 Pale Water (Première Partie), photo by Simon Grenier-Poirier Three choreographers, three pieces, three Canadian cities. Pale Water (Première Partie), Dorian Nuskind-Oder (Montréal) At first, but a backlit silhouette against a white screen. Then, neon strips are positioned on six sides around Nuskind-Oder, with gaps in between, so that the eye can read a hexagon, an octagon, a dodecagon, or a simple triangle depending on the lines that are lit or extrapolated. Many dance shows have live musicians onstage. Pale Water does something cheekier: it is as lighting designer that Simon Grenier-Poirier is onstage. Nuskind-Oder’s movement is quiet, slow, deliberate. Her body is controlled until it appears to be in suspension. I don’t want it to be over. Falling Off the Page, Jacinthe Armstrong (Halifax) Falling Off the Page begins with one dancer’s hand seemingly controlling the other dancer’s foot, like a puppeteer and her dummy. This is the first in a long series of clichés: -They wash their hair in pots filled with water in a purifying ritual. -They travel along a road made of light (after first appearing in a square prison of light). -They unroll a paper carpet along the lit road. -They dip their hair in paint and drag it across the paper. -They look back at the road travelled. One redemptive quality: it is not uncommon for dancers here to jump in the air and let themselves fall heavily back on the ground; in Armstrong’s choreography, the dancers instead jump into the air and let their limbs float up so that for a second they almost seem to fly. La petite mort, Maryse Damecour (Québec) Original movement emerges when a physical constraint is added to an otherwise common gesture, like when Brice Noeser walks on all fours, but with his hands covering his face so that it is his elbows that are dragging him across the floor. It is always refreshing when a choreographer is preoccupied by something other than beauty, when the dance is allowed to be delightfully awkward, and not without humour. La petite mort revels in abrupt transitions and, when it pretends to be joyful, it’s laughable because it rings false. It is always a treat to watch Noeser, who has such a distinct corporality, move. www.tangente.qc.ca www.delicatebeast.com http://damequidanse.com/
 When We Were Old, photo by Adrienne Surprenant “I bring you somewhere.” If you’re going to follow her, truly follow her, you need to trust her. Choreographers Chiara Frigo (Italy) and Emmanuel Jouthe (Québec) might hold hands with fingers interlaced, but it’s the only codified gesture you will find in When We Were Old. It is their starting point, a sign of trust and desire for true connection, from which anything can happen. Their relationship and the movements that stem from it are not predetermined. They are not playing roles. Their meeting is perpetual, occurs in each moment, like when they let go of each other, evolve independently, find each other again, and everything is to be done again. As a result, their meeting feels sincere. It also allows the performers to bypass all kinds of contemporary dance clichés that often emerge as soon as a woman and a man are onstage. Their duet is neither coupley, nor antagonistic. It just feels honest. It is no coincidence that, after the show, my date told me, “I liked that she was never weak.” Jouthe and Frigo are trying to build something together and, like the tree trunks they use as building blocks for her to stand on, the structure might end up making things shakier than no structure at all. And that’s okay. That’s the risk one takes in building a relationship or a dance. Even the Marley that covers the floor is loose, not taped down, and can be unrolled or rolled up, allowing change and surprise. Beneath, a new floor might be revealed, or even a new costume. It is as malleable as their relationship. Her movement is more spastic; his, more fluid and smooth. As they hover from side to side in opposite directions, they only ever meet for a brief moment in the middle. And that’s enough. By the end, it might even allow them to transform into dinosaurs among mountains made of chairs. It all depends on whether you trust them enough to bring you there. April 24-26 at 8pm Agora de la danse www.agoradanse.com / www.tangente.qc.ca 514.525.1500 Tickets: 28$ / Students or under 30: 20$
