David Dato in a photo by Johannes Ifkovits, the publicity image.
In Movements to Stravinsky costume where Dato does not dance

Stravinsky’s compositions for ballet were the core of Sergei Diaghelev’s Ballets Russes. The Firebird premiere took place in Paris Opera in 1910, while Petruschka premiere also took place in Paris but in Théâtre du Châtelet. The original choreographer for both ballets was Michal Fokine. Both of these ballets enjoy a rich tradition around the world, with versions in the repertoire of The Mariinsky Theatre (Kirov), National Ballet of Canada, The Bolshoi Theatre, the Royal Ballet and American Ballet Theatre to name just a few. Ironically enough, the Russian premiere of Fokine’s The Firebird had to wait until perestroika in 1993.

In fairness to Michal Fokine, what we saw this week should probably not bear the name of the original compositions, a while the music is still Stravinsky’s, neither the original choreography or libretto plays any role in Peci or Kaydanovsky’s creations.

Petrushka – Eno Peci

The original Petrushka tells the story of the puppet Punch (Petruscha) who loves a Ballerina puppet who in turn loves the Moor puppet who takes the Ballerina away from Petruschka. The loss of his love kills Petrushka. Most of the action takes place in the middle of a bustling Russian street market.

Petrushka is a difficult work to rebuild as a new ballet. The clown, his mistress, the Russian market. How do you replace all of that colour and energy?

Peci choose to open with a birthday party at home where Petrushka is with his beautiful partner celebrating the birthday of their young son. The ongoing motif is a clock installed in the ceiling on which the hands turn and turn.

Suddenly we are in a white schoolroom with wooden desks and very high ceilings. The girls come in white jackets and very short skirts. Céline Janou Weder enthusiastically leads her able fellow classmates including Emilia Barano, Adele Fiochhi, Anna Shepelyova….in the playful dances of schoolgirls. They are joined by an equal contingent of six boys who quickly quarrel and stir up petty rivalries and trouble. On a high trumpet note Petruschka enters as a buttoned down school teacher in brown suit and tie.

David Dato quickly takes control of the hijinks and quarrel between the boys and the classroom settles down. Dato’s Petrushka owes more to Hollywood dance start Fred Astaire than Michel Fokine. He’s convincing in his fifties style persona with a big smile and a cheerful attitude.

A very dangerous Rebekka Horner comes across as a giant wasp in her geometric black latex suit. It’s uncertain for me if Horner should represent the Magician or the Moor. In any case, she’s accompanied by two young street thugs who cause trouble at the school and rape the teacher/Petrushka’s wife. Trevor Hayden and Arne Vancervelde convince with malice. Even their 80’s hairstyles are offensive.

Pavol Juras’s decorations, costumes and light are the real highlight. The huge blackboard, the high ceilings, the worn out windows, the faded colour palette are all on the mark. Peci has struggled with story in his past works, often as beautiful as perfume ads but equally shallow. It’s great to see him working in close partnership with a dramaturg. The great Juraj Grigorovich did his best work in close collaboration with stage designer Simon Virsladze.

Balázs Delbó has created a fantastic trailer for the piece which gives a real taste of the amazing atmosphere and the lighting, as well a short glimpse at the performances:

[fvplayer src=”https://vimeo.com/217467530″ width=”470″ height=”320″ splash=”https://i.vimeocdn.com/video/634740096_1280x720.jpg?r=pad” caption=”PETRUSCHKA – Trailer”]

Less convincing is the relationship between Petrushka and his wife, a very beautiful Nina Tonelli. In the original, one feels Petrushka’s humiliation when the Ballerina prefers the Moor’s ravishment to Petrushka’s true love. This time around the humiliation takes place in front of his students. Any teacher would say that’s almost as bad. It’s quite a distance from unrequited love.

The choreography and movement are solid but not extraordinary. There is no original spark in the movement, instead a pastiche of suitable fragments gathered from here and there.

Peci and Jurás’s collaboration is an original and strange yet viable re-interpretation of Fokine’s work.

Movements to Stravinsky – András Lukács

Movements to Stravinsky opens in a bare off-white box. The costumes are black and white. Some of the men have neck ruffles, some of the women battery lit horizontal white tutus.

The majestic Stravinksy melodies relentlessly insist on lyric art, as the dancers regally walk in from the sides, extremely elegant. Everything is extremely tasteful.

Between bouts of elegant walking we enjoy duets, solos and triplets.

The first pair is the best. Long limbed Cypriot Ionna Avraam is in another category tonight, bending her body like copper, harmonious, perfectly in sync with the music and very long. James Stephens is an able partner.

The other major duet Nikisha Fogo and Greig Matthews. The choreography is excellent and Fogo’s soft curves are well suited to the sensual lifts. Unfortunately both she and Matthews appeared very uncertain while dancing. They could both use at least a week or two of additional rehearsal before public presentation.

Alice Firenze with Masayu Kimoto fare better against a less challenging duet. Céline Janou Weder dances a trio in pants with an absurd looking Géraud Wielick in some kind of tunic skirt with a Mongolian pony tail on his head. Wielick’s casual hipster look nearly collapsed the entire aesthetic of Lukács’s neo-classical piece.

Movements to Stravinsky is a lot like any Kyllian piece staged in Paris Opera from about 1985. Its roots go even further back to George Balanchine’s structured art like Jewels. Some would call Movements to Stravinsky dated, others might consider it timeless. The conservative Viennese audience adored it, András Lukács has created a real crowd pleaser. Movements of Stravinsky or something very like it will be danced in 2050 as well. There’s probably not enough passion or innovation in this particular version that it will survive much beyond next year. Choreographer András Lukács is capable of much more feeling.

