Therefore, when G. handed me two tickets to go and see Rosas Danst Rosas that a colleague had generously passed on to him because she couldn't go, I just went all ??
A Google search revealed it to be a choreography based on austere, pure dance minimalism, devised by the Belgian Anne Teresa de Keersmaeker. The review I bumped into gives a meticulous description of the dance, including the fact that nothing really happens for the first twenty minutes and, half-way through it, there are quite a few exasperate walk-outs. Ouch. That did put me off a bit, but then You Tube overturned the situation by showing me this:
That's when I got all excited about it.
It reminded me of what I studied during my university days, when I took two modules of History of Theatre and got fascinated by the Odin Teatret and...hum, that other guy, Russian perhaps, who turned the actor into a machine. I think this very same thing of forgetting the name happened at the exam, too, and the lovely Professor gave me a 29/30 mark (30 being the maximum in the Italian marking system. Come ON! How mean is that?) Anyway, on show day we turn up at the Sadler's Wells, which by the way was full, with curiosity and great expectations. When the lights go down four women walk in and lay on the floor. As predicted by the article, nothing happens. Not a sound, with the exception of the women's sudden breathing and coordinated, identical and repetitive movements.
The silence engulfs everything, as thick as a blanket. It's total, and gripping.
And then, surely as breathing, here it begins the coughing.
One cough from the right hand side of the stalls. A second cough answers from the other side. This prompts a third, then a fourth.
The four women do another quick sequence, breaking the silence with their breath, and the cough stops. Then, back to immobility and to it's-oh-so-quiet-it's-oh-so-still.
And someone coughs. Just once. It's a performance within a performance.
Now, with the exception of those who maybe are allergic, phthisical or actually caught a cough, have you ever wondered about the complexity of this phenomenon?
Silence is an issue. It kind of leaves you alone with your thoughts, which may be too noisy, and may crush you down. To me, the cough that breaks the silence is like one of those miniature sorghum brooms used to protect houses from evil spirits; brush it away.
That's the only explanation I have, for there must be a reason why silence is gold. For example, hadn't the silence being so gripping, I wouldn't have thought of this whole post.
It contains neither pearls of wisdom nor philosophical truths, but not all thoughts bring up evil spirits.
Back to the show, suddenly a very mechanical music begins, and the silence issue is archived.
One hour and forty minutes of five different, but identical movement sequences. An intense work for the dancers, and also for those who watch.
It reminded me of what I studied during my university days, when I took two modules of History of Theatre and got fascinated by the Odin Teatret and...hum, that other guy, Russian perhaps, who turned the actor into a machine. I think this very same thing of forgetting the name happened at the exam, too, and the lovely Professor gave me a 29/30 mark (30 being the maximum in the Italian marking system. Come ON! How mean is that?) Anyway, on show day we turn up at the Sadler's Wells, which by the way was full, with curiosity and great expectations. When the lights go down four women walk in and lay on the floor. As predicted by the article, nothing happens. Not a sound, with the exception of the women's sudden breathing and coordinated, identical and repetitive movements.
The silence engulfs everything, as thick as a blanket. It's total, and gripping.
And then, surely as breathing, here it begins the coughing.
One cough from the right hand side of the stalls. A second cough answers from the other side. This prompts a third, then a fourth.
The four women do another quick sequence, breaking the silence with their breath, and the cough stops. Then, back to immobility and to it's-oh-so-quiet-it's-oh-so-still.
And someone coughs. Just once. It's a performance within a performance.
Now, with the exception of those who maybe are allergic, phthisical or actually caught a cough, have you ever wondered about the complexity of this phenomenon?
Silence is an issue. It kind of leaves you alone with your thoughts, which may be too noisy, and may crush you down. To me, the cough that breaks the silence is like one of those miniature sorghum brooms used to protect houses from evil spirits; brush it away.
That's the only explanation I have, for there must be a reason why silence is gold. For example, hadn't the silence being so gripping, I wouldn't have thought of this whole post.
It contains neither pearls of wisdom nor philosophical truths, but not all thoughts bring up evil spirits.
Back to the show, suddenly a very mechanical music begins, and the silence issue is archived.
One hour and forty minutes of five different, but identical movement sequences. An intense work for the dancers, and also for those who watch.
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