 Chorus II, photo by Jasmine Allan-Côté Sylvain Verstricht 12 Apr (4 days ago) to sasha Hi Sasha, Would you want to talk to me about your new show? Do you have time? (Preferably by email, but we could do it in person if need be. Or maybe even chatting?) I hope all is well. xo Sash 12 Apr (4 days ago) to me Hey, Email is great:) Cheers Sylvain Verstricht 12 Apr (4 days ago) to Sash You went from a "man free zone" in your last work [ All the Ladies] to an all-male cast for your new show, Chorus II. Why the switch? sasha kleinplatz 13 Apr (3 days ago) to me I think it had to do with the subject matter (davening), which I remember my grandfather performing. He was a really tough guy, but when he prayed he could be so tender and meditative. I was interested in exploring that "energy" with a group of male dancers, as a way of remembering and re-writing my experiences of him. Sylvain Verstricht 13 Apr (3 days ago) to sasha Your performers come from a variety of backgrounds: different schools; some are barely out of them, others have been dancing professionally for a while... It almost seems as though you handpicked them. Why these particular men? sasha kleinplatz 13 Apr (3 days ago) to me When I first started working on this piece it was for Piss in the Pool, and I knew I wanted as many men as possible. I wanted it to be a counter-point to the twelve-women choreography I made for the pool two years earlier. I basically wrote every male dancer I knew, as well as a bunch I barely knew who were recommended to me by friends. Anybody who said "yes" was in the choreography (not the most professional method but it worked amazingly). Most of those original dancers are still in the work. Sylvain Verstricht 14 Apr (2 days ago) to sasha Since you bring it up, you have been working on it for a while... I always admired you for your rigor, so I have to ask: how do you manage to maintain interest in one piece for such a long period of time? How has it changed over time? sasha kleinplatz 14 Apr (2 days ago) to me Oh man, it is hard to stay rigorous! It isn't hard to stay interested, but it's hard to stay committed to the thread of the work and not diverge into ideas that are outside the particular choreography I am making. It helps to have collaborators who can also see the themes of the work pretty clearly; they keep you on track. The interpreters (Benjamin Kamino, Milan Panet-Gigon, Nate Yaffe, Lael Stellick, Simon Portigal, and Frédéric Wipe r) are amazing for this, they all have their own experience and perceptions of the work, and if they feel like we have strayed too far from the universe we have created they will tell me. Working with a perceptive outside eye is also really integral. For this piece I have worked with three (Thea Patterson, Andrew Tay, Ginelle Chagnon), all of whom have pushed me to retain and clarify the voice of the work. It also helps to be feel a bit possessed by the work:) Sylvain Verstricht 14 Apr (2 days ago) to sasha During the public performance following your residence at Usine C, one of the dancers let his partner fall a bunch of times. Based on their interaction after the show, I assume that wasn't supposed to happen. Question: have you been experiencing massive amounts of guilt or was it their own fault? sasha kleinplatz 14 Apr (2 days ago) to me That's a hilarious question. Um, no I don't feel guilty. I am a pretty paranoid choreographer, I am constantly asking the dancers if a movement feels safe to them to execute, to a degree that the dancers have point-blank told me is very annoying. So, I had asked them about that part repeatedly before the showing, and afterwards when I asked the dancer if he was okay he basically laughed at me. Sylvain Verstricht 15 Apr (1 day ago) to sasha One last question... After you presented Chorus II at Piss in the Pool, I compared it to Édouard Lock's work (mostly just because of the black suits the men wore). I used the word "emptied" ("un Édouard Lock vidé de ses muses féminines"), which I now realize sounds pejorative, but I really meant it as a compliment. Do you hate me? sasha kleinplatz 23:44 (15 hours ago) to me No, I love you, you know that. I was kind of like "fuck, my work looks derivative!" but that's okay. Can't let Locke corner the market on men in suits. Anyways, it's all good, we are good:) April 18-20 at 8pm & April 21 at 3pmMAIwww.m-a-i.qc.ca514.982.3386Tickets: 22$ / Students: 15$
