordinator, Western Australian Academy of Performing Arts, Edith Cowan UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1836422022-06-23T01:32:30Z2022-06-23T01:32:30ZHow Rising festival brought us dance in times of plague<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/469128/original/file-20220616-16-u9v490.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C0%2C1546%2C834&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Abby Murray/Rising</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>Three years in the making, Rising’s much-anticipated first edition brought to Melbourne’s festival-deprived audiences a rich program featuring 225 events. </p>
<p>With former Chunky Move founder and choreographer Gideon Obarzanek as co-director, it was only natural to expect a dance-heavy presence with eight local and international productions.</p>
<p>The works ranged from incredible local performer Jo Lloyd and her dancers in dialogue with drummer Jim White and guitarist Emmett Kelly, to the exquisite Indonesian dancer and choreographer Rianto’s ritualistic Hijra'h, but there were three works which I felt particularly captured something of this post-pandemic age.</p>
<h2>Jurrungu Ngan-ga/Straight Talk</h2>
<p>Marrugeku’s productions have often been straight talk – powerful invitations to reflect on the devastating effects of ongoing colonialism as experienced daily by Indigenous people and other marginalised communities. </p>
<p>Their works are almost always the result of intercultural collaborations, expressed through complex choreography expanding into spoken text, multimedia installations and diverse styles of dance. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/469131/original/file-20220616-15-u8ydxr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Production image" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/469131/original/file-20220616-15-u8ydxr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/469131/original/file-20220616-15-u8ydxr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/469131/original/file-20220616-15-u8ydxr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/469131/original/file-20220616-15-u8ydxr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/469131/original/file-20220616-15-u8ydxr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/469131/original/file-20220616-15-u8ydxr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/469131/original/file-20220616-15-u8ydxr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Jurrungu Ngan Marrugeku is complex choreography expanding into spoken text, multimedia installations and diverse styles of dance.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Prudence Upton/ Rising</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>This production is no different, inspired by ideas and experience contributed as material by choreographer Dalisa Pigram’s own grandfather Yawuru leader and senator Patrick Dodson, Kurdish Iranian writer and former Manus Island detainee Behrouz Boochani and Iranian-Australian scholar-activist Omid Tofighian. </p>
<p>Jurrungu Ngan-ga tackles the devastating consequences of Australia’s entrenched, government-sanctioned fixation with punishment through detention and incarceration.</p>
<p>The show brings together a cast of nine dancers of multiple backgrounds (from First Peoples, refugee, transgender and settler communities) who also contribute their embodied stories and histories to the piece.</p>
<p>It starts with a subtly exquisite solo, the dancer embracing the space with ample movement flowing freely. As it unfolds, movement becomes cagier, as if restrained, constrained by invisible barriers. It prefaces the next solo, a man pacing in a cell of light watched by a camera. He is in turn surveying by us watching the camera footage. </p>
<p>This is a man caged in a prison, caged in a body, and the movement – no longer ample – pulsates with repressed anger. </p>
<p>From here, the choreography grows into dizzying ensemble moments, including a surreal moment when the dancers navigate their way through a stage occupied by glowing crystal chandeliers lowered to the ground. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/469633/original/file-20220620-26-fyeixs.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Production image" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/469633/original/file-20220620-26-fyeixs.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/469633/original/file-20220620-26-fyeixs.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=295&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/469633/original/file-20220620-26-fyeixs.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=295&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/469633/original/file-20220620-26-fyeixs.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=295&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/469633/original/file-20220620-26-fyeixs.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=371&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/469633/original/file-20220620-26-fyeixs.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=371&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/469633/original/file-20220620-26-fyeixs.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=371&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The choreography grows into dizzying ensemble moments.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Abby Murray/Rising</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>There is everything in this piece, from police abuse to spit-hoods to video surveillance, to naked bodies dumped on the floor with a muffled thump, to names of those who have perished in police custody or in detention. There is abuse and humiliation and moments of protest, of fury, and joy, wild and unapologetic.</p>
<p>The choreography is a breathtaking tour de force delivered by fierce bodies telling their dire stories. Although nothing is accusatory here, there is no breathing space for the audiences but to take it all in. As the final solo arrives, soothing and somewhat majestic, ears still resonate with the powerful rapping “this is Australia”. </p>
<p>This is Australia at its ugliest, in its fear of everything not from here, of everyone “not like us”, a mirror talking back at us. </p>
<p>Jurrungu Ngan-ga is truly a piece of its plagued times, viscerally sharp and brutally raw, so raw that it cuts to the bone, and the call to action at the end may well be the only way to catch the breath. </p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/comic-anticlimax-in-nat-randall-and-anna-breckons-set-piece-183624">Comic anticlimax in Nat Randall and Anna Breckon’s Set Piece</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>The Dancing Public</h2>
<p>Danish choreographer Mette Ingvartsen’s The Dancing Public is also a piece about plagued times and as visceral as Marrugeku’s, yet very different. </p>
<p>We step into the dimly lit space. The music is raving and Ingvartsen, mingling with the audience, is inviting everyone to spread around. Some are starting to move with the music as they inspect the space. Then Ingvartsen gets up on one of the three platforms placed here and there, and starts to dance.</p>
<p>Furiously, relentlessly, her body pulses, throbs, possessed by the beats, convulsing in trance-like gestures. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/469132/original/file-20220616-14-ow1343.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/469132/original/file-20220616-14-ow1343.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/469132/original/file-20220616-14-ow1343.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/469132/original/file-20220616-14-ow1343.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/469132/original/file-20220616-14-ow1343.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/469132/original/file-20220616-14-ow1343.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/469132/original/file-20220616-14-ow1343.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/469132/original/file-20220616-14-ow1343.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Furiously, relentlessly, her body pulses, throbs, possessed by the beats, convulsing in trance-like gestures.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Michael Pham/Rising</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>As she dances, she chants about the unexplained hysterical mass dancing episodes that started in the 1300 in south of France and continued over time. People danced till they dropped, their feet covered in blood and their minds covered in fog. It was the time of mediaeval plaques and poverty. </p>
<p>She joins the crowds again and dances with anyone as she swirls her way to the other platform to tell us some more. She keeps dancing. There is no sweat dripping off her body, no heavy breathing. She is fury unleashed and it is mesmerising to watch. We forget about dancing. </p>
<p>Suddenly, she hurls her body over the platform railing and leaves it hanging there, in a rare moment of stillness, no sweat dripping, and we, with her, suspend our breath. And the dancing kicks off again, and goes on and on and at the end, she leaves us alone, to dance… or not.</p>
<p>If Dancing Public is about the public dancing it fails. The contagion from one body to the other does not take. Participatory dance shows are always tricky – they really depend on the audience mood and the dramaturgical tricks giving the cues. They also depend on who is in the room, and in Melbourne, given the ticket price, it wasn’t exactly the crowd most inclined to dance. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/469634/original/file-20220620-16-39rl77.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/469634/original/file-20220620-16-39rl77.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/469634/original/file-20220620-16-39rl77.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/469634/original/file-20220620-16-39rl77.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/469634/original/file-20220620-16-39rl77.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/469634/original/file-20220620-16-39rl77.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/469634/original/file-20220620-16-39rl77.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/469634/original/file-20220620-16-39rl77.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">She is fury unleashed and it is mesmerising to watch. We forget about dancing.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Michael Pham/Rising</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Dancing Public is indeed an experiment that needs to be experienced with the body, through the body. It is all that we have missed during these last two years. And here lies the merit of this show, in it turning a story from the past into some important questions for today: would we have all taken to the streets dancing if confinement had continued? </p>
<p>Could this be a new form of protest in our heavily policed socially-distanced post pandemic reality? Dancing manias were considered a threat to public order as crowds could be neither controlled nor explained. </p>
<p>In this sense, this show is more an invitation to consider our relationship to social norms, to being together, to acting collectively. How we respond to this invitation will depend on who is ready to let go. </p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/from-creepy-clowns-to-the-dancing-plague-when-phobias-are-contagious-67805">From creepy clowns to the dancing plague – when phobias are contagious</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>Multitud</h2>
<p>At the start of Multitud, from the Uruguayan choreographer Tamara Cubas, the 72 volunteer performers are part of the audience – then, they step onto the stage, one by one, facing us. Bodies standing tall, lit by discreet fluoro lights. </p>
<p>Suddenly one bends, like a broken puppet, then another. Some fall to the ground, some crouch. Some rise back up, some don’t. </p>
<p>Later, they start running in circles. The circles grow into a spinning whirlwind. </p>
<p>They all coalesce into a vortex of piled, panting bodies, pulsing like magma, until they breathe as one: one single breath. A pause, and they erupt into a thunderous laughter. It is hilarious. It is hysterical, too, as they come together again into a crowd, frenzied and threatening this time, out of control, taking aim and tugging ferociously at a teenager in a green jumper. </p>
<p>They are vile.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/469635/original/file-20220620-20-64rfuc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/469635/original/file-20220620-20-64rfuc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/469635/original/file-20220620-20-64rfuc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/469635/original/file-20220620-20-64rfuc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/469635/original/file-20220620-20-64rfuc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/469635/original/file-20220620-20-64rfuc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/469635/original/file-20220620-20-64rfuc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/469635/original/file-20220620-20-64rfuc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">They step onto the stage, one by one, facing us. Bodies standing tall.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Michelle Li/Rising</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The teenager stares at us as we witness what may turn into a public lynching. But the crowd calms down and there is silence and stillness again as they all watch us, the teenager and the attackers. In this suspended moment, one piercing cry is made of everyone’s cry. There is fury and anger and tears, real tears. </p>
<p>One wonders if we have caused them, placid witnesses of someone’s misery. Appeased, the crowd slowly disintegrates and retreats in the shadows backstage. In their final coming together, somehow they have lost their clothes. No, they have exchanged their clothes, nonchalantly at first, with sharper precision as they take or give, some are naked, some wear the wrong shoes, clothes fly everywhere, scattered now on the floor, some keep searching, some let go.</p>
<p>Multitud places the directions and the power of the actual choreography in the hands of the group – they decide where to start, what to do, how to end. They can opt out too. Every night is different. Every time is different. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/469134/original/file-20220616-13059-frc1g0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/469134/original/file-20220616-13059-frc1g0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/469134/original/file-20220616-13059-frc1g0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/469134/original/file-20220616-13059-frc1g0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/469134/original/file-20220616-13059-frc1g0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/469134/original/file-20220616-13059-frc1g0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/469134/original/file-20220616-13059-frc1g0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/469134/original/file-20220616-13059-frc1g0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Multitud RISING.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Michelle Li/ RISING</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Multitud succeeds where The Dancing Public fails. This, too, is an exquisite reflection on being together and acting collectively, yet this is about what holds us together as a collective. </p>
<p>This is not choreography for the masses, rather it is a multitude of relations between individual bodies, each affecting or being affected by the other. It is about being in communion; attentive, alert, attuned to the other. Then we become responsible for what we do collectively. </p>
<p>Multitud is fiercely political and delicately poetic, a tribute to what dance can (still) do in times of plague.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/writing-movement-why-dance-criticism-matters-58417">Writing movement: why dance criticism matters</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/183642/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Angela Conquet does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>With former Chunky Move founder and choreographer Gideon Obarzanek as co-director, dance had a heavy presence at this year’s Rising festival.Angela Conquet, PhD Candidate, The University of MelbourneLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1753322022-03-21T00:18:33Z2022-03-21T00:18:33Z‘Innovative and thrilling’: Stephanie Lake’s Manifesto is a joy<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/453167/original/file-20220320-23-1wmauj.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C0%2C5559%2C2984&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Roy Vandervegt/Adelaide Festival</span></span></figcaption></figure><p><em>Review: Manifesto, choreographed by Stephanie Lake, Adelaide Festival</em></p>
<p>Nine drummers, nine dancers, what’s not to love? So ran my imaginary opening line for this review.</p>
<p>But Manifesto, choreographed by Melbourne-based Stephanie Lake is much more complex and satisfying than the mere pairing of dancers with drummers might suggest.</p>
<p>As the show opens, drummers are seated and equipped with a standard drum kit: bass, snare and tom drums and cymbals.</p>
<p>Charles Davis’s classy set is reminiscent of a 1930s <a href="https://www.britannica.com/biography/Busby-Berkeley">Busby Berkeley movie</a>. Drummers occupy raised positions along the back of the stage. Lush, red hanging curtains fill the visual field, with a niche for each drummer.</p>
<p>The work starts with simple beats. Beats don’t necessarily create rhythm. Beats can simply be sounds that seem to come from nowhere and suddenly stop, as they do early in the work.</p>
<p>On the silent beat, dancers freeze in a dramatic tableau, enhanced by Bosco Shaw’s beautifully focused lighting. Single beats turn into a succession. Dancers seem to magically appear from nowhere. Freezing, they create unexpected focal points. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/453166/original/file-20220320-25-xzzvub.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=50%2C0%2C5568%2C3700&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/453166/original/file-20220320-25-xzzvub.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=50%2C0%2C5568%2C3700&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/453166/original/file-20220320-25-xzzvub.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/453166/original/file-20220320-25-xzzvub.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/453166/original/file-20220320-25-xzzvub.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/453166/original/file-20220320-25-xzzvub.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/453166/original/file-20220320-25-xzzvub.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/453166/original/file-20220320-25-xzzvub.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Just when you think a pattern is being established, the work shifts.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Roy Vandervegt/Adelaide Festival</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Gesture and composition direct the eye, often to an individual dancer. But just when you think a pattern is being established, a new sequence of beats and images sears into the retina.</p>
