Local Gestures
because the personal is cultural
La vidéo et les photos promotionnelles de Pow Wow, le nouveau spectacle de Dany Desjardins, nous avait laissé entendre que le jeune chorégraphe se lançait dans une nouvelle direction. La première l’a confirmé. Bien que le travail de Desjardins demeure toujours aussi léché sur le plan visuel, le corps de ses interprètes n’est plus aussi étrange et animal, tel qu’il l’était sous les importantes contraintes physiques que le chorégraphe leur faisait subir. Bien que contrainte il demeure. Le corps des quatre femmes de Pow Wow (Isabelle Arcand, Geneviève Boulet, Claudine Hébert, Esther Rousseau-Morin) est le récipient constant du beat de la musique. Même dans le travail de partenaire, parfois complexe, elle le conserve. Mais bien que Desjardins démontrait déjà des influences de la culture populaire dans ses œuvres précédentes (les films d’horreur dans All vilains have a broken heart, par exemple), ici les références, nombreuses, sont d’un tout autre ordre. Dès la première image – une jeune femme étendue sur le sol, les yeux cachés derrière une cascade de fils blancs, une boule de verre dans la main – on reconnaît l’influence du fashion. D’ailleurs les costumes sont aussi de Desjardins, dont les talents sont clairement multiples. Les costumes sont élégants, et juste assez malcommodes pour les élever au-delà du quotidien. Le talon haut est aussi de mise, et il grince contre le sol comme une lame de patin contre la glace. L’une des danseuses est enrobée de dentelle noire, mais la longueur de ses jambes demeure exposée. On dirait Little Edie de Grey Gardens. Encore une fois, cette semaine la salle du Théâtre La Chapelle a été tournée d’un quart. La scène s’en trouve donc moins profonde et plus longue. Comme le podium pour un défilé de mode. L’éclairage rectangulaire accentue l’effet. On pourrait parler de femmes-objets, mais un détail nous en empêche : les yeux des quatre danseuses sont recouverts, de sorte qu’elles peuvent nous voir, alors qu’il est impossible pour le spectateur de voir leurs yeux à elles. Elles sont des sujets. Quant au mouvement, au-delà des poses fashion, les influences de la danse urbaine (le voguing et le waacking, entre autres) viennent solidifier cette culture pop. Les bras se démènent comme ils le font rarement en danse contemporaine. On a même le droit a quelques battles, où l’interaction entre les interprètes révèlent plus de respect que d’antagonisme, tout en demeurant froide malgré le contact physique. On se croirait dans un club où tout le monde sait danser, mais où nous sommes empêchés de se joindre à eux. Ça pourrait en frustrer quelques-uns. Desjardins semble vouloir satisfaire les sens, mais c’est plutôt mon cerveau qui s’en est trouvé stimulé. C’est que beaucoup de la danse mise en scène est habituellement pratiquée en communauté ou même en privé. C’est la transition qu’elle subit pour devenir spectacle qui soutient l’intérêt, même lorsque les résultats de l’expérience sont moins convaincants. Martin Bélanger avait fait subir un traitement similaire à la danse privée dans son mémorable Spoken Word/Body, avec une esthétique bien différente, évidemment. On pourrait aussi faire des liens avec les rituels fashion de Thierry Huard ou les déhanchements assumés de Dana Michel. En fait, Desjardins et Michel citent tous deux le documentaire Paris Is Burning comme source d’inspiration. Il reste à voir si Desjardins saura parfaire ses nouveaux sujets autant qu’il y avait réussi avec ses anciens. Pow Wow 25-29 octobre à 20h Théâtre La Chapelle www.lachapelle.org 514.843.7738 Billets : 28$ / Réduit : 23$
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“I am shackled by truth and beauty,” wrote poet Richard Loranger. It’s a sentence that struck actress Céline Bonnier and dancer/musician Clara Furey. It served as inspiration for their show Hello… How Are You?, currently at La Chapelle. Unfortunately though, Hello offers little of either. In the few instances when it does work, it is specifically because it achieves a certain realness or truth, usually in spite of itself. First, they have decided to change the seating around so that the audience is facing the café-bar and the dressing rooms. So, when the two performers run from one to the other, the sound of their high heels echoes through the theatre. Second, Bonnier delivers a monologue taken from Pierre Maheu’s Le Bonhomme… which is a documentary. As reality television has now proven, the shit that comes out of ordinary people’s mouths is infinitely more creative than anything even the most imaginative writer could possibly come up with. In other words, people are a lot more unpredictable and fucked up than we can ever imagine. If Réjean Ducharme had written this monologue, we’d call him a genius. But, no… It was just a drunk woman in Saint-Henri going off on an unscripted rant. Third, Furey swiftly spins her head around over an aquarium. More than any other, this scene reveals