The Firebird – Andrei Kaydanovsky

The Firebird is a great story of resurrection and redemption. Unfortunately choreographer Andrei Kaydanovsky has chosen to wrap it in his own dark notions of modern times:

rampant consumerism of our time, our egoism, and the problem of dead centres of personal development.

I don’t disagree with Kaydanovsky about the wasteland of contemporary mainstream life. But the Firebird was never about the mainstream and general despair. It was about rising above the ordinary.

As far off target as he is with the music and the theme, Kaydanovsky’s sense of stagecraft is magnificent right from the parting of the curtains. A group of men gather outside a Russian deparment store goggling at the mannequins. Kaydanovsky creates this atmosphere with just a few wood frames and a Универсал (Department Store) sign in Russian.

A man in a giant chicken costume wanders in and circulates among the men handing out restaurant fliers. After a time the mannequins come to life and the men flee. Chicken-man (the character of Ivan in the original Firebird follows the Firebird mannequin into the store where there is an entire wall of boxes stacked high in three giant shelves with the text above them in Cyrillic characters, straight out of Soylent Green.

Hier bist du Vogelfütter

Shoppers crowd around and riot underneath the boxes until they fall down. At this point the shoppers turn into zombies writhing in the boxes – Kaydanovsky’s rampant consumerism. The movement is very sloppy but exceptionally organic.

Ivan now follows the Firebird deeper into the basement factory of the department store where grey female rag doll princesses move along a conveyor line.

The dolls are dancers who drop into old dirty yellow foam at the end of the conveyor line. This is quite a clever reinterpretation of the twelve princesses of the original. There is still hope the story will take an interesting and parallel path with the original.

The workers are in overalls from the thirties or fifties. The vast empty space of the workshop is created by rows of overhead flourescent lamps. Richard Szabó in particular convincingly offers the rough movement of a factory worker in a trio with Zsolt Török and Géraud Wielick (whose hair once again distracts).

Ivan dances – rather stumbles around – with the mannequins trying to find one he likes. Finally he finds his Vasillisa in a dirty pink costume and a huge orange wig. It’s Rebecca Horner under a thick cake of white zombie makeup.

Their awkward duet finally ends in collapse on the floor. A window appears at the back of the atelier. Dato’s Firebird takes his place in the window when a man in a hotdog costume wanders by. The end. Kaydanovsky offers no redemption, there is no firebird, just a guy in a shiny jacket, luring you into a department store.

Kaydanovsky doesn’t give the dancers much to work with so one cannot talk much about the performances but all of the dancers acquit themselves well enough. While the performance and the stagecraft, Kaydanovksy’s The Firebird remains fairly shameless shocktastic piggybacking on top of a classic with which his work has nothing in common. An approach symptomatic of the same weak ethical qualities and consumerism about which Kaydanovsky complains.

Orchestra – Conclusion

Throughout the evening the orchestra under David Levi offered an excellent classic interpretation of Stravinsky’s splendid scores. The Volksoper orchestra is a bit thin for the Firebird in comparison to the Marinsky or Bolshoi or full Staatsoper orchestra but the three pieces make an excellent musical evening.

According to his granddaughter and trustee of his works, Isabelle Fokine, Michal Fokine was not keen on radical changes to his works:

When Alexander Golovin’s designs were destroyed, Diaghilev commissioned Natalia Goncharova to design a set that would be easier to tour. My grandfather was horrified by the result – “It dealt a death blow to my ballet.” This was due to the fact that dancers were reacting to elements of the staging no longer present. This may not have troubled Diaghilev, but to a choreographer for whom dramatic sense was paramount, Fokine believed it made nonsense of his work….My grandfather greatly resented his ballets being altered. Today nobody would dream of tampering with the work of a living choreographer, so it seems inconceivable that it took place, but it did – often.

It’s good thing Fokine has been dead for 75 years. Let’s hope Peci’s and Kaydanovsky’s revisions don’t bring him back from his grave.

Out of the three works, Eno Peci’s Petrushka is easily the most successful. If you don’t pass out from déjà vu, Lukács Movements to Stravinsky is harmless and elegant fare. Kaydanovsky’s The Firebird is painful and depressing. Watching it is a suitable and delightfully ironic punishment for those superficial balletomanes who seek only shallow beauty from a night at the operahouse. As the Volksoper is often the first place people see dance in Vienna, Kayadanovsky’s The Firebird risks demotivating many to ever see another ballet.

All images copyright Wiener Volksoper 2017 and Ashley Turner.

Dancer credits beneath each photo in lightbox

The evening began with a short extract from one of Toulon’s own most ambitious works, Swan Trilogy (Schwanentrilogie). I saw the full piece at its premiere in 2009 and Swan Trilogy has aged well. The giant eggs with cracks in them create impressive atmosphere while Dianne Gray looks fabulous as the Swan princess. Michal Zabavik is in great form. The live orchestra give the performance the feel of one Europe’s great cultural capitals like Moscow or Paris. It’s a pity the excerpt was so short.

The next pas de deux came from Roland Petit’s Proust ou les intermittences du coeur. Two men dance naked to the waist as equal partners. Beautiful shapes, tender movement. Gabriel Faurie’s Elegy for Violoncello and Orchestra provided a deeply moving acoustic background for what Toulon correctly noted as a masterwork. 1974 is like today. Rainer Krenstetter and Marian Walter’s communication via movement will be the best we see tonight. A perfect performance of Petit’s perfect piece.

Marian Walter and Rainer Krenstetter in Roland Petits
Duett from Les intermittences du Coeur

Aimless is just one year old, Dimo Milev won the Copenhagen International Choreographic Competition with his short reflection on life: “it’s not important where you go but with whom you go”. Style is Hong Kong cinema with rust coloured pants and flowered shirts. Tango music from Marc Ribot adds a sensual funkiness to slinky synchronous movement. Performer Tamako Akiyama moves like a young dancer in her timeless and trendy swan song.