<p>Sounds become increasingly complex, with drum rolls, shallow beats and rolling trills on the snare drum. The clang of the cymbals suggests a storm moving in. Later, drummers make seemingly impossible sounds reminiscent of industrial noise.</p>
<h2>Continuously morphing</h2>
<p>Like the choreography of <a href="https://www.britannica.com/biography/Twyla-Tharp">Twyla Tharp</a>, the movements of Lake’s dancers are often recognisable from daily life, though enhanced and embellished. Each successive movement is utterly unpredictable, executed in a delightfully relaxed and fluid manner, with seemingly effortless falls, leaps and catches. </p>
<p>Movement is at times silly, as in a butt wiggle that makes the kids in the audience squeal with delight, but also sexy, with hips and asses drawing attention to the beauty of human form in motion. </p>
<p>When the dancers come together, we don’t see formations being set up as they’re unfolding so fluidly and rapidly. Everything shifts constantly, continuously morphing: a series of collective shapes and forms that can’t be predicted. </p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/453168/original/file-20220320-17-1xmwhlg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/453168/original/file-20220320-17-1xmwhlg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/453168/original/file-20220320-17-1xmwhlg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/453168/original/file-20220320-17-1xmwhlg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/453168/original/file-20220320-17-1xmwhlg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/453168/original/file-20220320-17-1xmwhlg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=502&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/453168/original/file-20220320-17-1xmwhlg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=502&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/453168/original/file-20220320-17-1xmwhlg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=502&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The dancers are sometimes silly, sometimes sexy.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Roy Vandervegt/Adelaide Festival</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Beats turn into longer rhythmic sequences as bodies are held aloft, on the floor, flying across and off the stage, constantly shifting. Moments of high drama increasingly come fast and furiously. </p>
<p>At times dancers appear to be fighting to regain control of bodies, as if the body has a mind of its own. </p>
<p>As the drumming builds and the energy heats up, the men doff their shirts. It’s as if a series of perpetual motion machines have been activated. </p>
<p>In another sequence, choreography focuses on the hands and arms manipulating the body in uncomfortable and disturbing ways. It is reminiscent of the choreography of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pina_Bausch">Pina Bausch</a>, but unlike Bausch’s work, Lake’s dancers are not being acted upon by others, but touch their own body as if it is not their own.</p>
<h2>Anything can happen</h2>
<p>As dancers roll, fly, and bounce off the floors individually and in pairs and small groups, it is clear how Lake’s choreography highlights the individual strengths of her cast. Similarly, composer Robin Fox has successfully marshalled a clearly differentiated set of drummers with diverse skill sets and sounds. </p>
<p>Racing toward the final coda, dancing becomes increasingly hyperkinetic. With jumping kicks, the work takes on an almost gladiatorial, confrontational quality. </p>
<p>Just as quickly, the movement switches into a kind of whirling dervish mode, enhanced by the swaying light fabric of Paula Levis’ costumes. These costumes drape, move, flow, and enhance movement, drawing attention to the diverse body styles of the dancers and turning dancers into characters we can track.</p>
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<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Lake’s choreography highlights the strengths of her dancers.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Roy Vandervegt/Adelaide Festival</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>In the work’s penultimate moment, a heart beat brings all the dancers together, then apart, then together.</p>
<p>A rhythmic sequence is introduced and repeated, a kind of military tattoo the audience can discern and unconsciously anticipate. The dancing takes on an increasingly ecstatic quality and we’re with them on the beat.</p>
<p>There is a purposeful contrast between the precision and repetition of the martial, parade-like beat, and the free and playful – even sexy – spirit of the dancers, increasingly moving into a state of wild abandon. </p>
<p>Dancers move down to the lip of stage as total mayhem results. One streaks naked across the stage. The work ends at an absolute fever pitch. When I saw it, the audience leapt to their feet, compelled to rise and shout.</p>
<p>Manifesto is a beautifully and carefully crafted work, one that continually keeps the audience in a state of not knowing what will happen next. </p>
<p>Anything can happen in this tightly crafted, remarkably innovative and thrilling work. And it does.</p>
<p><em>Adelaide season closed. Manifesto will play at Rising: Melbourne in June.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/175332/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>William Peterson does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Choreographer Stephanie Lake brings together nine dancers and nine drummers in this thrillingly original work.William Peterson, Adjunct Associate Professor, Auckland University of TechnologyLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1768012022-02-14T03:18:51Z2022-02-14T03:18:51ZThe new dance work And the Earth will Swallow Them Whole is unsettling and deeply engaging<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/446142/original/file-20220214-21-1gugn5q.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=32%2C8%2C5431%2C3628&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Emma Fishwick/Perth Festival</span></span></figcaption></figure><p><em>Review: And the Earth will Swallow Them Whole, choreographed by Rachel Arianne Ogle</em></p>
<p>The first act of And the Earth will Swallow Them Whole, performed in Perth’s aptly-named Studio Underground, positions the audience around the edge of a three-sided balcony looking down into the black space and an open-topped grand piano. </p>
<p>Pianist and composer Gabriella Smart begins with a solo rendition of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. She is subsequently joined by composer Luke Smiles who manipulates and extends the piano sound to co-create a live score that transforms the familiar piano sonata into something new and unrecognisable. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/446143/original/file-20220214-21-nled36.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="A woman plays piano, a man sits at a desk." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/446143/original/file-20220214-21-nled36.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/446143/original/file-20220214-21-nled36.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=398&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/446143/original/file-20220214-21-nled36.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=398&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/446143/original/file-20220214-21-nled36.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=398&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/446143/original/file-20220214-21-nled36.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=500&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/446143/original/file-20220214-21-nled36.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=500&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/446143/original/file-20220214-21-nled36.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=500&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Music from the prepared piano is unsettling and deeply engaging.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Emma Fishwick/Perth Festival</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Created on an electronically <a href="https://www.smithsonianmag.com/innovation/how-composer-john-cage-transformed-piano-with-help-some-household-objects-180973206/">prepared piano</a>, the score is a disconcerting amalgam of classical piano and electronic distortion. At times we see the pianist’s hands at work but no longer hear sounds that you’d usually associate with a piano. </p>
<p>It is an unsettling and deeply engaging prelude to the entrance of the dancers.</p>
<p>As the ensemble of six dancers come into view they seem, at first, weightless, almost adrift. The added plane provided by watching them from above creates an almost vertiginous effect in the viewer. </p>
<p>The longer you look down the more your sense of perspective is challenged and unmoored. Akin to that tingling sensation in the soles of your feet when you keep your eyes on the track as the train pulls into the station, there is a sense of simultaneously falling and standing still. The movement of the dancers seems to mirror that state.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/446144/original/file-20220214-55472-1oaetum.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Six dancers" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/446144/original/file-20220214-55472-1oaetum.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/446144/original/file-20220214-55472-1oaetum.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=387&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/446144/original/file-20220214-55472-1oaetum.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=387&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/446144/original/file-20220214-55472-1oaetum.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=387&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/446144/original/file-20220214-55472-1oaetum.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=486&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/446144/original/file-20220214-55472-1oaetum.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=486&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/446144/original/file-20220214-55472-1oaetum.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=486&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Watching from above, your sense of perspective is challenged and unmoored.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Emma Fishwick/Perth Festival</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>They warp and weft between connection and disconnection, evoking rescue and sacrifice, of each other and themselves. </p>
<p>From our perspective the dancers sometimes seem almost supine. They create images that hold and then just as quickly disintegrate. Their exquisite ensemble work is beautifully sculptured by Bosco Shaw’s lighting design that seems to both hide and reveal. </p>
<p>The work segues seamlessly through variations of movement until the haze lifts to reveal a kind of landscape of markings on the floor. I am reminded of <a href="https://www.jstor.org/stable/40755007">Gertrude Stein’s response</a> upon first looking down at the flat landscape from the window of an aeroplane, of how it consolidated her resistance to the specificity of time and place.</p>
<p>Without familiar reference points we are all time, all space. And so the dancers are individuals, pairs, whole nations, falling away and raising again, together and alone, history passing.</p>
<p>The first act finale introduces another layer to the view from above making gorgeous use of a piece of fabric that billows and falls, engulfs and retracts around the lone figure of dancer (Zee Zunnur). Facilitated by the other dancers it is a mesmerising allusion to the title of the piece. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/446145/original/file-20220214-17-gxnonh.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="A dancer enveloped by a giant sheet of silk." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/446145/original/file-20220214-17-gxnonh.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/446145/original/file-20220214-17-gxnonh.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/446145/original/file-20220214-17-gxnonh.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/446145/original/file-20220214-17-gxnonh.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/446145/original/file-20220214-17-gxnonh.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/446145/original/file-20220214-17-gxnonh.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/446145/original/file-20220214-17-gxnonh.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">We are frail in the face of unstoppable external forces.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Emma Fishwick/Perth Festival</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Equal parts hypnotic and repellent, it speaks to a sense of temporality and frailty in the face of unstoppable external forces and it is a particular highlight.</p>
<h2>Immersive patience</h2>
<p>The second act provides an immediate change of perspective as the audience enters through different doors to arrive on the floor with the dancers. Standing or sitting, we circle the dancers as they enact rituals of devotion, death and burial around the figure of Zunnur. </p>
<p>For the audience, it is an exercise in immersive patience. By the end the actions and focus of the performers have transformed both the space and the atmosphere so there is a sense that we are all breathing together, as equal observers and participants. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/446147/original/file-20220214-23-1ogocq1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="A staged funeral" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/446147/original/file-20220214-23-1ogocq1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/446147/original/file-20220214-23-1ogocq1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=413&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/446147/original/file-20220214-23-1ogocq1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=413&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/446147/original/file-20220214-23-1ogocq1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=413&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/446147/original/file-20220214-23-1ogocq1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=519&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/446147/original/file-20220214-23-1ogocq1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=519&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/446147/original/file-20220214-23-1ogocq1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=519&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">We are all breathing together, as equal observers and participants.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Emma Fishwick/Perth Festival</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Here again the lighting, sound and design work together exquisitely. The live score, like the bodies of the dancers, builds and breaks down and builds again, constantly transforming, like all of us.</p>
<p>In collaboration with her dancers and creative team, choreographer Rachel Arianne Ogle’s adherence to an exploration of mortality and death is steadfast and all-encompassing. </p>
<p>Casting a cartographical eye on the space between life and death And the Earth will Swallow Them Whole is an impressive collaboration between artists, a work that deals in images and sounds that leave an indelible imprint on the senses.</p>
<p><em>And the Earth will Swallow Them Whole plays at Perth Festival until February 14.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/176801/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Leah Mercer does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Rachel Arianne Ogle’s new chorography is an exploration of mortality and death.Leah Mercer, Associate Professor of Theatre Arts, Curtin UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1739872022-01-31T04:56:14Z2022-01-31T04:56:14Z‘We are a nation of jailers’: Jurrungu Ngan-ga is a whirlwind of bodily resistance<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/443294/original/file-20220130-13-36dzge.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C5%2C3513%2C2487&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Abby Murray</span></span></figcaption></figure><p><em>Review: Jurrungu Ngan-ga, directed by Dalisa Pigram and Rachael Swain for Marrugeku</em></p>
<p>Jurrungu Ngan-ga, a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yawuru">Yawuru</a> kinship concept meaning “straight talk”, is a throbbing protest about the violence experienced by Indigenous, racial, trans and queer Australia. </p>
<p>At its heart, a group of misfits share painful experiences in a way that reasserts their being-in-the-world, in this powerful performance from Broome-based dance company Marrugeku. </p>
<p>Directed by Dalisa Pigram and Rachael Swain, with Behrouz Bouchani and Omid Tofighian (author and translator, respectively, of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/No_Friend_But_the_Mountains">No Friends but the Mountains</a>) as cultural advisors, Jurrungu Ngan-ga weaves themes of violence traversing verbal, sexual, physical and psychological abuse, depicting scenes with slurs, humiliation, shame, and murder. In passing, rape culture, self-harm and suicide are also referenced. </p>
<p>The result is a whirlwind ride of bodies perpetually resisting.</p>
<p>Guards’ voices and murmurs from cells punctuate the space. The inmate (Chandler Connell) stays still and quiet. His sudden yell raises goosebumps. He repeats this yell, and it becomes the start of a dance, a corroboree-like stomping sequence, accessorised with a shimmy of the shoulders.</p>