Hello’s main problem: the disjunction between where it wants to work and where it actually does. As is always the case, Furey gives it her all onstage. And yet the effect of her performance on the audience is underwhelming. However, what does grab the attention is that her long dark hair hits the light in the process: light, dark, light, dark, light, dark… We need to cling on to these few short moments, a bit of everyday poetry in the middle of so much crassness. Fourth, the two of them put on nail polish and wave their hands back and forth so it dries faster. This simple movement is probably the most interesting in the entire show. I would have preferred to watch them do this for a full hour. At least, it would have shown dedication, clarity, commitment, and restraint. None of these qualities are to be found here. Last, Furey throws dark clay at Bonnier. It hits her and covers the wall behind her. Again, this is not what is actually of interest here. Something good finally comes from it when Bonnier moves away and, on the wall behind her, leaves a white paper silhouette surrounded by clay. It reminds me of environmental artist Andy Goldsworthy, who sometimes likes to lie down on the pavement when it starts to rain, and then stand up to reveal the silhouette left behind by his body but for a few seconds, before the rain swallows it too. Now there’s an artist with a clear concept. The performers list a bunch of “eyes” that advised them, but the ones they could have used are Nicolas Cantin’s. He knows how to get a lot out of little, as opposed to a little out of a lot. But, if you’re not going to put a good show together, at least you can always take your clothes off. It sells tickets. Hello… How Are you? October 11-15 at 8pm; October 15 at 3pm Théâtre La Chapelle www.lachapelle.org 514.843.7738 Tickets: 33$ / Students: 28$ Laurie Anderson's Delusion, photo by Leland Brewster If the world is going to end, Laurie Anderson might as well be your travelling companion. That’s at least how she made me feel last night at the Montreal premiere of her show Delusion. Though the many stories she tells over the 90 minutes the show lasts might at first appear eclectic, a sense of the end of the world pervades all of them, or at the very least the end of life. Ends even, for as she points out, from the moment we come into this world, we are destined for multiple deaths. The scenography is simple, even basic, but effective. A rock-like structure in the middle of the stage acts as a screen for smaller grey rocks that constantly mutate in watery ripples. On the screen at the back, the largest of four, a small wooden frame appears within which, appropriately, leaves fall. This is not only coincidental; as we will find out, Delusion takes place within a perpetual, rainy autumn. The Great Flood. On either side, two smaller screens. The one on the left, like the blank pages of an open book; on the right, rippled like the bed sheet of an unmade bed. The latter is also the first image to appear on them, sheets of a peachy skin colour. Unlike Anderson’s recorded material, highly cerebral, the music she creates for the show is surprisingly cinematic, sometimes even downright emotional. As she takes on a deep electronically modified male voice, her mysterious synth composition is reminiscent of Angelo Badalamenti’s score for Twin Peaks. It is just as probable that things might turn out to be gloomy or funny. The darkness of the candle-lit room, the smoke that fills the screens as well as the stage itself, visible in the narrow strips of light, and the red curtains on video all facilitate the comparisons to David Lynch, as cliché as those might be. The incessant music cradles the audience from left to right, allowing them to comfortably settle into the slow and hypnotic show. From early on, Anderson commands a certain reverence. There is indeed something mythic about her. She is as comfortable on stage as any performer I have ever seen. She playfully interacts with the projection, swaying her foot in front of the projector beam so that its shadow appears to be treading the video ground. And, as if her stage presence wasn’t enough, she is also a gifted storyteller. Even when Anderson tackles such serious issues as colonialism or the consequences of rampant capitalism in America, she manages to do it with lightness and humour, never forgetting the ultimate absurdity of life. And, therefore, of death too. So, if this is indeed the end of the world, we can be thankful that there is Anderson’s voice to put everything back into perspective, to make us laugh and reassure us. Delusion October 4-6 at 8pm Usine C http://usine-c.com/ 514.521.4493 Tickets: 40$ / Under 31 years old: 30$ |
Sylvain Verstricht
has an MA in Film Studies and works in contemporary dance. His fiction has appeared in Headlight Anthology, Cactus Heart, and Birkensnake. s.verstricht [at] gmail [dot] com Categories
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