2010. február 5., péntek

L.E.N.

Adva Zakai: How to spell a piece
(Published: http://www.workspacebrussels.be/)

Two women enter the empty white stage touched lightly by a soft light. Both of them wear quite similar jeans, one of them in a red shirt (Shila Anaraki) and the other one in greenish-yellow pastel (Adva Zakai). They lead themselves downstage. Shila, in the pose of a dog or a cat, produces the mechanical sound of elbows dropping onto the stage. Left. Right. Again up. Left. Right…again up… following the rhythm of Adva’s “lyric floor washing” - as I’ll call it now - is there any other way of interpreting, “spelling”, a body that is sitting on legs, stooping forwards and making wind-like movements with her bare arms? Le-e-eft. Ri-i-ight. Le-e-eft. Ri-i-ight.
Then Adva starts talking. “I am a woman who follows a strict routine,” she says. In this moment the “floor washing” image is strengthened by the picture of a hard-working housewife, and the verbally articulated meaning adds to this connotation, just as it adds to Shila’s lethargic slumping. “I am a rigid person”, “I am always on top”, “I clean all day”, “and I have a dog”… The text is circulating from sentence to sentence, starts again and again (probably three times) from the very beginning and fills up the “story” with new and repeated equivocal details: for example, how does it taste to make love with Napoleon, with Marilyn Monroe, or… with a ghost, while the motions are almost the same, still.

It’s hardly possible to find the exact moment when Shila leaves the floor, when she takes over the role of story-teller and creates a new flow of movements with heart-shaped hands, then lies on the floor (not to be on “top”). But now it is finally clear that they are completing the “story” on a new frequency, and at least from one point of view we are discovering why the title is “How to spell a piece”. Spelling means cutting the word into pieces and putting its sounds together again with the help of a different expression. Whether we want it to or not, it produces a context, in this case a strangely humorous one - or at least some moments make us laugh. But this kind of DADA-ism can easily become a nicely articulated Labyrinth of Efforts for Nothing.

The moment when they re-play the full package of movements is remarkable - coloured by all the previous thoughts and words and connotations in our minds - they actually start dancing to Sam Brown’s hit-song. As they state: a “pop-version” of “How to spell a piece”. Of course everybody has memories of the Disco Age… so as a reference it works perfectly; the seemingly pathos-ridden housewife monologue is now given fresh blood (although we have to wait until for it).
These acts can be just another “dada” in our imaginary vocabulary but also the building stones of content. They are neither more nor less significant than the ghost-scene when Adva and Shila play out the “teen-horror” moment when a rigid housewife’s lover comes home as a ghost-figure, and the dog grabs the leg of this frightening creature. And there is even a certain moment when the two girls start their own conspiratorial winking to each other whilst their speech also shades the previous movements with conspiratorial childishness or erotic overtones (spellings). We now get the feeling we are witnessing both the working-process and its result. All the clichés of hidden sexual fantasies through (pop)horror to Bambi’s mother under the night sky line up next to the image of a busy housewife cleaning. But still the movements are the same.

During a country song the two performers imitate cowboys as they walk to leave the stage (and another – Tarantino-style - cliché), and a question arises: how do you spell a piece if we have got a big mass of “letters” in a smartly structured well-performed piece, but without a code or a recipe. Cocoa, sugar, milk and flour on a table is not yet a chocolate cake in L.E.N.

Fellow Phrases, Fellow Points

Fellow Phrases, Fellow Points
Contemporary Choreographers’’ Night X.

In case a “contemporary choreographer” is a choreographer who is still alive, we can truly say that we are entertained by contemporary pieces at the jubilee performance by the Workshop of the Hungarian National Ballet Foundation. But (and this is not a cry for bluish haze or abstract pieces metacommunicating in ways alien to the audience) in case we intend to use the attribute „contemporary” to mean creative work sensitive to the present age breaking new paths or striving towards that, the choreographic summary of the performance with its modernizing classicism that would not exchange the broken path for new ways setting on stage earlier pieces that were given just a new dash of soda, the jubilee occasion, is a sheer disappointment. The company of artists from the previous years has not grown to include new names nor has it adopted a revolutionary approach bringing forth something impressively original. Although the strict fences of classical ballet have long been pulled down the majority of our these choreographers – holding on to their ’letters patent’ can’t help keeping their steps close to Martha Graham. What remains, however, beyond explanation is the ’modern’ dramatic motive behind some choreographers' choice to suddenly cut out music and close their scenic expression with an accordingly strikingly fast full stop.

The above-mentioned sudden cut is perhaps best understood in Way of Words, the piece by Levente Bajári: it does create new meaning there. Dario Marionelli’s clumsy music echoing the knock of a typewriter, the purple costumes reminiscent of Austin Power movies along with Krisztina Pazár’s bob haircut, the two dancers’ puppet-like movements as if they were moved by someone else when they perform their pas de deux in the central, common square of light all create the idiosyncratic dance thriller atmosphere further supported by the title (Way of words – with special emphasis on modality). Then the invisible fingers beating the invisible typewriter abruptly stop telling their story while the silence that is set leaves an unquestionable excitement and tension, the applause is due for technical excellence, the brilliant postures and the feet brought up in ballet shoes rather than for the experience conveyed by the artistic composition.