Dimo Kirilov Milev und Tamako Akiyama in Aimless
von Dimo Kirilov Milev Foto Costin Radu

Fortunately the Graz Oper’s speaker system is good enough to mix with live orchestra. Jean Sibelius’s “Ariels Lied” mixes into nature effects in the next duet, another extract from Toulon’s own Swan Trilogy. Anne-Marie Legenstein’s costume for the white swan remains breathtaking, a tightly pulled gauze bodysuit with transparent sections, decorated with silver and jewels. Bruna Diniz Afonso did justice to Toulon’s finely wrought choreography but her partner Keian Langdon persistently let her down. He looks good but his movement was sloppy and neither his head nor heart were in the dance this night.

“Fifth Corner” tries to tell the story of solitary confinement through three dancers. We hear opera arias mixed with some synthetic beats but the mix feels like a posed cool. Three long-haired beardos in Mao suits are the dancers but for me the movement was second rate. Choreography credits are shared by Guido Sarli and Manuel Rodriguez. Perhaps the full Loser King from which “Fifth Corner” was extracted makes more sense: Loser King won prizes in both New York and Madrid.

Toulon takes us back again to Swan Lake with Pascal Touzeau’s two year old reinterpretation of the pas de deux from the second act. The music is original and gorgeously played by the Graz Orchestra but the movement is entirely new, in what is an almost naked Swan Lake. This is great dance from a ballerina in her prime. Anne Jung brings a ferocious German intensity to Tchaikovsky’s elegaic score. A slightly awkward Christian Bauch does his best but he’s not able to keep up with Jung. It would definitely worth the trip to Mainz to see an astonishingly refreshed Swan Lake with parallel love stories (Odette and Odile are twin sisters).

Anne Jung und Christian Bauch in Pascal Touzeaus Schwanensee Act II Pas de Deux

Tarek Assam’s Alter Ego brings two men together on the stage again to the pure industrial sound of Alva Noto’s Argonaut. Michael Bronczkowski is a big black miracle worker of a dancer, his long arms extend forever. His silken movement makes you wonder how there any white male dancers. Manuel Wahlen holds up his end but Bronczkowski absolutely dominates the stage in one of the best performances of the evening.

Stephan Thoss’s Between Midnight and Morning returns us to Swan Lake but in a peculiar parody with the focus on an Odette head over heels in love with Rotbart. Laia Garcia Fernandez has a tutu which goes up to her chin. With short runs and bodychecks, Fernandez bowls Tenald Zace over again and again in fits of jealously. The game is funny at first but we quickly tire of it, repetition of the same joke breaks the funny bone.

Phew. That’s part one done. Back to our seats. After the second half, the orchestra does not return nor does Swan Lake.

Chat Rooms 2 is a sneak preview of Rosana Hribar and Grego Lustek’s contribution to the new Oper Graz dance evening. Bostjan Ivanjsic comes out early with Laura Fischer where he takes over an armchair and squaks about love. Others join them in bright green, red, blue shirts to ask the same question while tumbling. “Do you still love me?” which is always followed up by “I have to be sure which side you are on.” “Your side of course.” Uncertainty in love is universal so the trope of funny voices amuses at first but Michal Zabavik, Thanh Pham, Clara Pascual Marti and the rest wear it to death. The entire audience breathed an audible sigh of relief at the end of the short excerpt.

The simple piano music of Yarosava Ivanenko’s Invisible Grace brought soothing relief to raw nerves. A very beautiful pas de deux between the choreographer himself and Heather Jurgensen offers subtle gestures, great feeling and amazing empathy. There’s only black costumes but fine choreography and emotional performance makes one forget anything except the music and the dancers. If you are anywhere near Kiel, check the Ballet Kiel program to catch Jurgensen.

Heather Jurgensen und Yaroslav Ivanenko in Invisible Grace

Grey boxes, grey glothes and grey movement are what Kevin O’Day brings to Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, a work where good choreographers go to die. The sad duet between older men is art with a capital A, important with a capital I and boring with a capital B. Dance is not about death from old age, even if the boomers are getting older, but about passion and fire. Thoughtful and interminable.

Kevin ODay und Robert Glumbek in Four Seasons Photo Christian Kleiner

Hung-Wen Chen’s acrobatic dancing in V.V.V. quickly made Oper Graz much livelier. Half way through their leaps and flips, up come the house light. Lester Rene Gonzalez Alvarez asks the audience about games of chance before going back to horizontal and vertical floorwork. Veni Vidi Vici is very entertaining though the black and white costumes and the movement often seem very eighties (not necessarily a bad thing).

Hung Wen Chen und Lester Rene in Veni vidi vici von Hung Wen Chen

David Dawson’s brand new “Opus.11” is a choreographic reflection on the impossibility of truly coupling and life’s temporality. It was written for two retiring dancers. Tonight Courtney Richardson was majestic in the role written for Yumiko Takeshima. Raphael Coumes-Marquet’s movement seemed a bit too distant and self-involved, as though not only was he not interested in this woman, but no women.

Courtney Richardson und Raphael Coumes Marquet in
David Dawsons Opus11 Photo Costin Radu

Chat Rooms 1, another sneak preview, closed out the evening with a bang. Checkerboards of light and industrial banging grab our attention. Young star James Cousins does not seem to have a clear point yet in this preview. Oper Graz’s company looks good but in a fashion piece like this regal ice princess Sarah Schoch is clearly missing. A dancer like Schoch would add a visual edge to this fashion piece.

Throughout the evening, we had the pleasure of Toulon’s introductions and reflections on dance. Toulon’s mix of intellectual humour and pomp mostly charms. Toulon seems more self-conscious about his age than he needs to be. While dancers careers are short-lived, a choreographer’s need not be.

