September 24, 2005
Random 9
I took a wrong turn at the river -- well, not wrong, perhaps, but not my usual way -- and wound up on what you might call the scenic route home. I'm not really sure why. I guess I just felt like a change. The path took me alongside the railway tracks and there was an old workman's hut there, one of those little temporary things made out of rods and tarpaulin, like a boxy tent. The kind of thing that's usually only around for a couple of days before it's bundled up and taken to the next spot and the next, but this one seemed to have been there forever -- rusting, frayed, so thickly caked with grime and dust that you could barely see it had once been striped red and white. A strange thing, certainly -- what was it doing there? why had it been left behind? -- but I don't suppose I would have noticed, through the chain-link fence, in the fading light, if it hadn't been for the singing. Full-throated, earthy, rapturous, the song burst out just as I was passing by the hut, so sudden and unexpected that I actually jumped, shocked out of whatever reverie I'd been in as I walked along. When I looked around I couldn't see any other likely source, but I can't swear the voice was coming from the hut -- there was no light or sign of movement inside. I just stood there, listening, and the song seemed to tear right through me, roughly probing the deepest recesses of my thoughts and memories, trampling over all those delicate fictions that make up my life, brutally honest and confrontational. I don't remember a single lyric, a single note, but I remember the voice and how it spoke -- directly -- to me. It's not the sort of thing you forget. And then, as abruptly as it had started, the singing stopped. I stayed there on the path, in the evening gloom, with tears running down my face, for the longest time, knowing I had been dismissed. I think I shouted things -- awful, embarrassing things -- at the hut, begging whoever was in there for some kind of -- I don't know, absolution I suppose. But there was nothing like that to be had, and I knew it. Eventually, I pulled myself together, wiped my face, blew my nose, and continued home. Poured myself a drink, and wondered how I would tell you about it. Wondered how to tell you that I'm leaving.Posted by matt at September 24, 2005 05:47 PM
Comments
Didn't see you at the Purcell Room, which surprised me ...
Posted by: Max at September 24, 2005 11:02 PM
We must have gone on different nights. Did you like? I thought of you during the comedic moments :)
Posted by: matt at September 24, 2005 11:26 PM
I'm getting used to the comedic moments. What was odd about that night was how absolutely it repeated what even by now is the familiar CdlB formula -- wandering around, mock fights, autobiography [only bit that really grated there being when the blonde-haired guy had to (badly) act getting serious about the presumably genuine detail of his having been raped once], etc etc -- and yet how ultimately enjoyable it was. As often I was particularly struck by the bits that verged into acrobatics, though that one solo which looked like stop-motion animation was fairly incredible.
Posted by: Max at September 25, 2005 02:05 PM
I agree there's a sense in which Bâche was formulaic; the obligatory confessional monologues irritated me for exactly that reason, although taken on their own merits they were interesting enough. There was, for me at least, no sense of the piece having a purpose or meaning of its own beyond being a CdlB show -- it wasn't really about anything and didn't seem to have much to say, unlike most of the pieces of theirs that I've seen -- and when it did try to say something (the monologue about lying and the subsequent "patriotic song") it was hamfisted and tiresome.
I also agree about its enjoyability -- it was, almost without let-up, a pleasure to watch. The dancing was lively, the acrobatics thrilling yet understated, and the strobe/stop-motion piece you mention extraordinary -- I loved the way its performer was presented as so nerdy and embarrassing for most of the evening before revealing that physical virtuosity.
Overall, I enjoyed it very much. It lacked the soul-wrenching quality of my beloved Foi, but it was entertaining and cleverly made, and the performers (all, refreshingly for a dance performance, men well into their 30s) were remarkable. (Ian took a profound dislike to the one I believe to be the choreographer, finding him malevolent and empty and hateful, which alienated him from the whole piece, but still agreed that he was an excellent performer.)
It made an interesting contrast to the piece we saw the night before, Momix's Opus Cactus. There were many brilliant things in that, and the performers were uniformly splendid, but it ultimately seemed bland and showbizzy. (Although less so than the last show I saw of theirs, Baseball, about ten years ago, which sticks in my memory as thoroughly smug, meretricious and tiresome.)
Momix director Moses Pendleton has an interesting, if limited, choreographic imagination, but no editorial sense at all, with the result that every good idea -- and there are a lot in OC -- is dulled by relentless repetition and generally drowned in sameyness. With some ruthless paring down, and stringent removal of any hint of mugging, Opus Cactus could be a brilliant, albeit rather shorter, show. As it is, it seemed, for all its gloss, pretty soggy and overinflated.
Still a very entertaining night out, though. I took my father, as well as Ian and Antonio, and we all had a good time. It's decidedly circusy in parts, but -- in a similar way to recent Cirque du Soleil, perhaps -- disappointingly anodyne. Sexy, but edgeless.
Posted by: matt at September 25, 2005 10:52 PM
That was worth a post in its own right :)
Posted by: Stairs at September 26, 2005 01:07 AM
Stairs: yes.
Matt: which guy do you think was the choreographer? The one who walked on the others?
Posted by: Max at September 26, 2005 09:50 AM
[Max] Yes, that was my guess.
[Stairs] It might have been had Max not started the discussion here, but it seems appropriate to respond in situ. It's certainly not the first time I've got all long-winded in the comments :)
Posted by: matt at September 26, 2005 06:38 PM
Well, I don't know what inspires so much despite for him in Ian. I rather liked his smile. Though his anthem was really sub-sixth-form Euro-America-bashing by numbers.
Posted by: Max at September 26, 2005 11:47 PM
He wasn't the choreographer, if I interpret today's Guardian review correctly.
Posted by: Max at September 27, 2005 10:28 AM
Corpus Bach, with SLC, at the QEH 15-18 March 06.
Posted by: Max at September 27, 2005 10:35 AM
I'll be there :)
No reason to doubt the review, but I'd never have guessed the blond chap as the real culprit. Just goes to show, eh?
Posted by: matt at September 27, 2005 12:54 PM
Comments for this post are now closed, but feel free to email me if you have something interesting to say.