Just the same point goes for Andrea Paolini Merlo’s Uncertain Harmony which featured on the night Új utakon (New Roads) by the Ballet Workshop earlier. The eight dancers standing in a straight line depart from the strict order and start their identical series of movements made wave-like by the difference in timing to uncertainly shrieking, harassing musical harmony in reddish light. Merlo delicately develops the order of chaos from the chaos of order and arranges his dancers in newer and newer formations finally returning to the
initial straight line and reddish lights when he silences the music as if all were well done. A point marks the end of the line of movements and the musical tune ends in uncertain harmony…

Startling enough, but for unjustifiable clumsiness rather than for thoughtful consideration. The first part of the other Merlo choreography, Métamorphoses Nocturnes (Night Metamorphoses) was seen in the 2006 performance but now the piece have developed further to present the artist’s whole arsenal of expression where the foolproof charm is spatial sensibility. In the opening scene six dancers arranged in pairs are lying on the ground and later joined by a fourth couple. Parts making the whole group move alternate with micro-happenings built on two or three dancers, which seem to draw images of changing parts of the day in allegorical dance. The seemingly classical lines of movements enriched with some modernity are sometimes broken by tableaux of bodies imitating running when lifted by their partners. Just like in Uncertain Harmony near the end of the piece the dancers assume their initial position, but now four couples are lying on the ground and the tune closes at a comforting resting point.

This classic frame-like structure, this well worn grammar is apparent to a much greater extent in Elégia (Elegy) a choreography by András Lukács from 2000, which is definitely old-fashioned and romantic in tone in spite of the often used flexes as well as non-vertical body axes. His three female dancers play about like nymphs to ballet music by Delibes. They start from a common focal point and finally return to it in a nice over-lyricized image the charm of which is somewhat aged (the last of the dancers retracting to the back of the stage wraps the light in her palm and „takes it away”. The other piece by Lukács, Levél Martha Grahamnek (Letter to Martha Graham) is not a brand new product either. Mauve costumes and graceful dancers miming the shapes of Greek amphorae…
– Lukács, like a true apt pupil, lists everything that is ’Graham’ in his tribute to the American pioneer of modern dance. His nicely dynamic composition generously looks down on the present day: He does not place his work in context, he does not interpret, just estheticizes in a pathetic-sentimental lilaccoloured backlight. This classic romantic way of composition is not left behind by Marianna Venekei either in her Eternal Memory (where the title might suggest an everlasting experience or the act of remembering forever) created to the memory of Zoltán Nagy, Jr. although her choreography eclectically mixes role concepts reminding us of the age of great Ballets (Dancer: Levente Bajári, Death: Ildikó Bacskai) and the more modern, film-like narrative playing with a double time plane created by a difference in lighting. Bajári’s great human presence is excitingly counterpointed by Bacskai’s relentless naked squareness.

It is a Hollywood proverb that a film is half success if it features a child or a dog. Roland Csonka considered seriously the advice and brought together an ’earthly' and a ’heavenly’ child in his choreography Contact – not with E.T. but with each-other and their adult images. The makeshift disco lights representing a spaceship or the starry sky that flash up for a few seconds when we are about halfway through the piece, the shiny tape stuck on the spine of the ’heavenly creature’ or the stone medals around the neck create the illusion of a bizarre Walt Disney afternoon tale rather than that of a ripe choreography that can be taken seriously.

The single piece that can be deemed searching, pondering over the relationship between music and movements and playing with that relationship so the one we might call a ’contemporary’ piece in both senses is Long (with both its verbal and adjectival meaning in play) by Attila Kun. ’Ugly hands', ’ugly feet’, squareness, limping in a piece which – in contrast to its title is extremely brief, which although fits in the line of abruptly ending choreographies lined up but can become an attractive, manifestation of the straightforward creative and searching mind with its freshness, personal touch and openness that does not want to hide its unfinished quality. His young dancer, József Medvecz uses sign language. As if he did not have words or phrases for what he wants to say, -not even coherent movements that could be fit in one line. It is only clumsy halftones that appear closed with a hyphen referring to a broken heart.

The programme, made up of well swotted lines, in the tenth Contemporary Choreographers’ Night features conscientious pieces of work which are in lack of spirit. These choreographers – whether part of a contemporary workshop or not – stay within the dialect learnt at the Opera House polishing not-quite-new rhymes and testifying allegoric scenic contents on well-trained dancer bodies while they seem to shrink from the real examination of this body as well as that of the dance itself or from novel ways of expression. Half (!) of the choreographies presented were no new-born babes at all. Are not there any new pieces that could be taken on? Question mark and…Point, point, point.