<p>Now he screams “get out!” and whispers “<a href="https://www.buzzfeed.com/juliawilling/david-dungay-said-i-cant-breathe-before-death">I can’t breathe</a>”. Invisible hands tie his own hands behind his back. A prison alarm interrupts and yellow, rectangular back lights shine bright.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/i-cant-breathe-australia-must-look-in-the-mirror-to-see-our-own-deaths-in-custody-139848">'I can't breathe!' Australia must look in the mirror to see our own deaths in custody</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<p>Movement soars through the space. Convulsions akin to orgasmic and spastic trembling; zombie-like expression where bodies collapse in on themselves. A classical <em><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pas_de_deux">pas de deux</a></em> rigorously executed by Miranda Wheen and Luke Currie-Richardson, but satirical so gestures are stunted and lines are clunky. Sinewy traditional Filipino dance reminiscent of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Singkil">Singkil</a>. A low and fierce Torres Strait Islander warrior-like dance led by Czack (Ses) Bero. Joyful Middle-Eastern <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dabke"><em>dabke</em> folk dance</a>. Awkward drunken Australian pub breaks. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/443295/original/file-20220131-27-1wa8z1g.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="The cast" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/443295/original/file-20220131-27-1wa8z1g.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/443295/original/file-20220131-27-1wa8z1g.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=325&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/443295/original/file-20220131-27-1wa8z1g.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=325&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/443295/original/file-20220131-27-1wa8z1g.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=325&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/443295/original/file-20220131-27-1wa8z1g.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=408&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/443295/original/file-20220131-27-1wa8z1g.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=408&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/443295/original/file-20220131-27-1wa8z1g.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=408&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Jurrungu Ngan ga draws influences from a global dance history.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Abby Murray</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>An explosive rendition of Childish Gambino’s <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VYOjWnS4cMY">This is America</a> substitutes America for Australia: hypersexualised fetishising of the group’s oppression. A costume morphs into a camp Captain Cook or a fabulous Arthur Phillip. Like Donald Glover’s nightmare, the music, dance and lighting are all perversely enjoyable. </p>
<p><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Krumping">Krump</a> - a fierce energy simulating a body in battle - explodes through the bodies of these now-aggressive human beings, forcing onlookers to confront and resist the racist stereotype of angry black and brown people. </p>
<p>The whole cast passionately convey their resilience, but it is Benji Ra’s presence that resonates. </p>
<p>In one scene, she gasps her own soundscape. She travels across stage like a doll, and through words that sexually and racially exoticise her. Her body and her words deteriorate into a dog growling, barking. Then back to a robotic voice, she playfully stutters “some of my best friends are delicious <a href="https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=milf">MILFs</a>”. She smiles, allowing the audience to giggle at this with her – but her self-objectification is laid bare, ripe for exploitation. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/443296/original/file-20220131-13-fvsuvn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="The cast" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/443296/original/file-20220131-13-fvsuvn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/443296/original/file-20220131-13-fvsuvn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=408&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/443296/original/file-20220131-13-fvsuvn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=408&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/443296/original/file-20220131-13-fvsuvn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=408&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/443296/original/file-20220131-13-fvsuvn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=513&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/443296/original/file-20220131-13-fvsuvn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=513&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/443296/original/file-20220131-13-fvsuvn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=513&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Benji Ra (right) has a presence that resonates.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Abby Murray</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Elsewhere, she recounts the death of a friend, Yolanda Jourdan, “<a href="https://www.abc.net.au/news/2019-03-02/voguing-in-australia-a-night-at-the-sissy-ball/10852954?nw=0&r=HtmlFragment">the woman with lemon-blonde hair</a>”. </p>
<p>This story elicits a long list of names with similar stories. </p>
<p>A person shot in Northern Territory.</p>
<p>…driven 350km in extreme heat in the Kimberley.</p>
<p>…found dead in his cell with four broken ribs.</p>
<p>…chased by NSW police officers before being impaled on a fence right here in Redfern.</p>
<p>…who set himself on fire in Nauru prison.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/self-immolation-incidents-on-nauru-are-acts-of-hopeful-despair-58791">Self-immolation incidents on Nauru are acts of 'hopeful despair'</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>How do we embody fear?</h2>
<p>It would be easy to witness the suffering bravely portrayed by the cast as yet another display of <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/tv-and-radio/2021/apr/21/black-trauma-porn-them-jordan-peele-amazon">Black trauma porn</a>, relying on shock value rather than a coherent concept. </p>
<p>In turn, it would be easy for me as a white spectator to report experiencing feelings I can readily dismiss.</p>
<p>But the audience in Jurrungu Ngan-ga are never just spectators. The audience vocalises our response by <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2015/11/22/fashion/snapping-new-clapping.html">snapping</a> our fingers, stomping the floor and yelling words of encouragement more common at a hiphop cipher or a <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/stage/2019/feb/25/sissy-ball-sydneys-queer-community-of-colour-celebrates-in-dizzying-style">vogue ball</a>. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/443297/original/file-20220131-15-6ize1h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="The cast" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/443297/original/file-20220131-15-6ize1h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/443297/original/file-20220131-15-6ize1h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=295&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/443297/original/file-20220131-15-6ize1h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=295&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/443297/original/file-20220131-15-6ize1h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=295&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/443297/original/file-20220131-15-6ize1h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=371&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/443297/original/file-20220131-15-6ize1h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=371&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/443297/original/file-20220131-15-6ize1h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=371&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The audience are not just silent spectators.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Abby Murray</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>What transpires, then, is a radically provocative piece of dance theatre where audiences learn in emotive detail about systems of power and control. </p>
<p>We learn of the disproportionate incarceration of Aboriginal people – including children – and their deaths in custody. Of the continued imprisonment of refugees seeking asylum in Australia pushing many to self-harm or suicide. We learn of media misrepresentation and lies, harmful tropes and oppressive policies that sustain white supremacy in this country.</p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/not-criminals-or-passive-victims-media-need-to-reframe-their-representation-of-aboriginal-deaths-in-custody-158561">Not criminals or passive victims: media need to reframe their representation of Aboriginal deaths in custody</a>
</strong>
</em>
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<hr>
<p>At times, the audience is cast as complicit. At other times, we are allies. No-one remains a victim. Every person on stage speaks back to violence. Spectators leave after being literally encouraged to act.</p>
<p>The most arresting resource of Swain and Pigram’s dance theatre work is speech. Towards the end, Connell speaks with rawness that is unmistakably real, even if his words are someone else’s. </p>
<p>“Jugun” he explains, “is when you lay between two fires… I’m Koori. What do you see?” </p>
<p>He instructs us to close our eyes and speaks in Language. He returns to English: “the most important thing [is] to live in this moment and breathe.”</p>
<p>Jurrungu Ngan-ga asks “how do we embody fear?”. </p>
<p>“We are a nation of jailers,” <a href="https://www.artshouse.com.au/events/jurrungu-ngan-ga-straight-talk/">Patrick Dodson says</a>. “We lock up that which we fear”. As Lilla Watson puts it, “your liberation is bound up with mine”. </p>
<p>There is more <em>jurrungu ngan-ga</em> – straight talk – to be done about our nation of jailers, but this piece propels an urgent call.</p>
<p><em>Jurrungu Ngan-ga played at Carriageworks, Sydney. Season closed.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/173987/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Kate Maguire-Rosier is affiliated with Treehouse Theatre, a performance group with young refugees based in South-West and Western Sydney.</span></em></p>From Broome-based dance company Marrugeku, this new work is a throbbing protest about the violence experienced by Indigenous, racial, trans and queer Australia.Kate Maguire-Rosier, Honorary Associate, Department of Theatre and Performance Studies, School of Literature, Art, and Media, Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences, University of SydneyLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1739862022-01-21T05:05:11Z2022-01-21T05:05:11ZWhen humans compete with television, Yung Lung proves the liveness of bodies wins out<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/441894/original/file-20220121-9679-1bw6jrs.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=17%2C0%2C2000%2C1329&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Yaya Stempler</span></span></figcaption></figure><p><em>Review: Yung Lung, choreographed by Antony Hamilton, Chunky Move</em></p>
<p>The word “yung”, according to the <a href="https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Yung">urban language dictionary</a>, variously means “dope” or “cool” as popularised in the Chico area of California, a “legend” or (my favourite) a “lowercase god”. </p>
<p>The lung of course is a vital organ, but also metonymic for an <a href="https://www.researchgate.net/publication/337698225_Trees_and_parks_as_the_lungs_of_cities">open space in the city</a> where dwellers may breathe fresh air. </p>
<p>In turn, then, the term “yung lung” might refer to a rebel’s breath – or their sanctuary. </p>
<p>A grand orchestral overture announces people standing like action figures atop a grotesque monster’s head-shaped rock. Oozing anarchy, the group is styled with bleached, shaved or braided hair and skintight clothing flashing neon yellow. </p>
<p>The aesthetic summons that of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mad_Max">Mad Max</a> or <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Bad_Batch_(film)">The Bad Batch</a>. </p>
<p>A virtual sunrise on a dozen TV monitors, displayed outwards in a panopticon-like circle surrounding the rock, accompanies the string instruments and the defiant looks on the performers’ faces.</p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/441895/original/file-20220121-9469-1cnfte9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/441895/original/file-20220121-9469-1cnfte9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/441895/original/file-20220121-9469-1cnfte9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/441895/original/file-20220121-9469-1cnfte9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/441895/original/file-20220121-9469-1cnfte9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/441895/original/file-20220121-9469-1cnfte9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/441895/original/file-20220121-9469-1cnfte9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/441895/original/file-20220121-9469-1cnfte9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">A grotesque monster’s head-shaped rock dominates the space.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Yaya Stempler</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>As the bodies start to travel around the rock, we circle it too, as if two packs of wolves – cautiously suspicious, slightly hesitant but mostly curious. </p>
<p>Music becomes operatic and the image of gladiators at the Colosseum appears as a woman at the rock’s zenith raises her arm gloriously. Other arms stretch outwards and the figures climb, hang, swing and pose, physically domineering. Fierce facial expressions scare an absent enemy and posturing bodies overemphasise their musculature. </p>
<h2>Shared aliveness</h2>
<p>Chunky Move’s radical immersive experience, choreographed and directed by Antony Hamilton, is a dance manifesto that borrows from Black and Queer clubbing to expose – and make fun of – today’s existential crises.</p>
<p>The work’s visceral effort reasserts a shared aliveness in the here and now. </p>
<p>The standout element is Chiara Kickdrum’s thrashing soundscape, inviting the audience into a trance. Light by Bosco Shaw, video by Kris Moyes, Hamilton and Nickolas Moloney, costumes by P.A.M. and set design by Callum Morton work solidly together to produce surreal scenes that unfurl in the heart of the space. </p>
<p>But it is the fervent performance of the cast emboldened by the soundscape and punctuated by <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vogue_(dance)">vogue</a> and <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waacking">waacking</a> who render the rave mesmerising and wondrously odd.</p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/441896/original/file-20220121-8868-1kfx740.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/441896/original/file-20220121-8868-1kfx740.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/441896/original/file-20220121-8868-1kfx740.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/441896/original/file-20220121-8868-1kfx740.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/441896/original/file-20220121-8868-1kfx740.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/441896/original/file-20220121-8868-1kfx740.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/441896/original/file-20220121-8868-1kfx740.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/441896/original/file-20220121-8868-1kfx740.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Yung Lung is mesmerising and wonderfully odd.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Jacquie Manning</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The mood shifts slightly when a young woman hugs herself. Another hangs suspended upside down like an infant from monkey bars in a park playground. I see now a Mardi Gras float travelling down Sydney’s Oxford Street in late summer as a slender man with a ponytail places one hand on hip looking down at the crowd, mouth ever so slightly ajar, sexually titillating. </p>
<p>The virtual sun repeated on the monitors has nearly set, and I notice a rainbow lightshow behind.</p>
<p>A woman crushes her face into a scowl and sticks out her tongue as if the star of a death metal band. We are her fans, but also the system that criticises her for glamorising violence. </p>
<p>Clearly, the group wants to captivate us.</p>
<p>My attention snaps back to the images flickering on screen. Burning cigarettes. A cityscape. Volcanic lava. The book title Devolution of Mankind. The solar system. Japanese animé. Military activities. Green palm trees against blue sky. A dead dog on a beach stared at by young boys. Later, on every second screen, Ned Kelly full body shot in the bush. Pop-art depictions of the Kremlin, unfamiliar yet quintessentially Andy Warhol. A blackout. </p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/441898/original/file-20220121-17-1dmvxbm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/441898/original/file-20220121-17-1dmvxbm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/441898/original/file-20220121-17-1dmvxbm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/441898/original/file-20220121-17-1dmvxbm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/441898/original/file-20220121-17-1dmvxbm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/441898/original/file-20220121-17-1dmvxbm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/441898/original/file-20220121-17-1dmvxbm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/441898/original/file-20220121-17-1dmvxbm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The live performers must compete with the allure of the screens.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Jacquie Manning</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>On screen, human heads mutate. On the rock, bodies pick up pace, glued to the sculpture like insects in formation. A thumping beat cuts the air in sharp bursts, speeding up the tempo and movement. Bodies bounce with hip-hop gestures. In sync, two women explicitly sign “eat my dick”.</p>
<p>Video recalls my gaze. The furious onslaught of images reveals otherwise non-memorable scenes from cult pop culture. One pair flashing to and fro, however, stings: a duet of sorts between a heavily pixelated <a href="https://theconversation.com/is-spot-a-good-dog-why-were-right-to-worry-about-unleashing-robot-quadrupeds-160095">quadruped robot Spot</a> and a headshot of a Black man – is it Martin Luther King? The images flicker back and forth, passing by too quickly to tell. I am acutely aware of the lure of the screen, accentuating the liveness of bodies in space. And aggressive drums storming the space now seem like gunshots. </p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/is-spot-a-good-dog-why-were-right-to-worry-about-unleashing-robot-quadrupeds-160095">Is 'Spot' a good dog? Why we're right to worry about unleashing robot quadrupeds</a>
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<p>The presence of the live performers is heightened by the mediatised spectacle; the <a href="https://www.researchgate.net/publication/289131120_Mediating_Weeping_Woman_A_livescreen_performance_study">relationship between</a> the two is key to the concept, integrity and rigour of this artwork. And this is in spite of their <a href="https://brill.com/view/book/9789401210089/B9789401210089_s009.xml">competing</a> for dominance from one moment to the next.</p>