Toulon came up with a great promotional and fundraising idea: attractive black t-shirts with next season’s program on the back and a quote from Nietzsche on the front for €10: Most sizes sold out.

And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.

Next year is Toulon’s final season in Graz. There will be a sixth International Tanzgala here next May. Graz is wonderful in May and so are Toulon’s dance galas.

A splendid respite from pas de deux from Don Quixote and La Bayadère.

Further reflections on the future

If I had any wishes for future Graz Tanzgalas they would be to have fewer pieces, but longer excerpts. I’d like to continue to see as many pieces with live music as possible, even if it doesn’t involve the whole orchestra (piano with cello for example live). There is a danger of hitting the same wells each time: it’s important to see dancers from new venues every year rather than the same dancers back with something new each year. Several repeating artists does provide some continuity though and artists in their prime often have five or six stupendous years in a row, so the right mix of repeating and new artists is a fine line to tread.

splash image for pourquoi je danse – see video at bottom of post

This week the Ontario Arts Council announced OntarioDances.ca a program to connect dance companies with dance presenters.

For some reason there are only nine theatres included:

• Burlington Performing Arts Centre (Burlington)
• Capitol Centre (North Bay)
• Centre for the Arts – Brock University (St. Catharines)
• Flato Markham Theatre (Markham)
• The Grand Theatre (Kingston)
• Living Arts Centre (Mississauga)
• Oakville Centre for the Performing Arts (Oakville)
• The Registry Theatre (Kitchener)
• River Run Centre (Guelph)

Why just these nine? Where are the other theatres who get money from the Ontario Arts Council or Canada Council? Why can they not be mandated to participate? Have they been excluded as they are not good enough:? Should not a program like this be inclusive?

Remember the goal is to unite dance companies with theatres.

Amateurs are warned off:

We cannot accommodate information posted by amateur or recreational groups.

The only problem is who will decide what is amateur or recreational and what is professional. I’ve been to some professional performances (full time dance artists) which are so awful and risible there are no words for them. I’ve been to some amateur performances (people whose income is not dependent on dance) who have moved my soul.

In music, neither Lana del Rey nor Carly Simon could get gigs for years before they hit it big.

During that time, I worked as an overweight secretary in the offices of a production company. I pretended to type and take shorthand while extending my luncheon breaks to drown my sense of failure in more and more puff pastry and puddings.

What’s worse is that all this information is not offered to the world but locked behind closed doors.

What kind of portal does not allow the world to see what is there? Dance is not MI6 or CSIS or even the Ministry of Defence.

But go to http://ontariodances.ca and there is nothing for the public to see.

Hopeless. With friends like this, dance needs no enemies.

On the other hand, the video about what dance means to people, amateur and professional (I’d say about 80% of the people in this video are non-professionals in the sense of making the majority of their income from dance related activities) is pretty awesome.

Here’s a fantastic song which comes with a music video to match, Master Hunter. What’s very special for us at Uncoy is that the video is principally a modern dance performance with Marling playing the guitar in the background. Kitty McNamee did a great job with the duet. But the dance is not as indie a production as the music. McNamee is an LA based choreographer with MSA representation who appears to specialise in opera choreography: the strange thing about the bios is they don’t credit the years for the work.

[fvplayer src=’//cdn.uncoy.com/videos/Laura-Marling-Master-Hunter.mp4′ width=480 height=360]

Marling was a kind of early wonder, hitting the scene under Charlie Fink’s wing at age 18. Here’s another Marling hit from her very early years, “New Romantic”.

[fvplayer src=’//cdn.uncoy.com/videos/Laura-Marling-New-Romantic.mp4′ width=480 height=360]

But if Marling’s sophomore and third albums are folk masterpieces, Noah and the Whale will floor you with The First Days of Spring, a concept album and film, a concept dear to my own heart. Here’s the trailer/first song.

[fvplayer src=’//cdn.uncoy.com/videos/First-Days-of-Spring-Official-Trailer.mp4′ width=580 height=360]

The album goes south in the middle but someone with the ability to create that first song and an album long video deserves some admiration.

A sumptuous rendition of Maurice Ravel’s Daphnis & Chloe opens the evening. As substantial a stage as is the Oper Graz, the orchestra pit is full to bursting while the female voices take up the the left upper lodge. The male singers are in the wings backstage. The musical performance is worth the price of admission on its own. Combined with ballet director Toulon’s complex visuals, this is an extraordinary work. Majestic dancer Bostjan Ivanjsic takes centre stage as Daphnis. The role is a complex one, exploring a young man’s sexuality – first timid, then more aggressive. He throws himself into a pool on stage and comes out soaking wet and fully nude, challenging the slightly bourgeois Graz Opera audience with full frontal male nudity.

The women challenge us equally. Dianne Grey represents mature female sexuality in a long red skirt and a revealing bodice. The costumes are amazing. Her long arms enlaced Daphnis again and again, hypnotically and sensually. I was less taken with Chloe, Jura Wanga, whose innocence and dilemma were less persuasive. Soft and timid touching of genitals interweave with passionate duets and trios, making one think hard about Western societal constraints on sexuality. Why are we so constrained about what makes the world go round? more so even than money which is just a currency for the buying and selling of comfort and pleasure.

Michael Munoz dances a rooster-like Pan with diabolic elan. Still the episode where Munoz offers the different young women a shiny necklace confuses. One young woman (Claudia Fürnzholer) dies after donning the necklace while another one (Laura Fischer) is happy wearing it and dances gleefully away with him. Long time Graz star Michal Zabavik has matured: he’s in very good shape while his facial features have hardened. Always handsome, Zabavik’s curved nose and full lips now leer imperiousness and disdain, as if he’d spent his life cutting deals among the power brokers on Wall Street. Usually a person only acquires such a hard edge in a city like Moscow or New York, not in sylvan Graz: Zabavik’s dark and brooding presence helps lift Oper Graz ballet to first tier international level.