 Collective Individual, photo by YUL. “I fear embodying the absence ethnic war has left around me.” A legitimate fear if there is one. While only Zohar Melinek can speak of the emotional toil that the performance of Collective Individual takes on him, we can say that, though he is not a trained dancer, his performance is visibly felt and therefore honest; qualities that more than compensate for any lack of technical training. He benefits from the help of his partner from their collective Thirst/Clarity, dancer Mary St-Amand Williamson. She too seems to be more concerned with sincerity of purpose and emotion than with physical virtuosity. All the better for the subject at hand, the recent revolutions in the Arab world. The strength of the choreography is not in the symbolism of its gestures, but in the constraints they impose on the body and which differentiate it from so many others. The floor work stands heads and shoulder above the rest, like when they slowly move with their feet and head weighing them down against the floor, but their ass high in the air, triangular shapes that make their movement difficult. On the other hand, it is at its weakest when the symbolism is obvious (and therefore I must admit on the cheap side), like when Williamson is seemingly locked between four walls made of light. The physical constraints cease to be embodied and temporarily turn the performance into little more than bad miming. While a minimal amount of synchronicity is necessary for any social movement to effect change, here the choreography would be richer if the performers had less recourse to it. The movement is simple (delightfully so) and the eye would have benefited from constantly shifting between this simplicity and the density of juxtaposition. Video images of the uprising only make two brief appearances, but each time the live performers get swallowed by the mass of protesters. One can only imagine how powerful Collective Individual would be if it could represent live the energy of a sea of people and the wave they inevitably embody. The show ends with its most compelling sequence, Melinek and Williamson noisily moving while being lit by nothing but the projector projecting nothing. It confirmed my sneaking suspicion: the whole show could have taken place in that darkness. The world premiere of Collective Individual was, like any good revolution, imperfect, but promising. April 5 & 6 at 8pm MAI www.m-a-i.qc.ca www.zoharmelinek.com vimeo.com/user4058531 514.982.3386 Tickets: 22$ / Students: 15$
 Pleasure Dome, photo de Yannick Grandmont Si vous mettez une perruque, vous pouvez tout faire. Si vous ajoutez des lunettes de soleil, vous pouvez dépasser toutes les limites de ce qui est considéré comme un comportement acceptable. Le déguisement sert à camoufler certains aspects de soi pour permettre à de nouveaux d’émerger. Il en est de même de l’art. L’art est un mensonge qui révèle la vérité, Picasso a dit. Dans Pleasure Dome, la chorégraphe Karine Denault et les cinq autres interprètes (Dana Gingras, k.g. Guttman, Jonathan Parant, Alexandre St-Onge, Alexander Wilson) se cachent sous des perruques pour pouvoir aller au-delà du préconçu. Dès que l’on entre dans la salle de l’Agora de la danse, on le remarque; ce sont les trois danseuses qui se trouvent aux consoles de son, alors que les musiciens sont étendus sur le plancher. Après cette inversion des rôles, les interprètes marchent autour de la scène à quatre pattes. Certains se lèvent pour les guider pour un moment, pour ensuite retourner sur leurs quatre pattes et suivre le troupeau à nouveau. Les paramètres des rôles demeurent fluides, malléables, comme dans Cesena d’Anne Teresa De Keersmaeker. En laissant libre cours à leur id, les interprètes abandonnent leur ego, phénomène rare en performance scénique, et donc rafraichissant. En début de spectacle, Denault demeure coucher sur le plancher, s’efface. On avait déjà aperçu cet aspect de la chorégraphe dans son dernier solo, Not I & Others. Le plaisir, c’est aussi l’abandon de l’idéal – virgule – de la beauté. La beauté, si superficielle peut-elle être, pèse tout de même lourdement; le plaisir, quant à lui, est léger, comme les interprètes, qui semblent parfois flotter au-dessus de la scène, ou tout du moins au-dessus de nous, spectateurs assis directement sur le plancher. De façon surprenante (mais qui rejoint encore Cesena), le plaisir, aussi communautaire soit-il, demeure solitaire. Les interprètes se touchent rarement, mais le besoin d’une collectivité demeure nécessaire et indéniable. À intervalles réguliers, les interprètes retournent à un état contemplatif, comme s’il y avait toujours la possibilité d’un retour en arrière, d’un recommencement si le résultat est jugé insatisfaisant, à la manière d’un jeu vidéo. Rien ne doit être accepté comme étant définitif. Pleasure Dome aussi semble transitoire. Si on revenait la semaine prochaine, on ne serait pas surpris que ça l’ait une toute autre allure. Subjectif subjectif subjectif : j’ai une prédisposition pour un éclairage scénique minimale. Ça dramatise l’espace, surtout quand on veut tellement voir ce qui se passe. Je crois qu’ici aussi ça aurait pu avoir des effets bénéfiques. Ça aurait accentué l’espace entre les spectateurs et les interprètes; car malgré notre proximité (assis tout autour de la salle, nous sommes tous au premier rang), nous ne faisons pas partie de cet univers de plaisir. La distance virtuelle aurait souligné l’aspect participatif du plaisir; on ne peut pas compter sur les autres pour nous le transmettre. Le pleasure dome aurait paru tel le saint graal, une destination à atteindre, si on le désire. (J’aurais voulu qu’un des interprètes me donne la main, me donne la permission d’y entrer.) La plus grande force de Pleasure Dome est son refus du symbolique. Tout comme on ne peut parvenir au plaisir par un raccourci, le sens d’une œuvre d’art ne s’impose que s’il émerge de lui-même. C’est ici le cas. 6-8 février à 20h & 9 février à 16h Agora de la danse www.agoradanse.com 514.525.1500 Billets : 28$ / Réduits : 20$
 BLEU—VERT—ROUGE, photo de Martin Flamand Quel est notre rapport à la chose vidéographique? Avec l’omniprésence du médium, qui ouvre et clôt son nouveau spectacle, la chorégraphe Marie Béland se met les deux pieds dans la question. Une création aux trois couleurs cathodiques, en trois épisodes – peut-être le même – utilisant principalement trois médiums différents. BLEU, ou la vidéo D’abord jeu d’ombres – et donc nécessairement de proportions et perspectives – qui s’entremêlent ensuite avec la projection vidéo live des trois danseurs : Simon-Xavier Lefebvre, Marilyne St-Sauveur, et Ashlea Watkin. C’est plus qu’une rencontre des éléments; C’est le réel et l’art(ificiel) qui effacent les lignes, se fondent ensemble, et s’influencent jusqu’à ce qu’on ne sache plus lequel des deux l’on regarde. Les interprètes font dans le jeu d’acteur de Télé-Québec (même si Watkin, comme dans n’importe quel autre spectacle de danse dans lequel elle se trouve, est toujours la meilleure actrice). De façon appropriée, ils sont vêtus de couleurs primaires et secondaires (rouge, bleu, jaune, vert), comme s’ils étaient des adultes retardés dans une émission pour enfants. Leurs corps se découpent sur fond noir, ce qui n’est pas sans rappeler certaines des premières vidéos d’art qui servaient souvent à capter des performances. Dans une galerie, le blanc est l’espace vierge; en vidéo, comme au théâtre, c’est le noir. Devant des images d’Elvis (le vrai ou un imitateur? Il y a une différence?) et d’Arnold à l’ère de Commando, leurs corps se dédoublent en formations psychédéliques, tel une vidéo de Nam June Paik qui s’extase à l’idée du global village. Bref, le genre de chose dont la seule chance de passer à la télé serait sur PBS. Ça veut être bon, mais c’est pas sexy du tout. Ce n’est pas nécessairement une mauvaise chose. VERT, ou la marionnette La partie la plus faible du spectacle, heureusement camouflée dans le milieu, où trois pompons aux couleurs de la pièce deviennent des marionnettes, les alter egos des interprètes. La performance dansée vient rejoindre le jeu d’acteur, comme si Béland a dicté aux interprètes, « Faites comme si vous étiez de mauvais danseurs. » Les idées demeurent intéressantes, mais leur mise en scène est moins convaincante. ROUGE, ou le théâtre Et l’histoire se répète, beaucoup plus verbale. Les échanges entre les interprètes glissent entre l’emphatique et les petites cruautés, et peut virer dans le non-sens à n’importe quel moment. Avec le bon accent, « Cat a va capoter! » peut devenir une phrase pseudo-italienne. Devant les images qui déferlent (de The Bold & The Beautiful au hockey en passant par The Price Is Right), l’absurdité de l’humain dans la petitesse de ses intrigues inévitablement dramatisées parce que justement futiles se dessine. Béland conserve son sens de l’humour mais – surprise! – BLEU—VERT—ROUGE est aussi étrangement opaque, parfois aussi illisible que le texte confus vocalisé par les interprètes. C’est sûrement l’un des aspects les plus intrigants de la pièce (et dans le parcours de la chorégraphe). Pour faire compétition à l’image télévisuelle et cinématographique, est-ce que la danse et le théâtre doivent eux aussi faire dans le chaos qui dégénère jusqu’à la folie schizophrénique? Pour retenir notre attention, est-ce que tout doit maintenant se terminer dans la violence? 23-25 janvier à 20h & 26 janvier à 16h Agora de la danse www.agoradanse.com 514.525.1500 Billets : 28$ / Réduits : 20$
My wish for the Montreal dance scene in 2013 is for Marie-Hélène Falcon to quit her job as artistic director of the Festival TransAmériques. I’m hoping she’ll become the director of a theatre so that the most memorable shows will be spread more evenly throughout the year instead of being all bunched up together in a few weeks at the end of spring. With that being said, here are the ten works that still resonated with me as 2012 came to an end.
