There are a few flashes of promise – dancers with a heartbeat too strong for their chest, some fast, whipping, flicking solos at the end – but little in between to tie this together.
The opening is strong: hung vertically the fabric looks like sand dunes, or a curtain of quicksand sucking in its prey, and the dancers melt into it.
The work could have been read as privileging form over heart, function over humanity, but this seemed to be partially the point... Continue Reading
Liam Scarlett’s translation of the poem into dance is a sincere but misconceived exercise.
The premise of Jasmin Vardimon’s Park feels even more current now than when the piece was created, 10 years ago… The style is ferociously physical: the dancers throw themselves and each other about; they dive, hurtle and crash.
…the dancers themselves are equally at the mercy of their environment. The fluid, rolling momentum of their choreography is physically obstructed by the furniture on stage, across which they have to navigate a balancing, spinning, toppling path.
In spite of its minimalistic setting and pure movement focus Ina Christina Johannessen's duet manages to shock and disturb. Continue Reading
64 dancers flood and seethe over the stage, moving as a mass or letting a head, a hand pop up against the tide. Dancers coil into angles like bats or ninjas, forming canon patterns that keep morphing.
Everybody knows that interactive, “promenade” performances can be dodgy. Add children of all ages, as both performers and punters, and you could easily be headed for a traffic jam. The Little Witch by Marie … Continue Reading