Contemporary Choreographers’ Night X. (Studio Company of the Hungarian National Ballet Foundation, National Dance Theatre)
Elegy – Music: L. Delibes. Choreography: András Lukács. Way of Words – Music: Dario Marionelli. Choreography: Levente Bajári. Uncertain Harmony – Music: György Ligeti. Choreography: Andrea Paolini Merlo. Contact – Music: Nándor Weisz. Make-up: Szilvi Ipacs. Choreography: Roland Csonka. Letter to Martha Graham – Music: Michael Nyman. Choreography: András Lukács. Eternal Memory (In Memoriam Zoltán Nagy, the younger) – Music: John Tavener. Choreography: Marianna Venekei. Long – Music: Shigeru Umebayashi. Choreography: Attila Kun.
Méthamorphoses Nocturnes I–II. – Music: György Ligeti. Costume: Mónika Herwerth. Choreography, Lighting: Andrea Paolini Merlo.
Dancers: Ildikó Bacskai, Orsolya Gáspár, Zsófia Gyarmati, Krisztina Pazár, Levente Bajári, Alexandra Kozmér, Dóra Deák, Alexander Komarov, György Szirb, Dániel Fodor, Roland Csonka, Zoltán Feicht, Patrik Szala, Márton Szücs, Ildikó Boros, Adrienn Horváth, Adrienn Szekeres, Sznezsana Gikovszki, József Medvecz, Ágnes Riedl, Adrienn Pap, Bálint Katona.

Dull Lights

Cullberg Ballet in Budapest

The Cullberg Ballet arrived to Hungary with three choreographed pieces from Johan Inger, artistic director of the company since 2003. On one hand, Inger follows Mats Ek, mixing dance with mime. There are ordinary gestures in his pieces, but his vision is less grotesque and ironic. The focus obviously shifts from classical ballet to contemporary dance. The role of space and spatiality increases (see the pieces: Point of Eclipse, Position of Elsewhere) and the sensitive use of lighting makes the human senses roam to dark, northern lands. However, through the journey of these pieces, the power which could make these pieces showcase smart choreography and skillful dancing is gone.
Felix Lajkó’s music and a huge circling curtain space element creates strange vision-like atmosphere of the Empty House. Just as a galactic windmill which spins from itself all the creatures and, in the end, keeps them all back, except for the dancers. The performance starts with their ritual movements, in a sharply lit circle. The female dancer’s static movements in the middle of the circle frame the male dancer in a circular motion. This circularity is the main element not only of the first piece, but of the night, and of the other two performances too. It draws a line of forces on the stage. This motif is especially important in the Empty House, because there aren’t any interactions among the dancers. They don’t exist for each other, only in their own relation to the space. They are dancing through this sparsely lit stage more and more energetically just as lonely planets, as a girl and a boy in the first scene, and the fluid movements ending with a simple stop with their backs to the audience. The choreographic intention purely culminates in a game between body and space dissolving the very moments of dance.
Negro con Flores is more stratified work. Johan Inger placed a television to the left side of the stage. In it we can see faces of sleeping girls and guys – probably the dancers. At the same time, cheerful and funereal pictures of the mind waking during a dream are animated, one after the other. A girl drapes her blanket on the floor, preparing for a picnic; another is doing her endless marathon-circling – numerous moments from everyday life, lifted to the stage, raising a smile in a changed context. The climax of the night is the friendly-loving fight between the two guys: one marks their meeting point with a big bouquet of roses. Then he frames the body of his lying partner who rejects the flowers. Then, at the blink of an eye, five roses are planted virtuously into the ground forming a mini-garden. Exciting balance-poses, poses sliding into the darkness, sinking bodies all create an illusion of the partner…
Lighting has a main role in this piece also. The strong light of the lamp drifting from hand to hand looks to create a scene darker than in the Empty House. This game with lighting lifts the funny and dark scenes into surrealism, but I presume they couldn’t realize the original plans from the Palace of Art, in Budapest. According to all the previous reviews and video recordings of the choreography, mostly only silhouettes or clouds of the bodies are visible, and the television shows only in black. This piece is so “photosensitive” that a little bit more bright composition kills the work. Hence the television becomes a didactic and decorative element to explain the “story”, and the comic scenes aren’t contrapuntal by the stress of darkness.
There is a narrative type of Bolero-interpretation at the end. Johan Inger follows the Ek-tradition in his way of adapting classical music into his piece. The Walking Mad wants to fall into line with the Ek-pieces forming the classical ballet-canon into the ordinary and banal, just as Carmen, Sleeping Beauty and Giselle. The main space-element is a huge, stage-wide, moveable wall. There are doors on it, it can be transformed into a bed, or a foundation for a stage on a stage. Folding this space-element creates a claustrophobic corner, from where the only way to escape is to climb up. The story is about the stormy and stressful love life of three women and half dozen men but the act is difficult to follow. This Bolero-variant filled with gags, was born simply to demonstrate that he can create Ek-friendly narratives, besides his two abstract works. The puppet-like movements, flexing feet, the men’s group prissy and feminine dance strengthen the comical side of the choreography. Even the dramatic stop of the music, the silence, the female dancer’s thrashing and the duo with a strong black male dancer is not able to break the line of funny ideas, not even for a moment.
The character of these three pieces is different however they wear the same uniform, homogenizing them into something which is truly not very memorable.