Love and fidelity don’t make so much sense any more after watching Toulon’s Daphnis & Chloe. Those who stray seem to have a lot more fun. The power of Toulon’s treatment of sexuality is that it is not a full on empty headed bacchanal but is progressive and questioning.

Along with the choreography, the dancing and the music, stagecraft here is spectacular. A large white wall in the middle back of the stage is not just a visual prop but the entry point for different characters who clamber over and into the action. There is the pool in the middle of the stage which appears and then disappears. Atmospheric but thankfully subtle video projections deepen and texturize the stage. Toulon is a sculptor in full control of his materials. Sets and costumes from Vibeke Andersen were right on mark here and for all three productions.

Daphnis and Chloe is a performance one could watch over and over again.

After a short pause, the second half kicks off with an elegant Afternoon of a Faun from veteran Portugese choreographer Vasco Wellencamp. A peculiar choice of choreographer for the normally youth driven Graz company, Wellencamp taught everyone in Graz what real dance mastery entails. Every gesture, every hand shape was choreographed to the smallest detail. Nothing escaped his eye.

The stage offered a giant couch with a reclining Bostjan Ivanjsic, again shirtless. Subtly projected against the black back wall were silhouettes of trees, a moon shone down from overhead. Dianne Grey returns at the back of the stage to climb over a giant tree stump. One is nearly convinced that one is in the center of a dark forest. Astonishing atmosphere. But the giant couch remained strange: how did it get to the middle of the forest I kept asking myself.

Fortunately the performances put such silly but persistent questions out of mind. Bostjan Ivanjsic is a regal faun inciting the women to passion and dangerously physical. His chiselled physique lends itself perfectly to such body sculpting. Michal Zabavik returns as a hard edged man who wantonly ravishes the porcelain beauty of long legged Sarah Schoch. Serge Desroches and Dianne Grey enjoy a more equal and very passionate duo as the other pair. Wellencamp takes us into another mythical space of fauns, beauty and mystery. This was the second time I’d seen the piece in about ten days. With the live music I would happily go again to see Faun every day for the next week.

The Celebrating Sacre program in Oper Graz is one of the most musically fulfilling dance programs I’ve ever had the pleasure to enjoy. Ravel, Debussy and Stravinsky make a perfect three course feast. On the choreographic side, Toulon, Wellencamp and James Wilton are an equally well-matched trio.

Curiously as it is the eponymous highlight of the evening, if there is a weaker element to the evening it is James Wilton’s Sacre du Printemps. Before the 100 year celebration of Sacre begins we see a 3.5 minute long presentation of a list of the different versions of Sacre created around the world. The last fifteen years have been particularly fruitful yielding about 25 original creations including superb versions from Angelin Prelocaj in France and Renato Zanella in Vienna.

What is there new to say about the Rite of Spring where the maiden is killed by her fellows to satisfy the gods of fertility? Probably not much which is likely why James Wilton decided to turn sensuality into a political and military statement. The stage is a military encampment in the roman style protected by wooden poles: the minimalist effect is persuasive, powerful and elegant. Vibeke Andersen hits the set on the money again.

Here Michal Zabovic again plays the anti-hero as the brutual, Hitler-like leader of a mixed gender group of marines. He incites them to vicious exercises, ganging up on their colleagues and pummelling them to a pulp. Norikazu Aoki is spectacular as one acrobatic rebel against Zabovic’s totalitarian cause, leaping and tumbling across the stage until he is literally a bruised wreck. Serge Desroches is a more tragic figure as he succumbs to Zabovic’s abuse finally ending up a broken corpse, as a predatory Zabovic literally scoops out his guts and eats his heart. In Wilton’s Rite of Spring, society is entirely militarised and completely unforgiving. Given the current political structure of England, blindly supporting every heavy handed American intervention across the world against the will of the majority, I can see why Wilton thinks this way. His attempt to confront our diabolical politics is laudable. Unfortunately it should probably be to other music. Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring is not about militarism but about fertility and sexuality: Wilton’s has been sterilised by its politics.

Still the corps-de-ballet looks great, all dancing well in what is a long and physical piece. They seem to be enjoying themselves and the hard work. I’d not rush to see this Rite of Spring again – Wilton rather bored me by the end and in retrospect left me annoyed. But it’s still a fine execution of a flawed concept and certainly worth seeing once, even if one does not hunger to see it again and again like Toulon’s Daphnis or Wellencamp’s Faun.

Christos Lamprianidis – Dexim via 1px

Dance retains the power to make banality go away, to lift us into the air and out of the prose of everyday life. How we’ve forgotten to move and become glued to our desks and computers never ceases to astonish me.

We just need to step out into the world and into our bodies to really live again.

In this photos, the luscious colours grab us. The contrast between the classical physique of the dancer and her modern dress parallels the contrast between the modern cars and the old European city. The shallow depth of field focuses us intensely on the dancer.

I’m not sure that the girl wasn’t shot in a studio with a carefully focused field shot. I’d love to know if this was fully live. One reason I suspect it might not be is that this kind of leap is very dangerous to the dancer on stone or cobbles. Lamprianidis didn’t have many chances if Dexim is indeed live action.

Franz West by Ludwig Koeln

Moderator and hands on organiser Jennifer Lacey did her best to keep the program on track but at two hours without a formal break and some real trouble moving the performers on and off, momentum was uneven. Had Lacey known how many pauses there would be, she could have passed on the introduction and done that in forced breaks. She told one joke which made me laugh while waiting what seemed like half an hour for Philip Gehmacher to get out of the back and onto the stage. Gehmacher’s equipment in the end was moved out onto the stage by force by Intendant Regensburger himself.