 Cesena, a utopia for 19 performers, photo by Anne Van Aerschot 1. Cesena, Anne Teresa De Keersmaeker + Björn Schmelzer (Festival TransAmériques)
I’ve been thinking about utopias a lot this year. I’ve come to the conclusion that – since one man’s utopia is another’s dystopia – they can only be small in nature: one person or, if one is lucky, maybe two. With Cesena, Belgian choreographer Anne Teresa De Keersmaeker showed me that it could be done with as many as nineteen people, if only for two hours, if only in a space as big as a stage. Dancers and singers all danced and sang, independently of their presupposed roles, and sacrificed the ego’s strive for perfection for something better: the beauty of being in all its humanly imperfect manifestations. They supported each other (even more spiritually than physically) when they needed to and allowed each other the space to be individuals when a soul needed to speak itself.
2. Sideways Rain, Guilherme Botelho (Festival TransAmériques)
I often speak of full commitment to one’s artistic ambitions as extrapolated from a clear and precise concept carried out to its own end. Nowhere was this more visible this year than in Botelho’s Sideways Rain, a show for which fourteen dancers (most) always moved from stage left to stage right in a never-ending loop of forward motion. More than a mere exercise, the choreography veered into the metaphorical, highlighting both the perpetual motion and ephemeral nature of human life, without forgetting the trace it inevitably leaves behind, even in that which is most inanimate. More importantly, it left an unusual trace in the body of the audience too, making it hard to even walk after the show.
3. (M)IMOSA: Twenty Looks or Paris Is Burning at the Judson Church (M), Cecilia Bengolea + François Chaignaud + Trajal Harrell + Marlene Monteiro Freitas (Festival TransAmériques)
By mixing post-modern dance with queer performance, the four choreographer-dancers of (M)IMOSA offered a show that refreshingly flipped the bird to the usual conventions of the theatre. Instead of demanding silence and attention, they left all the house lights on and would even walk in the aisles during the show, looking for their accessories between or underneath audience members. Swaying between all-eyes-on-me performance and dancing without even really trying, as if they were alone in their bedroom, they showed that sometimes the best way to dramatize the space is by rejecting the sanctity of theatre altogether.
4. Goodbye, Mélanie Demers (Festival TransAmériques)
Every time I think about Demers’s Goodbye (and it’s quite often), it’s always in conjunction with David Lynch’s Inland Empire. The two have a different feel, for sure, but they also do something quite similar. In Inland Empire, at times, an actor will perform an emotional scene, and Lynch will then reveal a camera filming them, as if to say, “It’s just a movie.” Similarly, in Goodbye, dancer Jacques Poulin-Denis can very well say, “This is not the show,” it still doesn’t prevent the audience from experiencing affect. Both works show the triviality of the concept of suspension of disbelief, that art does not affect us in spite of its artificiality, but because of it.
5. The Parcel Project, Jody Hegel + Jana Jevtovic (Usine C)
One of the most satisfying days of dance I’ve had all year came as a bit of a surprise. Five young choreographers presented the result of their work after but a few weeks of residencies at Usine C. I caught three of the four works, all more invigorating than some of the excessively polished shows that some choreographers spend years on. It showed how much Montreal needs a venue for choreographers to experiment rather than just offer them a window once their work has been anesthetically packaged. The most memorable for me remains Hegel & Jevtovic’s The Parcel Project, which began with a surprisingly dynamic and humorous 20-minute lecture. The second half was an improvised dance performance, set to an arbitrarily selected pop record, which ended when the album was over, 34 minutes later. It was as if John Cage had decided to do dance instead of music. Despite its explanatory opening lecture, The Parcel Project was as hermetic as it was fascinating.
6. Spin, Rebecca Halls (Tangente)
Halls took her hoop dancing to such a degree that she exceeded the obsession of the whirling dervish that was included in the same program as her, and carried it out to its inevitable end: exhaustion.
