September 10, 2004
Going to the Dogs
London this year is seeing an unprecedented three visits by Alain Platel's amazing Les Ballets C de la B. I've raved about Foi several times already, and Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui's follow-up Tempus Fugit is still to come. Tonight was the turn of Wolf, directed by the company founder.
It's a pretty extraordinary show, and well worth seeing, though not as intense or affecting as Platel's earlier pieces. A large cast of brilliant musicians, singers and dancers is, somewhat pointlessly, upstaged by the 14 dogs who wander in and out of the proceedings. Platel specialises in orchestrated chaos, and the pack certainly add to the sense of derangement.
Though looser and more lighthearted than its predecessors, tonight's show gained an added frisson by provoking some members of the audience to outraged shouting. Were we suddenly transported back to the days of The Rite of Spring, when art could drive its viewers to riot? Not quite.
God save us from the English and their fucking canine sentimentality. Surrounded by the horrors of human existence, they can always be relied on to save their miserly concern for any perceived mistreatment of a pampered performing pooch.