“As dancers we learn young to come on time or ahead of time and to be ready. Visual artists don’t ever seem to get this message – they are almost always late and badly organised – so collaborating with them is always an adventure for us.”

To open there was a beat poetry reading in the upper foyer of Kasino. Then the doors opened and a blonde transvestite in the most amazing electric blue platform heels pranced out.

“you can fuck a German in English too, fuck the uglies too to be kind and polite.”

I believe this was François Chaignaud.

Right after Chris Haring came out to show off one of his simplest tech tricks, microphone wrangling. Haring uses two loudspeakers and a microphone on a long cord. First he swings the mike between the speakers like a bell to get the measure of the feedback and then he starts to swing it around his head slowly and then faster. All the while his sound guy cranks up the volume into a crescendo of sound. It’s an impressive party trick. The stocky Haring can still really swing a mike like a rodeo man.

Here Lacey told us a bit about Franz West. He was a “participatory audience member. He would come to shows he wouldn’t like to be challenged by the work. An elegant hippy punk. Unlike most artists, West just got better as he got older.”

At this point, the highlight of the evening. Benoît Lachambre strutted out in thigh high platform bondage boots with a studded dog collar wrapped around his neck. Lachambre sang a song of unrequited love in a long term relationship, the pace of it tapped out by long strides with his boots. A pretty girl in tight blue hotpants and long dark hair joined him on stage, doing strange tricks like standing on her head and shaking her butt like a gogo girl. At one point Claire Furey puts on red sparkling Dorothy shoes from the Wizard of Oz and accompanies Lachambre in his rhythmic stomping. Finally Furey sits down at the piano and sings a richer version of Lachambre’s lament. Furey here sounds as good as Tori Amos, while Lachambre offers his rump coyly to the audience in a passive position of love.

The idea was good but what made Lachambre’s piece stand out was the intensity of his performance. Lachambre emoted the despair of love at the audience at volume know 12 out of 10, with a pasty face and bulging mad eyes. One worried for the man’s health. The effortless sexiness of Furey gave a necessary gloss of glamour to Lachambre’s gay madness.

After the show an Israeli Dancewebber where Lachambre is the mentor this year told me about what he had taught them: “Lachambre always talks about energy. Energy and more energy is the core of performance.” He’s not wrong.

Cecilia Bengolea did a cover of Kate Bush’s song “Wuthering Heights”. I’ve always loved Kate Bush’s fluttering voice and passion here. Bengolea got off to a surprisingly strong start despite a very present French accent. Alas, when she started to move, her vocal work limited her dancing and her dancing limited her vocal work. I think it’s the only time I’ve seen Bengolea perform clothed. I don’t think this performance can ever progress beyond shock value as there is no physical way to do the singing and dancing right.

Right here we went right off the deep end – but as this was a tribute to Franz West, it’s not important what I think but what he would have thought and I believe he would like the next (non-)performance very much. One of the world’s most famous Baroque violinists came over to perform the piece. The violinist very seriously set himself up on stage and played some tuning notes. We waited two minutes and thirty six seconds for him to start playing. He never did. The piece is called “Moment of potential silence”. It could just as easily be called “Moment of missed potential”. Bringing a world class performer to not perform is highly ironic and about as intelligent as burning €500 notes. As a political act, yes it’s highly charged. But as a long term proposition it has nothing to offer.

Now a new black strip of stage had to be rolled out. An enormous young woman in a black fur coat, a tall hair bun and nothing else strode out and stood in the middle of the stage, challenging us with her glare. Vivaldi’s Four Seasons starts. She rips off her fur coat, revealing hills of plump powerful flesh. Now she starts to powder her body as she tremors to Vivaldi. Shoulders, arms, breasts, belly. Turn and now buttocks in a rolling crescendo before stomping naked off stage. Again a party trick but a good one, confusing us with signals of classical culture, hygiene, body image and overt sexuality from non-standard body shapes. Doris Ulrich deserves praise both for the composition and for the performance.

Next come out a couple of old guys in worn out suits. It turns out to be the hairdresser of Franz West on stage with a massive soap bubble apparatus and a musician who worked with him in a beanie cap and a trumpet. A confusing twenty minutes of bubbles and half hearted trumpet. These guys are definitely going to miss Franz West as without him the world is just not quite the same. It was great to see them and to know what is waiting for all of us whether twenty years or fifty years down the road: the respect of time obscured by the confusion of age. Time waits for no man. Sow when the sun is high.

A young black gentleman in a black skirt came on stage to apologise for not being a singer and then to sing a song about “Daddy’s eyes” with the principle line being “Daddy is an alcoholic”. A moving enough performance but bit off topic. Dancers doing song covers is not really innovative or breaking the mold.

Philip Gehmacher took forever to get his act together and to come out on stage for semi improvised percussion with synthesiser on top. Phil Spector’s wall of sound. But not nearly so polished. I felt like we were being exposed to the experiments of a musician just starting his career. Something like a small child bringing his droppings to present to his mother, confident in his mother’s love and praise. Despite emptying half the hall (as usual), Gehmacher did collect a hearty round of applause after his half hour of diddling so I guess his expectations are not wrong. The sad part about this performance is that the pause waiting for it to be set up and the length of the performance broke the back of the evening. By the time we all left we were exhausted and drained.

Ivo Dimchev came out in a blonde wig which accented his cherubic face. The amazing trick Dimchev has of switching from angelic to demonic is quite mesmerising. He played with some sculptures, swapped the sculptures around, danced around to techno, scared the audience a bit by threatening to throw the sculpture at us, dry humped the corner of the wooden box he brought out with his props. Dimchev reminds me of King Lear’s fool: his madness allows him to say or do whatever he wants without giving anyone the right to offence. As much as “The P Project” delighted, this piece confused me. Showing off Dimchev’s talents but without much purpose.