7. Untitled Conscious Project, Andrew Tay (Usine C)
Also part of the residencies at Usine C, Tay produced some of his most mature work to date, without ever sacrificing his playfulness.
8. 1001/train/flower/night, Sarah Chase (Agora de la danse)
Always, forever, Sarah Chase, the most charming choreographer in Canada, finding the most unlikely links between performers. She manages to make her “I have to take three boats to get to the island where I live in BC” and her “my dance studio is the beach in front of my house” spirit emerge even in the middle of the city.
9. Dark Sea, Dorian Nuskind-Oder + Simon Grenier-Poirier (Wants & Needs Danse/Studio 303)
Choreographer Nuskind-Oder and her partner-in-crime Grenier-Poirier always manage to create everyday magic with simple means, orchestrating works that are as lovely as they are visually arresting.
10. Hora, Ohad Naharin (Danse Danse)
A modern décor. The legs of classical ballet and the upper body of post-modern dance, synthesized by the athletic bodies of the performers of Batsheva. These clear constraints were able to give a coherent shape to Hora, one of Naharin’s most abstract works to date.
Scrooge Moment of the Year
Kiss & Cry, Michèle Anne De Mey + Jaco Van Dormael (Usine C)
Speaking of excessively polished shows… La Presse, CIBL, Nightlife, Le Devoir, and everyone else seemingly loved Kiss & Cry. Everyone except me. To me, it felt like a block of butter dipped in sugar, deep fried, and served with an excessive dose of table syrup; not so much sweet as nauseating. It proved that there’s no point in having great means if you have nothing great to say. Cinema quickly ruined itself as an art form; now it apparently set out to ruin dance too. And I’m telling you this so that, if Kiss & Cry left you feeling dead on the inside, you’ll know you’re not alone.
 Jean-Sébastien Lourdais's Trois peaux, photo by Luc Lavergne Here it is, the last dance show of the year. As customary, it is provided by the third-year students of L’École de Danse Contemporaine de Montréal and involves three pieces. The first two come courtesy of Montréal Danse and the last, an original creation for ÉDCM, is by visiting French choreographer Julien Desplantez. Trois peaux, by Jean-Sébastien Lourdais The human body transformed until it is no longer human, transformed until it is animal, but no particular animal: humanimal. Fists instead of hands, hunched over, head hanging low, on all fours. Mouvement half fluid/half stops, the organic interrupted by the robotic. (The music, which could be described as electrogrunts, reflects this aspect.) Sometimes, in passing, the dancers appear to be flexing, with their awkward arm positions. The body shakes, organic, too organic, uncontrollable. The movement is other, less articulated than that of human beings, but it says plenty of other things, things that cannot be understood and that are therefore unsettling. Husk, by George Stamos Already discussed at length here: http://www.localgestures.com/1/post/2012/02/husk-a-review.htmlOnly thing to add: did the costume Rachel Harris wore in the Montréal Danse version lose its dick? Why? Are the third-year students at ÉDCM not all adults? Is it because the show is mostly performed in front of their family and friends? And, most importantly, who cares? L’art n’est pas fait pour les demi-mesures. Il y avait ce fou…, by Julien Desplantez Thank God, the fashion-trash music that opens the piece soon subsides to offer us what school dance shows do best, i.e. the superficial pleasures of excess: a dozen dancers onstage from beginning to end, so much action that the eye cannot take it all in, synchronicity. Did Desplantez steal his small stationary steps from Hofesh Shechter’s Political Mother? If so, good for him. Even though his choreography is not particularly innovative, it’s still less lazy and juvenile than Shechter’s. De la danse-bonbon. December 19-22 at 7:30pm Conservatoire d’art dramatique de Montréal www.edcmtl.com 514.873.4031 ext. 313 Tickets: 18$ / Students: 10$