<p>The slanted text disappearing into the universe at the beginning of every Star Wars movie, “Since the beginning…” gives way to the thought of science fiction creating reality. Are the dancers trying to sell us this violent world? These spoiled images, decomposed like off fruit? Dancers hold neon poles, baby blue just like Anakin Skywalker’s lightsaber. “Jupiter” reads the label graffitied on one dancer’s trouser leg. Poles now burn red like Darth Vader’s lightsaber, one raised under a dancer’s eyes like a child with a torch telling a ghost story in a circle of friends.</p>
<p>Dancers exit like robots streaked through the crowd. And a final question flurries through my mind: “or was the Black face George Floyd?”</p>
<p><em>Yung Lung is at Carriageworks for Sydney Festival until January 23, then at the Substation in Melbourne from February 1 to 12.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/173986/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Kate Maguire-Rosier does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>This new dance work from Chunky Move is mesmerising and wondrously odd.Kate Maguire-Rosier, Honorary Associate, Department of Theatre and Performance Studies, School of Literature, Art, and Media, Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences, University of SydneyLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1647862021-07-24T09:36:18Z2021-07-24T09:36:18ZVery genki, slightly kitsch, occasionally compelling: the Olympic opening ceremony put humanity in centre frame<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/412964/original/file-20210724-17-tag4qv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=50%2C0%2C5568%2C3700&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">The Yomiuri Shimbun via AP Images</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>The rising of the Japanese flag and the singing of the national anthem is the first moment of stillness. Devoid of external commentary, before a sea of empty stadium seats, it is a stark reminder of the pandemic. </p>
<p>More than any of the previous symbols of the “apart but not alone” theme, this image reinforces the optimism (misplaced for some, hopeful for others) of continuing with the games despite the obstacles wrought by the pandemic.</p>
<p>Olympic opening ceremonies come with certain expectations: large-scale choral movement, overhead camera work (<a href="https://www.newyorker.com/culture/richard-brody/busby-berkeleys-personalized-beauty">Busby Berkeley</a> on steroids) and fireworks. This year’s ceremony ticks all these boxes. According to the commentators, there are 694 fireworks in the opening moment alone. </p>
<p>The Tokyo artistic program is an eclectic mix of animation, live-action and pre-recorded performers. Stylised virtuosic performers combine with regular folk doing regular movement. </p>
<p>Heavy with symbolism, Channel Seven’s commentators leave little room for the viewer’s imagination. From the opening image of a blossoming seed, every symbol is explained.</p>
<h2>Unmistakably Japanese</h2>
<p>Performed under stadium-spectacular lights and music in front of a giant glowing effigy of Mount Fuji, the program is a series of discrete sequences. </p>
<p>For an “in memoriam” that references both the Israeli delegates murdered at the <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/sport/blog/2012/may/02/50-stunning-olympic-moments-munich-72">1972 Munich games</a> and those lost to COVID, dancer Mirai Moriyama epitomises the power of one individual. </p>
<p>From this sombre reflection we are abruptly transported to a representation of life in Japan’s Edo period. A stylised ensemble routine of building accompanied by a traditional work song morphs into a troupe of tap dancers. </p>
<p>An integration of ancient and contemporary, and the interplay between the individual and the ensemble, reverberates throughout the ceremony. A single violinist tuning up is gradually joined by other musicians to become an orchestra. </p>
<p>It is a fitting parallel to the coming together of the world’s athletes to create the Olympics.</p>
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<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/forget-the-medals-the-real-game-of-the-olympics-is-soft-power-and-the-opening-ceremony-is-key-164791">Forget the medals, the real game of the Olympics is soft power — and the opening ceremony is key</a>
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<p>The parade of athletes is a sweetly shambolic affair. 205 nations later, the artistic programme resumes with its diverse snapshots.</p>
<p>Here’s an ensemble of clowns portraying the world’s media; now here’s some dancing children moving colourful boxes. Look up in the sky, there’s a ball of 1824 drones of light transforming into a rotating globe! Now, here’s some children, representing Asia, singing the Lennon/Ono classic Imagine. </p>
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<span class="caption">A representation of Japan’s Edo period morphs into tap dancing.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Kyodo via AP Images</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>But wait, beamed in from some heavenly white void now they’re joined by Angelique Kidjo representing Africa, then Alejandro Sanz for Europe, John Legend for the Americas and finally, Keith Urban for Oceania.</p>
<p>Less of a linear narrative than previous opening ceremonies, this is a series of isolated, discrete sections. Less a celebration of the host country (although it’s unmistakably Japanese in tone and style) this eclectic mishmash of styles and performances becomes a durational performance where you can wander in and out. </p>
<h2>Together</h2>
<p>The official speeches prior to the formal opening reference “the unifying power of sport”, the inclusion of refugee athletes and the adaption of the International Olympic Committee’s motto “Faster, Higher, Stronger” to include the word “Together”.</p>
<p>“Together” speaks to a world lingering in the residue of COVID-enforced separations. Given the austerity of the times the ceremony is relatively subdued, but the optimism of the speeches is matched by the overriding exuberance of the performers. Not drowning, but waving (and there is lots of waving). </p>
<p>There’s no room for cynicism; only high-pep energy. The ceremony is very <a href="https://www.childhealth2.com/single-post/2014/01/15/what-does-genki-mean-anyway">genki</a> (a Japanese word without a direct English translation, roughly meaning “energy” or “pep”), slightly kitsch, but presents a surprisingly diverse representation of contemporary Japan.</p>
<p>The brightest spot in the post-parade section is an animated performance of pictograms depicting fifty sports. Moving the pictograms from two to three-dimensions via a kind of human-puppetry meets real-life stop-motion animation, it is equal parts hi and lo-fi and totally camp. </p>
<p>Its complete weirdness makes it un-look-away-able, as minor human errors show it for what it is: real people in real time, operating within a framework of precise choreography smashed up against the reality and vagaries of live performance. </p>
<p>It is completely compelling. </p>
<p>Then, just when you think they couldn’t add any more eclectic ingredients to the mix, enter performers from that most Japanese of ancient art forms Kabuki, paired with an embodied performance from contemporary Japanese jazz pianist Hiromi.</p>
<h2>Unexpected and inspired</h2>
<p>Beginning with the requisite video collage tracing the journey of the torch from Greece, we watch it enter the stadium and hand over person to person to the sounds of Ravel’s Bolero. There’s a moment’s respite from the slick technology and choreography when it lands with Japanese baseball legend and octogenarian Sadaharu Oh. </p>
<p>In this human moment, we are forced to slow down and experience the world in his tempo, giving a true sense of what it means to be alone together.</p>
<p>If a performance needs a big ending, then this one delivers with the appearance of tennis player Naomi Osaka to light the cauldron. </p>
<p>As explained by Kumi Taguchi in Channel Seven’s commentary, the choice is particularly significant because of Osaka’s <a href="https://kotaku.com/naomi-osaka-and-the-expectations-put-upon-biracial-japa-1832150748">hafu status</a> (literally the Japanese word for “half”) as a person of mixed heritage. For this reason, Osaka has not always been accepted in Japan’s notoriously homogenous society. </p>
<p>Another significance ringing in the air around Osaka is the worldwide attention she recently received for <a href="https://theconversation.com/when-naomi-osaka-talks-we-should-listen-athletes-are-not-commodities-nor-are-they-super-human-161893">speaking</a> about the impact media scrutiny has had on her mental health and the vitriol which she has been subjected to as a result.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/412965/original/file-20210724-21-7xi64h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Naomi Osaka looks up at the Olympic flame." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/412965/original/file-20210724-21-7xi64h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/412965/original/file-20210724-21-7xi64h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=384&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/412965/original/file-20210724-21-7xi64h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=384&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/412965/original/file-20210724-21-7xi64h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=384&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/412965/original/file-20210724-21-7xi64h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=482&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/412965/original/file-20210724-21-7xi64h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=482&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/412965/original/file-20210724-21-7xi64h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=482&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The ceremony ends spectacularly with Naomi Osaka lighting the Olympic flame.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">The Yomiuri Shimbun via AP Images</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>These factors all contribute to making Osaka an unexpected and inspired choice. </p>
<p>As the symbolic Mount Fuji opens up and she ascends its internal staircase to the cauldron, Osaka lights the fire around which we can all gather for the next 17 days. And so, with yet another human moment, the games begin.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/164786/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Leah Mercer does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Minor human errors beautifully show Tokyo’s opening ceremony for what it is: real people in real time.Leah Mercer, Associate Professor of Theatre Arts, Curtin UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1618872021-06-15T04:10:34Z2021-06-15T04:10:34ZSinuous, sinewy and transcendent: SandSong proves Bangarra is one of Australia’s best dance companies<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/406311/original/file-20210615-27-imugt0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C3%2C2048%2C1361&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Daniel Boud/Bangarra</span></span></figcaption></figure><p><em>Review: SandSong, directed and choreographed by Stephen Page and Frances Rings, Bangarra Dance Theatre</em></p>
<p><em>Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander readers are advised the following article contains the name of someone who has passed. The family of Ningali Lawford-Wolf has given the media permission to use her name.</em></p>
<hr>
<p>SandSong opens in scratchy black and white images. An Australian coat of arms, colonial maps of the country deemed “Terra Nullius”, a placard with the text “Stop Black Deaths” flash and flicker against a soundscape echoing the same sense of static and interference. </p>
<p>This is a history centering the disruptions of black bodies by white others. </p>
<p>The screen gives way to a stage with a pile of rocks left of centre. An ethereal female body begins to emerge. </p>
<p>The pile of rocks, undulating human bodies, becomes a boat this woman rows, and the water beneath. Bodily extremities quiver, waterlilies rustling on the surface in response to a gentle morning breeze. The woman and the pile of flesh beneath her move as one, suggesting little difference between body and earth.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/406357/original/file-20210615-19-1cs2oob.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Glory Tuohy, Daniell Rika Hamaguchi and Lillian Banks" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/406357/original/file-20210615-19-1cs2oob.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/406357/original/file-20210615-19-1cs2oob.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/406357/original/file-20210615-19-1cs2oob.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/406357/original/file-20210615-19-1cs2oob.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/406357/original/file-20210615-19-1cs2oob.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/406357/original/file-20210615-19-1cs2oob.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/406357/original/file-20210615-19-1cs2oob.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">SandSong is a contemporary Australian ballet.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Daniel Boud/Bangarra</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>SandSong: Stories of the Great Sandy Desert, is a contemporary Aboriginal Australian ballet. It borrows from traditional dance stories — particularly from the Kimberley regions including Fitzroy Crossing, a community the company visited in May 2021 — and also draws on Bangarra’s signature style of Indigenous contemporary dance with hints of modern dance. </p>
<p>Stephen Page and Frances Rings have exquisitely choreographed a rich, evocative and powerful piece of contemporary dance. Sublime music by Steve Francis is perhaps the most outstanding element of the work with its melodic acoustic instrumentals overlayed with voices speaking in Language.</p>
<h2>Expressionist and visceral</h2>
<p>Movement is at times sinuous, at others, sinewy. The stumps of leafless branches materialise in the repeated image of flexed feet; men wear leaves around their calves and women hold <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coolamon_(vessel)">coolomons</a> for preparing onions to eat or digging sticks for finding potatoes in cracked earth. </p>
<p>In the most visceral scene, a mumbling masculine voice spits numbers punctuated by the crackle of a whip. Bodies contort, hands rub skin, torsos collapse sharply, joints twist and writhe. Each person looks poisoned or twitching high and stoned: a derailed existence. It is, without a doubt, an auction. Humans are not poisoned nor are they drugged, but merely expressing the dehumanising horror of slavery.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/406317/original/file-20210615-15-ijzmqb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Bangarra ensemble" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/406317/original/file-20210615-15-ijzmqb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/406317/original/file-20210615-15-ijzmqb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/406317/original/file-20210615-15-ijzmqb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/406317/original/file-20210615-15-ijzmqb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/406317/original/file-20210615-15-ijzmqb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/406317/original/file-20210615-15-ijzmqb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/406317/original/file-20210615-15-ijzmqb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Movement is at times sinuous, at others, sinewy.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Daniel Boud/Bangarra</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>In one scene, after appearing to manufacture baskets on stage, female dancers each wear their basket wrapped around their chests and under one arm, a simple yet beautiful wearable prop (costumes by Jennifer Irwin). The magic of the baskets only appears with movement. As dancers walk, reach and twirl, the baskets morph from a bearer of food, into a baby on their backs and a cage that traps them. </p>
<p>The expressionist movement in this scene, including its strong shapes and spiralling lines, echoes the spirit of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martha_Graham">Martha Graham</a> and powerfully reinforce the shapeshifter aesthetic so palpable throughout SandSong. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/406315/original/file-20210615-22-8h4dqk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Bangarra ensemble" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/406315/original/file-20210615-22-8h4dqk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/406315/original/file-20210615-22-8h4dqk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/406315/original/file-20210615-22-8h4dqk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/406315/original/file-20210615-22-8h4dqk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/406315/original/file-20210615-22-8h4dqk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/406315/original/file-20210615-22-8h4dqk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/406315/original/file-20210615-22-8h4dqk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Woven baskets become wearable props, transforming in the hands of the dancers.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Daniel Boud/Bangarra</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Page and Rings’ new choreography is joined by traditional dances, such as when the male dancers of the company perform Marjarrka, a dance belonging to the Lawford, Tighe, Cox and James families.</p>
<p>Each man enters the stage and stomps his feet into the ground, causing his shoulders to shake. The men all perform the routine slightly differently. Some skip onto stage. Others walk. Some bend low. Others gaze steadily ahead. Others again step to a different beat. The dance is about dispossession — a recovered totem previously stolen: recreating the original choreography gesture for gesture, exactly as it was originally performed, in order to continue telling the truth.</p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/firestarter-review-bangarras-story-is-a-film-of-national-and-personal-tragedies-with-light-in-the-dark-155114">Firestarter review — Bangarra's story is a film of national and personal tragedies, with light in the dark</a>
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</em>
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<p>A similar meditation occurs when the lithe, young female dancers transform into older women with slower movement performing Junta, a traditional bush onion dance. Their careful embodiment of the dance is transcendent.</p>
<h2>Past intertwining with present</h2>
<p>There is a discursive power in paying attention to moving Black bodies on stage at the prestigious Sydney Opera House. Bodies resist (protest), expend effort (dance) and remain present (survive). On stage, they demand our focus. </p>