Finally Mark Tompkins in his Sinatra suit wrapped up the evening with a performance of Heaven. “A place where nothing happens.” A fitting end to a tribute to a departed and much loved friend. As Karl Regensburger said in a short speech:

“I’d like to think that somewhere Franz has moved on to other works and other projects and that he is still with us in spirit. Such a creative force cannot come to an end, can it?”

High points? I was happy to have seen Benoît Lachambre’s work finally, in just the right dose to start. Doris Ulrich in the fur coat with baby powder is a very effective work. Seeing Mark Tompkins sing is always a pleasure. The beat poetry in the hallway was very good. Putting together almost overnight tributes is not an easy task and it is wonderful that Franz West got just the public wake he would have wanted.

Ivo Dimchev The P Project:
Projection of the cancelled verbal game
Readable 3456 pixel version

A guy walks onto the stage half naked shaved head and gold chains. Sits down at an electric piano. Holds his hands solemnly in prayer. Looks good and safe so far. First sign of trouble: Dimchev pulls out a little vertical jar, holds up to his nose and takes a couple of big snorts. Poppers he says.

He plays the piano rather well and then starts pounding on the keys so hard and so randomly you wonder if he knows how to play the piano at all. But then his fingers find the keys again. Dimchev stops occasionally to laugh maniacally, shaven head and UR-slavic features like some James Bond villain prototype.

Time to talk. Inspiration for the show: playing games with the word “pussy”. Word game works like this: adjective (fervent, macrobiotic, powerful, interrupted) plus “pussy” plus preposition (in, to, of, from, without) plus noun (airport, future, foundation, university). For some reason this word game doesn’t satisfy Dimchev’s requirements for interaction with audience. Too abstract.

So instead, he’s set up two computers on each side of the stage with direct chat into his own screen in front of the piano. He needs volunteers to type poetry which he will perform live. He does a stint and fairly successfully turns the words of others into some kind of meaning. Dimchev twists and repeats the words as he pleases, something like Van Morrison, something like Celine Dion, squeezing emotion out of each phrase even where there is none. A nice lesson on the tricks of “touching” vocalists”.

Now he wants performers. Some people dance for €30 while new poets type for €20 (I participated in this round – Dimchev pulled 90% of his text from my stream of consciousness stream although not without complaint – he wants his lyrics very lean).

Next round. He needs volunteers to kiss for €50. A pretty girl presents herself right away. Just what a hungry dancer needs. Exposure on stage and €50. Two guys fighting over the gig to kiss her. Dimchev swaps one of the guys out and sends the first kisser to the keyboard. The other guy gets to kiss. New information: the kiss must be topless. The girl doesn’t flinch. As well as I can tell she’s likely a real volunteer. I know that I wasn’t a plant in the audience.

The music starts again. The girl rips off her top and shows off a small but lovely pair of breasts with perfect pink nipples. No wonder she wasn’t alarmed: she’s playing to her strength. The dark haired guy has a dancer’s body and a handsome Italian look. But the girl was a much, much better kisser than he was. If she’s single, it was good advertising.

Dimchev asks the audience afterwards if we can go further. “Much further” someone shouts out. Dimchev agrees. The next two volunteers will get €200 each for their performance.

We catch our collective breath. What on earth will they have to do to earn €200? Still there’s another pretty girl with a funky calf length blue dress and long braided hair who is on her feet and the handsome mulatto guy in front of me with the cap is ready to go as well.

Dimchev says “Okay guys, I need you naked on stage, fucking and breaking my heart with your passion. Are you still on?” Dali nods. €200 is not pocket change. Tall, beautiful guy nods too. He’s not complaining. “You were in one of my workshops years ago, weren’t you Justin?” “Yes, yes I was.”

Wild card!

A guy in the back comes running down to the stage. He wants €200 and in on the action. A threesome. The usurper is a paunchy 35 year old with curly hair drawn in a half pony tail and a totally untrimmed three week old beard. Hair is pushing out of his nostrils and his ears as well. This hairy monster is sweating hard and won’t be denied, his nimble footwork belying his rich girth.

Dimchev hesitates for the first time. “Sure we could do a threesome. Do we have money for a third, Marcel? Yes a threesome.” Dali shakes her head. Dimchev has lost his girl. Quick thinking. “No we won’t do a threesome.” The hairy guy won’t be denied: he wants Justin’s place NOW. Dimchev collects his thoughts: “You can sit real close, right there in the front row. No you can even sit on the floor and watch everything.” Gorilla man sits cross legged on the ground at the front of the stage.

Dimchev dashes back to the safety of his piano, Justin and Dali strip right down. Dali has a pretty face and a nice stomach and butt. Her small chest is adorned with a funky hanging necklace which she keeps on during sex. Justin is gorgeous at 195cm, all muscle, no fat, long and lean. His milk chocolate skin is adorned with a beautiful circular tattoo which covers most of his back.

It takes the two of them some time to find the right position. They start standing up. When they hit the ground, Dimchev sternly admonishes as he plays: “No laughing, I’ll reduce the fee.”

With much less than €1000 cash, Dimchev has become ultimate lord and master over the entire room. He has audience members simulating sex in front of 300 strangers. Despite a few walkouts, Dimchev has turned 98% of a bourgeois theater audience into peep show patrons. This is an incredible proof of concept and an outrageous dark joke.

Dali went to serious work mounting Justin with his help. We could occasionally get a peek at Justin’s manhood. I was quite concerned that simulated sex might turn into the real thing, but it turns out the Justin didn’t even get to half mast. A simulated sex gig with Dali is a toddle in the park for you if you’re gay.

Dimchev sang about losing you and sex and then brought matters to a very brisk close. “Alright everybody it’s over. Put your clothes back on and collect your money.” The artists were so eager for their money that they collected the money still naked.