 Tout est dit, il ne reste rien, photo de Frédéric Chais Je l’avoue, parfois j’aimerais être une personne plus sociale. Mais, la plupart du temps, ce désir meurt lorsque j’écoute les conversations autour de moi, comme cette conversation à propos de films « oscarisables. » Who fucking cares? Alors j’essaie de ne plus entendre; j’essaie de méditer. Je me concentre sur ma respiration. Il y a ces deux femmes assises en face de moi. Je ne vois que leur dos et leurs cheveux, mais je sais qu’elles y sont déjà. Malgré les quelques pieds et le silence qui nous séparent, je suis avec elles, et non pas avec les hommes de chaque côté de moi, dont les bras me frôlent, dont les paroles sont audibles, mais ne veulent (plus) rien dire. Les femmes assises à même le plancher bougent de façon presque imperceptible. Un léger mouvement de tête ici et là, pas synchro, mais ensemble. C’est l’ Aube de la chorégraphe Katia-Marie Germain. Dans la petitesse de ses gestes et l’intériorité qui s’en découle, la chorégraphie n’est pas sans rappeler celle d’Erin Flynn. Les yeux des quatre interprètes demeurent fermés. Leur synchro, sentie plutôt que vue, révèle leur connexion psychique. Un beau silence partagé dans un monde de bruit. La pièce aurait aussi bien pu s’appeler Tout est dit, il ne reste rien, mais c’est plutôt celle de Geneviève C. Ferron qui porte ce titre, tout aussi à propos. Phénomène rare : je n’ai pris aucune note durant la performance. Je ne voulais aucune distraction. Je voulais juste porter attention, tout absorber ce que je pouvais absorber. Dans le noir, une montagne de lumières de Noël blanches apparaît, doucement. À ses pieds, cinq jeunes femmes, immobiles. Leurs corps se réveillent, réchauffer par les ampoules, s’activent tranquillement. Elles sont éclairées au minimum, à peine perceptibles. Avec leur mouvement synchro, ralenti, souvent dans des positions où doigts et orteils s'étendent jusqu'au sol, elles ont l’air d’un troupeau s’adonnant à un rituel empreint de religiosité. Elles s’inclinent devant la montagne de lumière. Une jambe s’élève, droite, puis se fracture au genou. Elles arriveront éventuellement, sans empressement, à la rencontre de la source lumineuse, s'y mêleront même. Je veux cette rencontre commune, silencieuse et patiente, avec la lumière. Pendant une heure, à Tangente, je l'ai eue. 6-8 décembre à 19h30 & 9 décembre à 16h Monument-National www.tangente.qc.ca 514.871.2224 Billets : 20$ / Étudiant : 16$
 Diptych, photo de Valerie Simmons José Navas traite ses danseurs comme s’ils étaient des ballerines. Tous ses danseurs. Bien que Navas ait toujours joué avec les genres, avec sa nouvelle pièce de groupe Diptych, c’est surtout sur les hommes que le jeu se remarque. C’est que le chorégraphe donne le même style de mouvement à tous ses danseurs, un style qui pourrait être décrit comme plus féminin de part ses similarités avec celui épousé par les ballerines. Un style fluide, léger, même délicat. À un certain moment, un homme et une femme soulève un de leurs confrères comme s’il était la prima ballerina. Même, vers la fin, un homme élevé sur le bout des orteils donne un coup de pied métaphorique dans la face de Nathalie Portman en se dandinant les bras comme si c’était lui le vrai black swan. C’est comme si Navas dépoussiérait enfin le ballet de ses conceptions antiques de genres. En même temps, il délaisse aussi la théâtricalité de celui-ci et conserve plutôt la pureté qu’on lui connaît. En fait, la scénographie de Diptych rappelle beaucoup Hora d’Ohad Naharin (vu à Danse Danse plus tôt cette année), même si contrairement à Hora la danse ici n’est pas po-mo pour deux sous. Contrairement au ballet, toutefois, les bras se font ici très angulaires. Ils s’allongent jusqu’au bout des doigts, la paume ouverte et plate pour y éliminer toute rondeur. Cette dernière se trouve plutôt dans les tours exécutés dans les nombreux déplacements des dix danseurs. Comme pour refléter la musique de Bach, le mouvement est très bavard, même agaçant. Malgré la richesse du propos, c’est ce qui fait qu’au final, Dyptich est la pièce de groupe de Navas dont on se délaisse le plus facilement depuis un bout. Anecdote : à la sortie du spectacle, j’ai entendu un homme dire « s’habiller en femme, » comme si le sexe n’était qu’une question de vêtements! Comme quoi il y a encore beaucoup de travail à faire pour éclairer la question des genres; on peut donc remercier Navas de continuer la discussion. www.dansedanse.net www.flak.org
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