<p>SandSong vividly enables these dancing figures to tell stories of First Nations Australian memories tainted by intergenerational trauma wrought by stolen lands and stolen lives.</p>
<p>It is also a tribute to the Wangkatjungka and Walmajarri people of the Kimberley. In particular, the work honours Wangkatjungka woman Ningali Josephine Lawford-Wolf, an artist and a friend of Bangarra. Ningali (as she is endearingly referred to) wished to collaborate on this work, but passed away suddenly in 2019. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/406316/original/file-20210615-22-1uswxay.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Baden Hitchcock and dancers" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/406316/original/file-20210615-22-1uswxay.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/406316/original/file-20210615-22-1uswxay.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/406316/original/file-20210615-22-1uswxay.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/406316/original/file-20210615-22-1uswxay.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/406316/original/file-20210615-22-1uswxay.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/406316/original/file-20210615-22-1uswxay.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/406316/original/file-20210615-22-1uswxay.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">SandSong is a vivid exploration of histories past and lives present.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Daniel Boud/Bangarra</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Composer Francis excavated old tapes with Ningali speaking and singing, and used these tapes to create “playable instruments from her hums and […] new songs using her voice”.</p>
<p>The result is poignant, reminding us to dig up the past, see what finds you and apply the lessons to your present. </p>
<p>After skin is smeared in gold — a metaphor for the value of water in the desert after rainfall — the work finds redemption for the people of the Kimberley. A backdrop reminiscent of crinkled foil (set design by Jacob Nash) reflects the warm light and conjures the cloudy mist of a new dawn. A lone woman lies down to a voiceover reciting a poem that ends with the words: “You belong to Country. You belong to Country”.</p>
<hr>
<p><em>SandSong is at the Sydney Opera House until July 10, then touring to Canberra, Bendigo, Brisbane and Melbourne.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/161887/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Kate Maguire-Rosier is affiliated with Bangarra dancer, Emily Flannery, with whom she organised an Ausdance NSW independent artist residency in 2020. </span></em></p>Embedding traditional dance stories and modern dance within Bangarra’s signature style, SandSong is a rich, evocative and powerful production.Kate Maguire-Rosier, Honorary Associate, Department of Theatre and Performance Studies, School of Literature, Art, and Media, Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences, University of SydneyLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1542702021-03-12T04:50:34Z2021-03-12T04:50:34Z‘Articulation of women’s rage’: Slow Burn, Together and its haunting of women dancers<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/389204/original/file-20210312-21-axnzyi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=4%2C2%2C1436%2C959&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Perth Festival/Christophe Canato</span></span></figcaption></figure><p><em>Review: Slow Burn, Together, choreographed by Emma Fishwick. Emma Fishwick and Performing Lines for Perth Festival.</em></p>
<p>It goes against the very core of Slow Burn, Together to respond to it so quickly in print. In the program, choreographer Emma Fishwick <a href="https://www.perthfestival.com.au/media/zz3fzzh4/event-program_slow-burn_marketing_20210311.pdf">quotes</a> art historian Ernst Gombrich: “the reading of a picture needs a very long time.” </p>
<p>Slow Burn, Together encourages a dream-like reflection on our relationship with time, especially history and progress, how it shapes us, how we work with it and against it.</p>
<p>Moving through the cavernous stage of Perth’s Her Majesty’s Theatre — on foot, on wheels, on their knees, on a swing — an ensemble of 15 women create an ever-changing series of pictures. Evoking pathways to the past or into an unknown future, the dancers shift between movement and stillness, horizontal and vertical, witnessing and being witnessed. </p>
<p>Against the backdrop of a giant golden sail, with the bare bones of the theatre on display, everything is exposed.</p>
<h2>An amorphous sense of time</h2>
<p>Slow Burn, Together performs a delicate magic act that manipulates time, slowing down the tempo of the audience. </p>
<p>I am reminded of the words of American theatre director <a href="https://siti.org/blog-122-march-2021-poetry-as-a-catalyst-for-sense-and-sensation/">Anne Bogart</a>, who describes this sensation as those moments in the theatre when “the laws of space and time” alter radically and the audience enter “the poetic realm”.</p>
<p>In this realm, time seems “to stop and expand at the same time”. </p>
<p>This sense occurs here in the meditative quality of performers and audience breathing together.</p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/389201/original/file-20210312-19-16d95ea.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Three women, one pours a bucket of water over another." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/389201/original/file-20210312-19-16d95ea.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/389201/original/file-20210312-19-16d95ea.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=401&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/389201/original/file-20210312-19-16d95ea.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=401&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/389201/original/file-20210312-19-16d95ea.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=401&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/389201/original/file-20210312-19-16d95ea.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/389201/original/file-20210312-19-16d95ea.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/389201/original/file-20210312-19-16d95ea.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Fishwick places a female gaze upon this mix of ages, bodies and ethnicities.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Perth Festival/Christophe Canato</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The all-female cast is made up of many different types of women: senior dancers, some of whom have taught, mentored and worked with Fishwick; younger dancers who are new to her practice. Seeing these bodies — old, young, different shapes, sizes and ethnicities — take up space with an aura of persistent stillness, the female gaze replaces the usual male one.</p>
<p>Gradually, an array of objects are introduced into the picture: high heel shoes, random books, coconuts. A gramophone, in conjunction with Tristen Parr’s sound design, draws attention to the ways music cuts across time to meet us in this moment. </p>
<p>Balanced with extended moments of silence, the performers also work in glorious tandem with Chris Donnelly’s evocative lighting design, through which we alternatively glimpse and gape at the kaleidoscopic images.</p>
<h2>Women through women’s eyes</h2>
<p>The representation of women through art’s <a href="https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/feminism-aesthetics/">male gaze</a> is directly referenced in projected paintings from Baroque and pre-Raphaelite masters. </p>
<p>These images are reconstructed in a number of artfully-composed tableaus where the dancers’ bodies seem to transform from flesh to form before our eyes. Exposing the effort and construct behind these seemingly perfect images, they also deconstruct these paintings in moments of gentle, wry humour.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/389202/original/file-20210312-15-16v3pd3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Two women dance in front of an overhead projector" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/389202/original/file-20210312-15-16v3pd3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/389202/original/file-20210312-15-16v3pd3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=401&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/389202/original/file-20210312-15-16v3pd3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=401&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/389202/original/file-20210312-15-16v3pd3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=401&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/389202/original/file-20210312-15-16v3pd3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/389202/original/file-20210312-15-16v3pd3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/389202/original/file-20210312-15-16v3pd3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Contemporary dancers are paired off against women painted by, constructed by, the masters.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Perth Festival/Christophe Canato</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>There are two central duets by Ella-Rose Trew and Francesca Fenton. The second is an exercise in endurance, a sort of aerobics-class-meets-contemporary-dance that moves them from an exquisite, unified precision to an exhausted, deliberately looser partnership. </p>
<p>This gradual loss of finesse exposes us to the effort it takes to appear effortless.</p>
<p>The duration of these duets creates time and space for us to reflect upon our act of witnessing. There is rarely just one focal point; our eyes gaze at the different moments occurring simultaneously around the stage. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/389200/original/file-20210312-15-1q9scdn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C0%2C1437%2C959&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="A wide shot of a proscenium arch. Two women look tiny against a messy stage." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/389200/original/file-20210312-15-1q9scdn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C0%2C1437%2C959&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/389200/original/file-20210312-15-1q9scdn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=401&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/389200/original/file-20210312-15-1q9scdn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=401&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/389200/original/file-20210312-15-1q9scdn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=401&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/389200/original/file-20210312-15-1q9scdn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/389200/original/file-20210312-15-1q9scdn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/389200/original/file-20210312-15-1q9scdn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">There is never just one thing to look upon.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Perth Festival/Christophe Canato</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Coming back to the duets in our own time, at our own pace, we bring our dreamy associations with us. These multiple worlds evoke a stream of consciousness response: beauty and aging; past and present; our familial and creative ancestors and descendants. Images of the French stage actress <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sarah_Bernhardt">Sarah Bernhardt</a> (1844-1923), who once graced this same stage, and <a href="https://tracksdance.com.au/maggi-phillips-1944-2015">Maggi Phillips</a> (1944-2015), the doyen of Australian dance and scholarship, especially in Western Australia, fluttered before my eyes.</p>
<h2>Strength in unity</h2>
<p>In this week of International Women’s Day, this year where the Australian of the Year is speaking out about sexual assault, this month when we have highly-publicised utterings of what happens to women’s bodies and minds as a result of sexual assault, I was also reminded of the increasing profile and articulation of women’s rage. </p>
<p>These silent women of Slow Burn, Together — across generations, watching each other, watching out for one another — seemed to speak to this moment in Australian history. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/389206/original/file-20210312-19-1ese6e.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="A mass of women in black dresses." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/389206/original/file-20210312-19-1ese6e.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/389206/original/file-20210312-19-1ese6e.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=401&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/389206/original/file-20210312-19-1ese6e.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=401&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/389206/original/file-20210312-19-1ese6e.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=401&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/389206/original/file-20210312-19-1ese6e.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/389206/original/file-20210312-19-1ese6e.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/389206/original/file-20210312-19-1ese6e.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Slow Burn, Together takes on a particular resonance this week; this month.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Perth Festival/Christophe Canato</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The piece culminates in a gorgeous coming together of the ensemble. There is something very satisfying about watching a group of people move in unison after so much asynchronicity. </p>
<p>What’s the collective noun for an ensemble of women dressed in black, performing a delicate choreography with their feet, while their hands remain hooked behind their backs? I suggest a haunting. </p>
<p>There’s an eerie strength in this vignette of unity. Then, just as quickly Bogart’s poetic realm disassembles and we are returned to her “bricks and mortar” of the theatre.</p>
<p><em>Slow Burn, Together is at His Majesty’s Theatre, Perth, until Sunday March 14.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/154270/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Leah Mercer does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>From choreographer Emma Fishwick, this slow, dreamy performance and its cast of 15 dancers, speaks especially loudly to Australia of today.Leah Mercer, Associate Professor of Theatre Arts, Curtin UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1562042021-03-03T02:57:33Z2021-03-03T02:57:33ZGuttered: a joyful immersion and subversion of expectations between the bowling lanes<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/387130/original/file-20210302-17-99g8sw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C8%2C5489%2C3028&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Roy Vandervegt/Adelaide Festival</span></span></figcaption></figure><p><em>Review: Guttered, directed by Michelle Ryan. Restless Dance Theatre for Adelaide Festival.</em></p>
<p>We are greeted at the entrance of Kingpin Norwood. Seasoned bowlers make a beeline for shoe hire while teens flock to the clanging siren call of arcade games. The line between real and theatrical is joyfully blurred as the interactive and immersive performance of Guttered begins. </p>
<p>Upon entering, we are required to show our palms for inspection as a small light dances across our hands. We are assessed: “You look like you’re good at supporting people. You can be on the cheer squad.” </p>
<p>Picked for our respective teams, we are directed towards couches at the end of each lane or a row of chairs towards the back of the room. These opening moments conjure a sense of conversation between audience and dancers.</p>
<h2>Questions of who we are</h2>
<p>Brightly printed score cards invite us to rate on a scale of 1 to 10 “How often do you feel like a winner?”. These are later perused by a dancer who reviews each score, assessing with a smile and a shrug before moving on to the next. </p>
<p>Glowing bowling bags emit recorded stories and are danced towards the audience, who are invited to lean in and listen. Lean in to the stories of triumph at the bowling alley. Lean in to the reflections of these dancers who face assumptions and judgements about their abilities as artists. Lean in to stories rejecting the stereotype of always being happy, or always being shy. One recording boldly proclaims: “I’m not shy, I’m wild!”</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/387131/original/file-20210302-13-1gekgxu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Two heads lean on a platform, looking disembodied." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/387131/original/file-20210302-13-1gekgxu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/387131/original/file-20210302-13-1gekgxu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=332&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/387131/original/file-20210302-13-1gekgxu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=332&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/387131/original/file-20210302-13-1gekgxu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=332&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/387131/original/file-20210302-13-1gekgxu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=418&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/387131/original/file-20210302-13-1gekgxu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=418&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/387131/original/file-20210302-13-1gekgxu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=418&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Two dancers — or two bowling balls?</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Roy Vandervegt/Adelaide Festival</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Two dancers rest their chins on a bench and their heads become bowling balls in a syncopated moment of movement. From another angle, their bodies are projected shadows on the wall and the joyful moment is re-framed as a tender tussle between bodies. This duality is the first hint of the challenge director Michelle Ryan creates for the audience, inviting us to consider the possibilities of perspective.<br>
Perhaps what we assume about an action might not be the case? </p>