Dimchev started the bows. Just as the hill steepened, the show was over. There was no ringing epitaph, no interpretation, no coda just the raw facts: people has just taken small amounts of money to kiss topless and to simulate sex.

There is nowhere further for the show to go. Well perhaps the woman could urinate onto the man’s face for €500 each. Or they could have real oral sex. In any case the next step is probably technically a crime, although Austrian stage laws are pretty liberal.

I’m still puzzled. The party trick works as the escalation is gradual. Start with dancing a little bit, to kissing, kissing with top off, simulated sex. There’s nothing people won’t do for a bit of cold hard cash. Dimchev’s dark cherub grin will not leave me soon.

If you have the chance to go and see the second show on the 12th August, do.

Ivo Dimchev, “the P project.” 12th August in Kasino am Schwarzenbergplaatz at 19.00

In other words performance art is an unadulterated fiasco which has poisoned the dance world and taken it over, as the less capable outnumber and outvote the properly trained as conteporary dance slips down a long greasy rail into ramp amateurism.

At least that’s what I thought until I saw Tompkins and his French partner Mathieu Grenier perform last night.

Mathieu Grenier Mark Tompkins as mother in Opening Night

Both gentleman are gifted singers and very capable actors. For much of “Opening Night” they sing a cappella together. In the Broadway or musical genre which provided the basic for their performance piece, both would likely be able to find and hold serious roles. These men take their craft seriously. Both are very funny but they do not camp it up with sniggers to the audience as so many of our new “funny” performers do. No Tompkins and Grenier pack their material thick with meaning and absurdity and power through it relentlessy, leaving audiences a bridge deck of questions to solve.

One of their songs includes throwaway lines which are not so throw away – “how life ebbs and flows”. A Vaudeville turned out to be a matter of life and death, the fragility of life.

Tompkins in particular is a chameleon. He starts the show as the mother of the performer in high heels, gold spandex pants and a hair net over rollers. Later he reappears as a chorus dancer, later again as some kind of melancholy Sinatra figure. With his enormous eyes, distinctive nose and pouting mouth, one would think Tompkins would always look like Tompkins but each time he is genuinely different. When he first appears in a suit, he looks just like a later career Peter O’Toole, wittily observing the pageant of life leaving him behind.

Mathieu Grenier Mark Tompkins lounge singers episode Opening Night

Even the props carry additional resonance. The magic box is decorated in primary colours with large text on each side “What is war” or “What is beauty”.

This is not empty noise or self-aggrandizement. Tompkins constantly poses himself the question why:

The most difficult thing about duration, is how to avoid repeating one’s self, how to avoid fabricating a machine to produce performances. Every new work is an occasion to put into play our habits, our certainties and question again our desire – and now, what do we want to say, what is important for us today ?

One of the most powerful numbers is “In Love with the Boy” where Tompkins tells a story about a desultory and tragic love affair with a beautiful Hollywood young actor. Grenier’s interrupts Tompkins with “Boys, boys, boys” before Tompkins forces Grenier to return to his song of lament.

Throughout the show the technical work was great, with a two sided clothers rack doubling as room decoration for the apartment and alternative stage curtains with a simple spin. To create the atmosphere of a techno club, an old guy wanders across the stage strewing glow in the dark cord. This sets a credible stage for a dancing buddha. Little touches like this are what make “Opening Night – A Vaudeville” so delightful and resonant.

It would be great if the Vienna performance artists would visit Tompkin’s and Grenier’s piece to learn how real work in this area is done: with years of training and months of specific practice. Tompkin’s work proves that there is no reason performance should be synonomous with amateurism.

Mark Tompkins is a very impressive singer/songwriter independently of his performance work. His songs are like a happy cross of Lou Reed, Leonard Cohen and Bryan Ferry.

Emotional Blackmail Mark Lewis Standards von monyque

The ruins of life.

The beginning is the end, like a film. How did she arrive here?

As we all do by living life.

Voda na voda is a series of associative tableaux, focused alternatively on travel or on the relationships between men and women.

Men don’t do very well here. We’re either brutes, or dependent winos. Easily seduced, easily duped. Better controlled on a short leash than loved.

It’s a dark look into the heart but not an unmerited one. Most women do feel hard done by.

Along the way we are treated to elaborate work with bathtubs, high heels, climbing gear, skipping ropes, suitcases, suspended rope.

What’s wonderful about Sarka Ondrisova’s work is the elaborate work with objects together with the consistency of the choreography. In difference from my recent experience at Dido and Aeneas where the choreographic language seemed to change from scene to scene (same thing happens in Linz at Jochen Ulrich’s work but that’s the topic of another post), Ondrisova’s movement fits together to create a work greater than the sum of its parts.

Particularly powerful is the work against the floor and other bodies. Movement builds up into a crescendo and then into high impact. But the impact is never simple pyrotechnics, as is sometimes the case with Win Vandekeybus. Ondrisova earns her body slams in an elaborate emotional subtext that builds up over the full scene.

While its roots are in choreographed contact improvisation, Ondrisova takes her dancers much further. Movement is a reflection of both thought and feeling.

There’s a splendid scene lifted directly from Bram Stoker’s Dracula where a young man full of wild oats (he prances around the stage as a horse) is seduced by three beautiful succubae who come out of a bathtub with long hair and high heels. As they drain him of his life force, a thought comes forward: “Be careful what you wish for, you might just get it.”

Apparently despite invitations for the last five years, no one from ImPulsTanz can get down to Bratislava to check out Ondrisova’s work nor her colleagues work. Shame on you Karl. This is some of the most interesting modern work I’ve seen. And it’s happening in ImPulsTanz’s own backyard while they comb the far outreaches of Europe and all the continent for something interesting and new.