<p>Two dancers are caressed and held. What begins as affection slowly morphs into control and possession. Hands are repeatedly drawn over faces and arms are continuously wrapped around bodies. The dancers can no longer move of their own free will. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/387135/original/file-20210302-17-1xj2rc0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Two women embrace." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/387135/original/file-20210302-17-1xj2rc0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/387135/original/file-20210302-17-1xj2rc0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/387135/original/file-20210302-17-1xj2rc0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/387135/original/file-20210302-17-1xj2rc0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/387135/original/file-20210302-17-1xj2rc0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=502&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/387135/original/file-20210302-17-1xj2rc0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=502&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/387135/original/file-20210302-17-1xj2rc0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=502&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">What begins as a gentle movement can morph into something else.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Shane Reid/Adelaide Festival</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>When is well meaning helpfulness not helpful? When it denies someone the dignity of risk and opportunities to fail. </p>
<p>A poignant moment begins as a ramp is placed at the top of a lane. The bowler doesn’t want the ramp. The worker insists. The bowler is emphatic, they do not want the ramp, get it out of my way. The worker insists. The ensuing repetition and tussle is squirm inducing. Can’t the worker see she doesn’t want the ramp? Can’t they see this is insulting? Can’t they see? Then the reflection hits square and centre — when have I not seen? </p>
<p>Ryan has created the perfect embodiment of the suffocation of “support”, subverting assumptions about helpfulness in the process. </p>
<h2>Bowling ally as performer</h2>
<p>It is a delight to see the architecture of the bowling alley used for performance. Sweeping sequences shared by the entire ensemble use the separated lanes to represent individuality and finding your own path, and later provide a grid like structure for unified movement. </p>
<p>Dancers bodies lie in the gutters, backs arch over ball chutes, shoes slide along the highly oiled wood. The familiar features of the bowling alley are transformed into theatrical co-performers. </p>
<p>This is no doubt a testament to the seamless design by Meg Wilson, evocative music soundscape by Jason Sweeney and nuanced lighting design by Geoff Cobham, working together to direct and guide the audiences’ eyes throughout the performance. It is hard to fight the urge to jump up and join in. Luckily, we don’t have to resist: members of the audience are periodically invited up for (COVID-safe) participation. </p>
<p>The ensuing cheers as balls crash into gutters and strikes are bowled create a thrilling sense of celebration. </p>
<p>Juxtaposing the energetic playfulness of the ensemble are a series of solos and duets. These moments punctuate the performance, offering up stories of love, self-determination and triumph. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/387134/original/file-20210302-13-1o5vzys.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="A man leans over a glowing bowling ball." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/387134/original/file-20210302-13-1o5vzys.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/387134/original/file-20210302-13-1o5vzys.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/387134/original/file-20210302-13-1o5vzys.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/387134/original/file-20210302-13-1o5vzys.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/387134/original/file-20210302-13-1o5vzys.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=502&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/387134/original/file-20210302-13-1o5vzys.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=502&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/387134/original/file-20210302-13-1o5vzys.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=502&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The balls are as much a part of this dance as the performers.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Roy Vandervegt/Adelaide Festival</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>In one such moment, a solo dancer tenderly removes a glowing bowling ball from a bag and places it on the floor. In a moment of pure delightful the ball begins to move, seemingly of its own volition. The dancer follows the path of the ball dutifully and, when it occasionally dips into the gutter, gently retrieves it, comforts it in an embrace, and returns it to the floor so it can continue its journey. </p>
<p>It is deceptively simple, and entirely compelling. </p>
<p><em>Guttered plays until March 14.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/156204/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Sarah Peters does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>This new work from Restless Dance Theatre is staged in a bowling ally, and asks us to consider the possibilities of perspective.Sarah Peters, Senior Lecturer in Drama, Flinders UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1520072021-01-11T02:37:17Z2021-01-11T02:37:17ZSydney Festival review: politics of care in Force Majeure’s The Last Season<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/377900/original/file-20210110-15-1en64y3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=2%2C2%2C1994%2C1326&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Yaya Stempler/Sydney Festival</span></span></figcaption></figure><p><em>Review: The Last Season, directed and choreographed by Danielle Micich, Force Majeure at Sydney Festival</em></p>
<p>The only moment bodies touch in Force Majeure’s austere <a href="https://www.sydneyfestival.org.au/events/last-season">The Last Season</a> comes like an urgent heartbeat. But an embrace between an adult and a child that ought to comfort appears to suffocate and smother, the larger body controlling the other like a puppet. </p>
<p>This sinister touch feels all the more despairing in the context of a pandemic that prohibits tactile exchange, as if touch between people — our last recourse to feeling safe and loved — has lost its goodness. </p>
<p>If touching harms, is there still hope?</p>
<p>The Last Season, directed and choreographed by Danielle Micich in collaboration with Force Majeure’s Youth Company of dancers aged 9 to 14, explores themes of evolution, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Productivism">productivism</a> and care (or rather, a lack of care — or a “<a href="https://newleftreview.org/issues/ii100/articles/nancy-fraser-contradictions-of-capital-and-care">crisis of care</a>”, as feminist philosopher Nancy Fraser would put it). </p>
<p>The title is a nod to <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Four_Seasons_(Vivaldi)">Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons</a>, to which the work is set and responds. But The Last Season is also a metaphor for the ending of life. </p>
<h2>The world before the fall</h2>
<p>Micich crafts a world of curious creation and ultimate destruction. Sublime live music by Kelly Ryall colours this world, and words by Tom Wright bring it into being. Damien Cooper’s lighting oscillates between a longing for tenderness and a sense of cold, harsh obstacles.</p>
<p>Pear-shaped sacks hang from the ceiling over the stage. Gentle string music caresses the expansive space, revealed by a soft wash of light: a dreamy new dawn.</p>
<p>The sacks swing like church bells or gumnuts in the wind. Like calves being released from the womb in an amniotic sac, children fall one after the other onto the floor. They wriggle and writhe on the ground. </p>
<p>And so the story starts. </p>
<p>The young performers move nonstop. Repetitive, pulsing and laborious thrusts characterise their movement. In fawn hooded unisex clothing by Marg Horwell, the children shed layers as they mature.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/377903/original/file-20210110-21-13eahlq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Pamela Rabe in a white ballgown, children in yellow bow." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/377903/original/file-20210110-21-13eahlq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/377903/original/file-20210110-21-13eahlq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/377903/original/file-20210110-21-13eahlq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/377903/original/file-20210110-21-13eahlq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/377903/original/file-20210110-21-13eahlq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/377903/original/file-20210110-21-13eahlq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/377903/original/file-20210110-21-13eahlq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Pamela Rabe instructs the children in their performance and their maturation, like an old-fashioned headmistress or a strict grandmother.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Yaya Stempler/Sydney Festival</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>An ethereal figure, exquisitely played by Pamela Rabe, materialises centre-stage before the budding tribe. She floats across the stage. Her movement is balletic, her posture regal. </p>
<p>She instructs her students like an old fashioned headmistress or a strict grandmother: “Good. Very good. I am pleased with your learning,” she says.</p>
<p>Dictating the children’s steps, she teaches her class (and the audience) about her purported purpose — to educate these children, she says, into “forces of good.”</p>
<p>The children’s industrial, mechanic movement initially reminds me of Australian Dance Theatre’s cyborgian <a href="https://adt.org.au/works/devolution/">Devolution</a>, but quickly conjures North Korean parades of civilian power. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/377904/original/file-20210110-13-kfebj7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="The children in singlets and shorts." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/377904/original/file-20210110-13-kfebj7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/377904/original/file-20210110-13-kfebj7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/377904/original/file-20210110-13-kfebj7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/377904/original/file-20210110-13-kfebj7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/377904/original/file-20210110-13-kfebj7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/377904/original/file-20210110-13-kfebj7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/377904/original/file-20210110-13-kfebj7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">As the children mature, they shed layers of their costumes.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Yaya Stempler/Sydney Festival</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>When Rabe exclaims with joy “It’s a labour of love!” I am reminded of the philosopher Eva Feder Kittay’s writings on “<a href="https://books.google.com.au/books?id=84CAezBBZBkC&pg=PA1&source=gbs_toc_r&cad=4#v=onepage&q&f=false">dependency work</a>.” Kittay argues dependency is a feature of the human condition: we are all interdependent. </p>
<p>In a lapse of attention, the grandmother character exposes her ego, foreshadowing a rebellion — the children’s dependence on her is doomed to shift.</p>
<p>Comic relief comes in the form of an androgynous weary diva performed with warmth and flair by Paul Capsis. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/377902/original/file-20210110-23-1ge8ynr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Two figures in silhouette frame a woman smoking in the light." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/377902/original/file-20210110-23-1ge8ynr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/377902/original/file-20210110-23-1ge8ynr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/377902/original/file-20210110-23-1ge8ynr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/377902/original/file-20210110-23-1ge8ynr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/377902/original/file-20210110-23-1ge8ynr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/377902/original/file-20210110-23-1ge8ynr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/377902/original/file-20210110-23-1ge8ynr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Olwen Fouéré strikes the stage like lightning.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Yaya Stempler/Sydney Festival</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Later, a white-haired wise woman, stunningly portrayed by Olwen Fouéré, strikes the stage like lightning, her beaming white clothing with a black belt evoking a sensei. </p>
<p>She smokes a cigarette in the stillness. </p>
<h2>Questions left unanswered</h2>
<p>Realising her doomed future, Rabe comes to understand the children are not just hers to direct — they can make their own choices. “I think they can <em>make</em>,” she whispers. </p>
<p>But isn’t creating and producing ultimately good? Why the concern? </p>
<p>Then, I wonder what this production is really asking: where humankind’s over-productivity is causing climate change, is making <em>bad</em>? </p>
<p>In an interview, the director Micich <a href="https://aussietheatre.com.au/blogs/the-composting-costumier-talks-the-last-season-with-danielle-micich-from-force-majeure">said</a>: “I’m interested in what things we remember and hold onto as value.”</p>
<p>While I am watching, I find myself asking what is the value of being productive? Who benefits? The teacher cares for the children and raises them to be productive but — crucially — on her terms. So what does the teacher value? Mimetic cooperation? No answers are forthcoming.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/377905/original/file-20210110-23-1wa32d0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Rabe directs the children dressed in yellow." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/377905/original/file-20210110-23-1wa32d0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/377905/original/file-20210110-23-1wa32d0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/377905/original/file-20210110-23-1wa32d0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/377905/original/file-20210110-23-1wa32d0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/377905/original/file-20210110-23-1wa32d0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/377905/original/file-20210110-23-1wa32d0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/377905/original/file-20210110-23-1wa32d0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Much of The Last Season is a stimulating, but it is ultimately let down by a disjointed narrative.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Yaya Stempler/Sydney Festival</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Ultimately, the ideas The Last Season explores are overly abstracted, making the work hard to follow. </p>
<p>But the process of children making art together with adults, as James Thompson explains in his theory of an “<a href="https://www.google.com.au/books/edition/Performing_Care/cj3nxwEACAAJ?hl=en">aesthetics of care</a>”, is a demonstration of the interdependence that lends performance its strengths. </p>
<p>I wasn’t moved by the characters in this piece, but these performers, particularly the youth company, constituted the hope I was searching for: when the cast took their bows, I was delighted (and relieved) to see the children smile.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/152007/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Kate Maguire-Rosier conducted research with Force Majeure on their previous production 'Off The Record', a collaboration with Dance Integrated Australia.</span></em></p>Force Majeure’s The Last Season, directed by Danielle Micich, forges a stimulating but disjointed narrative.Kate Maguire-Rosier, Honorary Associate, Department of Theatre and Performance Studies, School of Literature, Art, and Media, Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences, University of SydneyLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1264352019-11-12T01:41:27Z2019-11-12T01:41:27ZDesert, volcano, the fall of civilisation: this year’s OzAsia festival fused worlds in dance<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/300786/original/file-20191107-10961-igz2tb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=10%2C50%2C6669%2C4416&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">British-Bangladeshi choreographer Akram Khan draws in the dance training of his cast to create a whole new genre of performance.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Jean Louis Fernandez/OzAsia Festival</span></span></figcaption></figure><p><em>Review: What the Day Owes to the Night, Vessel, and Outwitting the Devil, OzAsia Festival, Adelaide, 22 October - 8 November</em></p>
<p>The most exciting work at OzAsia cuts across genres, styles, and cultures to create something distinctive and new: a work of art that could not exist without equality in the exchange between Western and Asian cultures. Under artistic director Joseph Mitchell, this brief has extended to engagement with the Middle East.</p>
<p>Perhaps because dance exists without language it has long been the place where Asia and the West have met most successfully. But funding and time are required to make such deep engagement between cultures possible. No surprise, then, Europe has become the centre for the generation of such work and three of the most outstanding works in this year’s festival were by European-based choreographers. </p>
<p>Two are of South Asian or Middle Eastern heritage while the third has a long history of deep engagement with Asia. </p>
<h2>What the Day Owes to the Night</h2>
<p>French choreographer Hervé Koubi grew up without full knowledge of his Algerian roots. His thrilling What the Day Owes to the Night <a href="https://afphila.com/interview-herve-koubi">reflects his coming to terms with that knowledge</a>. </p>
<p>Working with non-professional dancers, hip-hop and breakdancing from the streets of North Africa link up with Afro-Brazilian capoeira, wrapped in the spectacle of Sufi-style, whirling dervish dance. </p>
<p>The superbly fit and athletic all-male cast are shirtless. Skirts billow out when they twirl: patterns of extraordinary beauty and complexity. Perpetual motion, they twirl for impossible periods of time upside down on their heads. </p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/300787/original/file-20191107-10940-xjh2ub.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/300787/original/file-20191107-10940-xjh2ub.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/300787/original/file-20191107-10940-xjh2ub.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/300787/original/file-20191107-10940-xjh2ub.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/300787/original/file-20191107-10940-xjh2ub.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/300787/original/file-20191107-10940-xjh2ub.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/300787/original/file-20191107-10940-xjh2ub.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The dancers in What the Day Owes to the Night are ‘perpetual motion machines.’</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo Karim/OzAsia Festival</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The work is explosive and powerful. Bodies are thrown into the air and across the stage. The dancers are superbly masculine, but also graceful and generous with one another. It was a work that overwhelmed the senses in its technical genius, exuberance, and joy.</p>
<h2>Vessel</h2>
<p>Belgian choreographer Damien Jalet’s Vessel extends from a collaboration with <a href="https://www.maia-arts.org/en/vessel/">Japanese sculptor Kohei Nawa</a>, exploring the ways dance and sculpture can come together.</p>
<p>The stage is a shallow pool of water surrounding a thin sculptural object, stark in its whiteness, resembling the top of a volcano. Dancers appear as non-human: heads tucked in front or behind, completely out of view. These headless forms attach to one another, fuse, and are expelled by some mysterious organic force. </p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/300225/original/file-20191105-88387-qaoyt9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/300225/original/file-20191105-88387-qaoyt9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/300225/original/file-20191105-88387-qaoyt9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/300225/original/file-20191105-88387-qaoyt9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/300225/original/file-20191105-88387-qaoyt9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/300225/original/file-20191105-88387-qaoyt9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/300225/original/file-20191105-88387-qaoyt9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Vessel explores the way dance and sculpture can come together.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Yoshikazu Inoue/OzAsia Festival</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>It is a hypnotic evocation of the power of Japan’s volcanic islands, reflecting Jalet’s <a href="https://www.anothermag.com/fashion-beauty/11135/damien-jalet-on-the-japanese-ritual-which-connects-man-to-nature">long-standing personal connection</a> with Japanese aesthetics, myth and religion. </p>
<p>Japanese cultural and religious systems reflect the natural world. In Vessel, organisms are perilously fragile. They are birthed, mutated, and expelled over moments in a larger cosmic time. We are in a state of altered consciousness. Anything is possible.</p>
<h2>Outwitting the Devil</h2>
<p>Akram Khan, born in the UK of Bangladeshi parents, has a long history of work that <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/stage/2018/may/22/akram-khan-the-master-mover-who-redefined-dance-xenos-sadlers-wells">extends the choreographic language</a> of traditional dance forms. Building on the North Indian classical dance form of kathak, communicating stories <a href="https://www.culturalindia.net/indian-dance/classical/kathak.html">through gesture and movement</a>, he has generated a new kind of contemporary dance.</p>
<p>Outwitting the Devil draws on the <a href="https://theconversation.com/guide-to-the-classics-the-epic-of-gilgamesh-73444">Epic of Gilgamesh</a> to offer a parable for our times. A tale of violence where a powerful, proud man unleashes terrible forces by taking on the natural world. Ultimately, all is lost. Nothing remains of civilisation except smouldering ruins.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/guide-to-the-classics-the-epic-of-gilgamesh-73444">Guide to the classics: the Epic of Gilgamesh</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<p>Khan offers a model for how dance can fuse cultures and movement vocabularies to create something new that defies categorisation. </p>
<p>Mythili Prakash uses the <a href="https://www.culturalindia.net/indian-dance/classical/bharatnatyam.html">angular vocabulary of Bharata Natyam</a>, descended from Hindu temple dancing; Jasper Narvaez’s fluid movement and effortless leaps reflect his training at the Ballet Philippines Dance School; Sam Asa Pratt’s commanding physical presence extends from his background in hip-hop; James Vu Anh Pham’s movement, seemingly outside the range of human possibility, draws from many years of working with contemporary dance company Chunky Move.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/300788/original/file-20191107-10901-3yhmhq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/300788/original/file-20191107-10901-3yhmhq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/300788/original/file-20191107-10901-3yhmhq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/300788/original/file-20191107-10901-3yhmhq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/300788/original/file-20191107-10901-3yhmhq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/300788/original/file-20191107-10901-3yhmhq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/300788/original/file-20191107-10901-3yhmhq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Akram Khan fuses dance styles and cultures, including Bharata Natyam, descended from Hindu temple dancing.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Jean Louis Fernandez/OzAsia Festival</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>This is intercultural work in which the dance cultures embedded in the bodies of performers is essential to the telling of the story.</p>
<h2>Visceral performance</h2>
<p>These works are intensely visceral. What the Day Owes to the Night produced a whirling, vibrating energy that remained in the body after the show. Jalet’s Vessel unfolded like an organism over geological time and Khan’s work ended with epic destruction and nearly unbearable sadness and heartbreak: both felt like they had permanently rearranged my DNA. </p>
<p>All show how works by master choreographers living outside of the Asia-Pacific region can successfully fuse Asian and Middle Eastern aesthetics and sensibilities and generate new stories and ways of moving. Koubi’s work a desert ritual, Jalet’s the forces of nature, and Khan’s the fall of civilisation. </p>
<p>When these elements are harnessed by thought, care, openness and generosity of spirit, and when the time needed to create such work is funded, what dance can do for the human spirit and soul is revealed.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/126435/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>William Peterson does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>The most exciting work at OzAsia cuts across genres, styles, and cultures to create something distinctive and new. This year, three new dance works did just that.William Peterson, Associate Professor, Flinders UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1115312019-02-12T05:12:17Z2019-02-12T05:12:17ZSunset, a danced evocation of love, loss, and rebirth<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/258394/original/file-20190212-174870-6448pv.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Sunset is collaboration between freelance director and choreographer Maxine Doyle and Western Australia’s STRUT Dance, in association with Tura New Music.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Simon Pynt</span></span></figcaption></figure><p><em>Review: Sunset, Perth Festival 2019</em></p>
<hr>
<p>On a humid night with strong easterlies blowing across the river, the opening night audience for dance-theatre performance <a href="https://www.perthfestival.com.au/event/sunset">Sunset</a> was ushered towards the Sunset Heritage Precinct, on the banks of the Swan River in Dalkeith.</p>
<p>The precinct is currently undergoing refurbishment as a community space and arts centre after many years of disuse. It seems fitting that a piece invoking, in the <a href="https://www.perthfestival.com.au/event/sunset">director’s words</a>, “loss, memory, space and silence”, should be chosen as the initial performance for the venue. It was constructed as a home for destitute men and later became a hospital, with resonances of an asylum (the men’s home had two padded cells). </p>
<p>The performance, to some degree paradoxically, takes place in the hospital’s former cinema, although this cinema space is more a dance hall cum theatre auditorium. A Perth Festival Co-commission, it is a collaboration between UK-based freelance director and choreographer Maxine Doyle and her associates Conor Doyle and Paul Zivkovich, and Western Australia’s STRUT Dance in association with Tura New Music.</p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
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<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Sunset explores love, love and memory.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Simon Pynt</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Once inside the precinct, the Sunset audience moved past rooms with piles of dirt and spindly plants, evocative of a deserted building in the outback where “nature” overcomes civilisation. But, this was also a reference to the myth of <a href="https://www.britannica.com/topic/Demeter">Demeter</a>, the Goddess of Grain, seeking her daughter Persephone. As the director indicates in the program, the myth had a significant influence on Sunset’s narrative.</p>
<p>More time spent in these rooms to reflect on the institutional architecture and ablution blocks reminiscent of a prison, or asylum, would have helped set the tone for what followed. However, perhaps the number of patrons precluded that, even though 100 is the maximum allowable for any one performance. </p>
<p>From there patrons moved into the “cinema”, a cavernous hall with peeling-paint walls, a small stage at one end, and a servery at the other. Chairs were scattered throughout, allowing spectators the opportunity to stand or sit, or wander at will – though few took up this opportunity. </p>
<p>Thematically, the performance focused on those “universal” themes of love, loss and memory, tied in with the myth of Demeter and Persephone. That spectators may infer something different from what is intended is very much part of the “dreamlike” experience.</p>
<p>While the former home housed, among others, Great War veterans and Depression era homeless, what was evoked for me was the displacement of diaspora. This was in part expressed in the character of Alfred Ganz, a fictional poet performed by Humphrey Bower, complete with an Eastern European accent and with a nod to T.S. Eliot in his poetry titles. </p>
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<span class="caption">Humphrey Bower as Alfred Ganz in Sunset.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Simon Pynt</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>This European influence was evident when the stage was used early in the performance in a conventional manner, inviting the audience to be unidirectional in their focus. This was to witness the performance of a quasi-Expressionist playlet “The Lost Girl”, complete with <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ernst_Toller">Ernst Toller-like</a> skeletons wooing the girl.</p>
<p>The stage was not used again in a major way until the long closing dance sequences, where the Tura New Music quartet played so wonderfully as accompaniment to the dancers. </p>
<p>In what no doubt signified a celebration of rebirth, in tune with the Demeter and Persephone myth, the performers danced a mixture of folk-style dances with touches of the tarantella and a Scottish <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/C%C3%A8ilidh">cèilidh</a>. Earlier, performers had moved individually among the audience, either hugging the walls or breaking into brief intermittent dances. When dancing as a group, the varying levels of experience and expertise of the performers were made more obvious.</p>
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<span class="caption">Sunset is performed in a former men’s home and hospital.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Toni Wilkinson</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Some of the dancers were excellent, particularly Natalie Allen as Demeter. But it is difficult to identify who in the performance were dancers and who were actors. The program is devoted to words and pictures on the Sunset precinct, notes from the directors, a poem from the character Alfred Ganz and pictures and bios of the major production and technical crew. The 12 performers get just their names — four lines in total. </p>
<p>That said, there are many fine things about this performance, such as evidence of some hard thinking on the best use of the space and how best to incorporate certain stories and omit others. </p>
<p>An effectively varied soundscape, and excellent use of lighting, helped draw out the sometimes nightmarish qualities of the experience – for the cast, as seeming inmates of this asylum cum hospital cum prison space, and for the audience, where at any moment a bystander might break into a performance. The voice of composer and soundscape designer Rachel Dease was beautifully utilised and added yet another layer of a dreamlike quality. </p>
<p>Many spectators appeared to have enjoyed it, notwithstanding the sauna-like conditions. And although there are workers in the world who must undergo far more blistering and extended working hours in extreme conditions, congratulations should be extended to the performers for their energy and commitment in spite of the oppressive heat.</p>
<hr>
<p><em><a href="https://www.perthfestival.com.au/event/sunset">Sunset</a> is playing as part of the Perth Festival until February 17.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/111531/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Stephen Chinna does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>As part of the 2019 Perth Festival, dance-theatre performance Sunset takes place in a former men’s home on the banks of the Swan River.Stephen Chinna, Senior Honorary Research Fellow, The University of Western AustraliaLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/880012017-11-28T03:43:56Z2017-11-28T03:43:56ZIn Bangarra’s Ones Country, new voices show the many faces of Indigenous Australia<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/196591/original/file-20171128-2055-p1y1mc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Ngathu, in Bangarra's Ones Country, is a brilliant combination of the contemporary and traditional, telling the story of the ngathu, or cycad, in Arnhem Land. </span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo by Daniel Boud</span></span></figcaption></figure><p><a href="https://www.bangarra.com.au/">Bangarra</a>, Australia’s preeminent Indigenous dance theatre, has to be one of the country’s hardest working companies. In 2017, its dancers prepared and performed six different works, giving 88 public performances around Australia and overseas (excluding corporate gigs).</p>
<p>Led by Artistic Director Stephen Page since 1991, it is hard to think of another company here that has made such broad and sustained impact. It has an enormous brief to fill as “the” Indigenous company in Australia’s <a href="http://www.australiacouncil.gov.au/programs-and-resources/list-of-the-major-performing-arts-companies/">major performing arts group</a>, but is relatively poorly funded in comparison to the so-called “heritage” artforms like opera and the orchestras. </p>
<p>Bangarra’s current season of three new works, <a href="https://www.bangarra.com.au/whatson/productions/ones-country-2017">Ones Country: The Spine of Our Stories</a>, while uneven in parts, is worth seeing for the opportunity to experience a diversity of Indigenous stories from some new choreographic voices. It debuted in a celebratory weekend of Indigenous dance in Sydney, which included performances by students of <a href="https://naisda.com.au/">NAISDA Dance College</a>, and <a href="https://www.sydneyoperahouse.com/homeground">Homeground</a>, the Sydney Opera House’s festival of First Nations art. </p>
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<span class="caption">Whistler in Ones Country tells of the dugong in Torres Strait.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo by Daniel Boud</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The flip side of Bangarra’s high-profile success is that other Indigenous choreographers and companies struggle for air. I’m thinking of Torres Strait choreographer <a href="https://baiwadancecompany.wordpress.com/about-baiwa/">Rita Pryce</a> whose work is hardly ever seen outside of Queensland, or Sydney-based <a href="http://intimatespectacle.com.au/production/long-grass/">Vicki van Hout</a> who is a stalwart of the independent contemporary dance community.</p>
<p>In nearly 30 years, many dancers have passed through the company’s doors and yet very few have gone on to maintain professional careers as choreographers. </p>
<p>A diversity of choreographic voices and artistic practices is one of the measures of a strong sector. Many voices resist presenting indigeneity and Indigenous contemporary dance as any one thing. The showcasing of new choreographers in the Ones Country program - which premieres work by former and current dancers of the company - is therefore exciting. </p>
<p>Bangarra foundation member Djakapurra Munyarryun returns to make his choreographic debut with the company with which he is so strongly associated as a performer and cultural teacher, as do current dancers Kaine Sultan-Babij, Elma Kris and Nicola Sabatino. Together, the three works explore connections to country, taking the audience on a journey from north east Arnhem Land, to the concrete city, to the waters of Torres Strait. </p>
<p>I’d like to think the missing apostrophe in the program’s title is deliberate, posing plurality and individuality as entwined ideas of Indigenous Australia - it is, after all, a nation made up of many first nations.</p>
<p>The opening piece, Munyarryun’s Ngathu, was the stand out. Inspired by the ngathu (cycad) nut, which only appears briefly before the wet season in Arnhem Land, Munyarryun works deftly with male and female groupings from the ensemble to enact the harvest, and the dance of the white cockatoo signalling the coming rains. Utilising the compact stepping movements of Yolngu traditional dance, men and women circle each other, then break into two and then more circles. </p>
<p>The formalism of this dramaturgy feels incredibly fresh — it is traditional dance, but it’s too cursory to call it “just” traditional dance. Doing so totally misunderstands the complex rule-breaking that is involved in transcribing ritual dance to its theatrical setting. </p>
<p>Sitting in the old train workshop that is Carriageworks, I am aware that I am in Redfern and at the same time transported to Arnhem Land; and aware of the important transmission of cultural knowledge taking place for the dancers and the audience.</p>
<p>The work felt modern in its minimalism and clear geometry, and yet these are also part of its continuity with tradition. It was the perfect example of how traditional cultural practices are not in temporal opposition to contemporary art. I hope we get to see more from Munyarryun in the future.</p>
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<span class="caption">Leonard Mickelo dances solo in Place, describing the experience of an indigenous gay man in the city.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo by Daniel Boud</span></span>
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</figure>
<p>Sultan-Babij’s Place explores the first-time choreographer’s own experience as a young Indigenous gay man in the city in three sections. In the first, the dancers’ limbs reach over and through the bars of several metal barricades as deep bass notes combine with motors revving.</p>
<p>In the second, they dance Sultan-Babij’s totem, the caterpillar. The work ends in a solo performed by Leonard Mickelo, which encapsulates the combination of beauty and loss that was its overall theme. Mickelo, an incredibly long-limbed dancer, struggles against a barricade, all angles, moving into controlled, deep bends in a textured palette of light. </p>
<p>I was reminded of the death of teenager T.J. Hickey a short distance away, which sparked the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2004_Redfern_riots">2004 Redfern riots</a>, and how difficult it remains to be a young black man in Australia today. Overall Place is less successful, however. The three sections are disjointed, never adding up to more than the ideas that the final solo presents.</p>
<p>Kris and Sabatino’s Whistler, a story of the dugong, sacred in the Torres Strait, also struggled to to find its movement language — having set up movements mimicking the physicality of the dugong, I wonder what innovative choreography could have come from carrying through a commitment to the floor. </p>
<p>Having said this, the final moments in which the full ensemble sing together onstage left the audience filled with the energetic syncopation of Torres Strait movement, story and community.</p>
<p>It is a total gift that through Bangarra’s cultural work we get to share in these stories as part of our Australian heritage.</p>
<p><em><a href="https://www.bangarra.com.au/whatson/productions/ones-country-2017">Ones Country</a> will be showing at Carriageworks until December 2.</em></p>
<hr>
<p><em>Correction: An earlier version of this story stated that choreographer Rita Pryce was a former Bangarra dancer. She was not.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/88001/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Justine Shih Pearson does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Bangarra’s current season of three new works, Ones Country, is uneven in parts but worth seeing for the diversity of Indigenous stories from some new choreographic voices.Justine Shih Pearson, Honorary Associate, Department of Theatre and Performance Studies, University of SydneyLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/861322017-10-23T03:43:48Z2017-10-23T03:43:48ZWe Love Arabs: accomplished satire offers food (and hummus) for thought<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/191302/original/file-20171023-13955-1khbtf2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Hummus becomes a "choreographic texture" in We Love Arabs. </span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Gadi Dagon</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>We Love Arabs, staged as part of the Melbourne Festival at the Malthouse Theatre, brings together dance and theatre to explore Middle Eastern politics, and is a unique pleasure to watch. Australian audiences might recognise a similar fusion in recent works such as Chunky Move’s <a href="http://chunkymove.com.au/our-works/current-repertoire/complexity-of-belonging/">Complexity of Belonging</a>, and Nicola Gunn’s <a href="http://malthousetheatre.com.au/whats-on/piece-for-person-and-ghetto-blaster">Piece for Person and Ghetto Blaster</a>. </p>
<p>Devised by Israeli dancer and choreographer Hillel Kogan, the performance opens in silence. A spotlight illuminates Kogan, meditatively poised on one foot. After a moment, he breaks this pose and addresses the audience. “I would like to share with you some thoughts on the challenges I’m having with my creative process.” </p>
<p>From that point on, he barely stops talking, and narrates us through a hilariously tortured attempt at creating an artwork exploring the relations between Israeli Jews and Arabs.</p>
<p>The humour of We Love Arabs is masterful, and works at many levels: one does not need to understand contemporary dance, nor Middle Eastern politics to laugh, but there are treasures here for those who do. At the heart of the comedy is Kogan, who skewers himself in almost every way imaginable, from his identity as an Israeli Jew, to choreographer, dancer, and left-winger. We Love Arabs shows just how far “good intentions” can miss the mark.</p>
<p>The challenge facing Kogan’s creative process, initially, appears in vague terms. There are spaces, he tells us, where his body can “feel the space” - and the space his body - but there is also another space, a space which is “not him”. He ties himself in knots trying to find a way to articulate this “not me”. </p>
<p>At one level, this works by poking fun at dance and dancers. Kogan’s incessant inanities on the rehearsal floor, are all too familiar. This comedy extends throughout the choreography. Many of the jokes actually find their punchlines in gesture and form, allowing even the most unfamiliar audiences to dance an entry point. </p>
<p>Adi Boutrous is enlisted to perform as the “Arab dancer”. The dynamic is established quickly, as Kogan realises that Boutrous does not look like the stereotypical Arab he imagined. They need, Kogan insists, signs for the audience, so he requests Boutrous draw on him the Star of David. Then, on Boutrous’s forehead, he inscribes the Islamic crescent. Boutrous asks: “what did you draw on me?” Kogan replies: “the thing from the Mosque”. Boutrous, a brilliant comic foil, quietly responds: “I am a Christian”.</p>
<p>This exchange is one of many in the performance where the well meaning, left leaning artist reveals his ignorance and prejudice, a point which would seem heavy handed if not so well wrapped in comedy. As the work progresses, Kogan’s narcissism continues to manifest, culminating in the introduction of hummus as a “choreographic texture” that might unite them.</p>
<p>Throughout the performance we hear only a few words from Boutrous, who speaks - and indeed dances - only on the terms dictated by Kogan. The power dynamic depicted here speaks more broadly to issues of inequality. </p>
<p>The piece draws our attention to the problematic “help” provided by the well-intentioned, through 55 minutes of quite enjoyable self-flagellation. There is an issue here in that we might mistake the observation of a problem for the hard work of actually addressing it. Just as a woke-bro mansplaining feminism can recognise inequality while still being part of the problem, We Love Arabs takes an important step, but one that can all too readily fall into self-satisfaction.</p>
<p>The piece concludes with hummus and flat-bread. Boutros holds the bowl while Kogan tears off bits of bread, dips them in hummus and feeds them to the front row of the audience. Whispers ripple through the audience, “it’s the sacrament”, I hear. Indeed, the image is unmistakable, and it’s tempting to walk away with this image of peaceful communion. </p>
<p>But this would be to miss one final joke: the irony that the body of Christ could bring the Jews and Arabs together. If there is a take away here, it is this: you should always question what you’re being fed.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/86132/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Asher Warren does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>We Love Arabs is a complex satire that blends dance, theatre and hummus to investigate the politics of Israeli Jews and Arabs.Asher Warren, Tutor and Researcher in Theatre and Performance Studies, The University of MelbourneLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/853922017-10-10T01:03:01Z2017-10-10T01:03:01ZClassical Indian dance meets contemporary in Rising<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/189332/original/file-20171009-6956-8n94zc.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Aakash Odredra in Rising</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Chris Nash</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>British dancer Aakash Odedra’s debut solo evening of work, collectively presented under the title Rising, was a fitting and provocative bookend to this year’s OzAsia Festival. It harked back to the festival’s thrilling opening production of Until the Lions by the Akram Khan Company.</p>
<p>Like Khan, Odedra is of South Asian heritage — though Indian rather than Bangladeshi — and relies on training in the classical dance form of Kathak and the neoclassical form of Bharatanatyam to underpin the movement of his contemporary work. But, unlike Khan, Aakash as a solo artist possesses a uniquely graceful elegance, in marked contrast with the powerful movements of the stockier and generally quite grounded Khan.</p>
<p>Odedra is capable of shifting from rapid-fire footwork so fast he appears to be levitating, to a series of whirling dervish-type spirals that propel him across the stage, to gorgeous, fluid articulations of his arms and hands, then moving into steps so elegant one might imagine he is conjuring the spirit of Fred Astaire, gliding, not just dancing across the floor. Dressed in loose-fitting white clothing derived from the traditional dhoti with trousers, his moves are confident, precise, fluid and frequently unexpected.</p>
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<p>The program consisted of four works by different choreographers. The first was the dancer’s own piece, Nritta, clearly derived from the Kathak dance form. </p>
<p>As the only work that followed the 16-beat time cycle found in classical Indian music, it served as a fitting point of entry to the evening. It moved from the austerely devotional to spectacular, virtuosic displays of flight across the stage. Odedra’s eloquent hand and arm gestures, as rapid as liquid, were held only when dramatic necessity seemed to call for it, offering us a kind of uniquely deconstructed Kathak style.</p>
<p>The second dance, In the Shadow of Man, choreographed by <a href="http://www.akramkhancompany.net/">Akram Khan</a>, had much of the power and drama associated with his work. Odedra’s unique capacities were remarkably and superbly utilised. </p>
<p>In Michael Hulls’ brilliant chiaroscuro lighting, Odedra materialised before us, not in human form, but as a kind of disembodied torso, initially with what appeared to be tiny hands crawling across his back. His slender form and extraordinarily expressive shoulder blades drew out movements that seem to be those of a new, non-human species, placing the audience in a nearly hallucinatory state.</p>
<p>In both this work as well as the following piece, Cut, choreographed by <a href="http://www.russellmaliphant.com/">Russell Maliphant</a>, Odedra’s sensuous arm extensions and expressive hands were key choreographic elements. </p>
<p>Hulls’ superb lighting in Cut enabled Odedra to dance with his hands only at times. Laser-focused white light illuminated his hands, creating the illusion that they were glowing. A kind of visible, dark force field of shadows extended from them to the floor below, creating a kind of uncanniness.</p>
<p>In terms of sheer ingenuity, the final work, Constellation, choreographed by Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui and lit by Willy Cessa, was an absolute standout. It brought the evening to an appropriate, gentle close. </p>
<p>Odedra performed with a series of light globes hanging down from above the stage, activating them as he went. The lights moved sideways in darkness, then up and down. At times they appeared to make a pattern, though one wondered if the pattern was being created by the mind’s eye.</p>
<p>As the work drew to a final coda Odedra carried a single globe, lit brighter than the others and causing them to be extinguished. The spare, emotional music by Olga Wojciechowska briefly stopped and, while focused on Odedra’s eloquent moving arms and hands, we were plunged into stillness and silence, with the sound of our collective breathing connecting us to one another.</p>
<p>The work ended as Odedra dissolved into a sea of blinking lights, resetting our emotional clocks and bringing us back to the source of something deeper than ourselves.</p>
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<p><em>Rising was staged as part of the OzAsia Festival.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/85392/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>William Peterson does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>British dancer Aakash Odedra performed four solo works, drawing on classical Indian dance, in a fitting close to the OzAsia festival.William Peterson, Senior Lecturer in Drama, Flinders UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/740582017-03-06T03:37:17Z2017-03-06T03:37:17ZBetroffenheit, when the mind and body get stuck<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/159480/original/image-20170306-933-1qar105.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption"> Betroffenheit: an exploration of the suffering that is part of life.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Shane Reid</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>What happens when words fail us, when we are in that depthless black void where action, non-action, and all forms of interpersonal communication fail us? The state where the loss is so unbearable, so unspeakable, that we are stopped dead in our tracks, as if locked in a grimy room from which we cannot escape?</p>
<p>In German, when we meet (“treffen”) but are stopped by what we meet, we are “betroffen,” falling into the state of <em>betroffenheit</em>. This place of pain and emptiness is familiar to those who have suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder. </p>
<p>To go to such a place in and through live performance would seem to go well beyond what our ancient Greek philosopher friend Aristotle had in mind when he suggested in his famous essay, <a href="http://www.booktopia.com.au/poetics-aristotle/prod9780140446364.html?source=pla&gclid=COqYvKjCwNICFYFjvAodpfgNPg">The Poetics</a>, that tragedy’s chief function was to evoke emotions of pity and fear on the part of the audience, which would serve as a kind of social corrective through the collective experience of catharsis.</p>
<p>With their brilliant and searing work Betroffenheit, Canadian artists Crystal Pite and Jonathan Young take the audience on a journey that parallels that of Young himself when, in 2009, he lost his only daughter, along with two of her young cousins, in a tragic cabin fire. </p>
<p>Choreographer Pite has the ability to make dancers appear to fly in and through space as if their hands and feet were suction cups capable of attaching and releasing onto any surface entirely through their own internal impulses. Her choreography here is brilliantly paired with the work of writer/performer Young.</p>
<p>In this collaboration between his Electric Theatre Company and Kidd Pivot, a dance theatre company with which Pite has created a dynamic body of contemporary work, Young himself moves through the emotionally stunted landscape in which he found himself trapped following his daughter’s death. </p>
<p>The place of entrapment is given the physical form of a room with filthy institutional green walls. It is indeterminately inside and outside, backstage and frontstage, a place from which there appears to be no escape, only doors that fly open and throw dancers onto the stage as if shooting out from a volcano.</p>
<p>Initially, these dancerly intrusions into Young’s world are pleasant distractions from pain. One of the first is a staggeringly feathery and pink Carnival routine that seems to have wandered in from a favela in Rio de Janiero, slightly askew after dancers had consumed perhaps too many mojitos. </p>
<p>Another one, reminiscent of the Bob Fosse choreography in Cabaret with its so-called “jazz hands” reaching out to the audience, at first delights, but turns to menace, as the furious tap-dancing devolves into the marching steps of an army, one that invades not just countries, but bodies.</p>
<p>Throughout the first half of the two-hour long work, Young is onstage almost continually, remaining within the room even as he returns to his former job as the high-octane host of what appears to be a kind of deranged, coked-up, television variety show. Here he meets himself in the form and body of one of the dancers, variously transferring himself between bodies and into a tiny mini-me puppet manipulated by the dancers.</p>
<p>It is only at the start of the second act, following an interval, that the internal logic of the work becomes apparent. Now the horror of the event itself unfolds before us, not a literal fire, but dancers moving through the light and darkness of a closed room filled with thick smoke that appears to have the density of raindrops.</p>
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<span class="caption">Escape is not possible for the spectators either.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Shane Reid</span></span>
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<p>The genius and integrated artistic vision of the design and sound team create an environment for this distinctively non-cathartic place of entrapment. At this point, spectators are themselves trapped in this state of <em>betroffenheit</em> and escape is no longer possible.</p>
<p>One of the many successful features of this collaboration is the way in which movement and text work as co-activators. Instead of dancers speaking text — a trend which hopefully has peaked — all of the words seem to have been uttered by Young, referred to only as “Him” in the work. </p>
<p>“He” speaks to himself from outside of himself as a pre-recorded disembodied voice; speaks with his own voice, and ventriloquises his speech through the bodies of others. The collective impact of this is to bring us inside his head, one that is just as claustrophobic as the room in which he appears to be trapped.</p>
<p>As the walls fly out and at one point almost literally devour him, Young is left to argue with himself in a kind of Abbott and Costello routine. But rather than a comic foil of the other, it is as if each voice is answering back to itself.</p>
<p>One such exchange argues, “I’m not the victim, it’s the others, who need help.” The response, “It’s you who’s the disaster waiting to happen,” points to what we now know to be true: that those who perished, while they will not go away, cannot be helped, and that anyone trapped in the state of <em>betroffenheit</em> is dangerous to themselves and others.</p>
<p>There is of course no heroic ending to this work, no catharsis in the Aristotelian sense. There will be no walking out into the bright light of day. The mystery is perhaps why human beings gather to witness such pain and why a performer such as Young would endlessly relive it onstage. </p>
<p>Perhaps it’s because we need to collectively experience the suffering that is part of life so that we can live with it, and continue to live the best possible lives we can, in spite of it.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/74058/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>William Peterson does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Canadian artists Crystal Pite and Jonathan Young take the audience on a searing journey through the emotionally stunted landscape of a grieving father.William Peterson, Senior Lecturer in Drama, Flinders UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.