La Marche Invisible: A Review

The selection of January as the month that marks the beginning of a new year is no doubt arbitrary, and yet it still affects the way we perceive things. For me, it means I've put out my list of the dance shows that stuck with me over the past twelve months and it's like the slate has been swiped clean. So when I begin to see shows again in January, I find myself impatiently waiting for the first great one. We've now crossed over into February and it's finally here: Annie Gagnon's La Marche Invisible.

Annie Gagnon's La Marche Invisible

Dance purists might struggle with her mixed-media endeavour, but those interested in art in all its shapes and forms are bound to be delighted. Gagnon conceived the show with Pascal Lareau, a multidisciplinary artist whose contribution to La Marche Invisible is imposing and fascinating sculptures that bring animals into a very human world. The two creators have surrounded themselves with top-notch collaborators. La Marche Invisible is one of those rare shows in which all elements work perfectly together. Composer and musician Antoine Berthiaume's live performance straddles that fine line between asserting itself without overpowering the dance, colouring it in all the right ways. Erwann Bernard's lighting design skillfully sculpts the space and gives each of the two sections its own distinct flavour. And dancer David Rancourt is, as always, outstanding.

In the first piece, "La Biche Lumineuse," the luminous doe is standing tall at the end of a red rectangle surrounded by crumpled newspaper. Gagnon and Rancourt enter the stage decisively. Their expression is cold; their movement, mechanical. We sense a solitude between these two figures, a solitude that, as opposed to loneliness, inhabits intervals rather than internal spaces. Each looks at the other as if trying to understand, without ever succeeding. The other appears as an overflow of emotion, incomprehensible. Even in the sexual encounter, the other remains just that: other. Yet in the final moments, despite their blank stares, it seems there might be something more than mere physical proximity. Their bodies are so close that they overlap, forcing their movement to mirror each other. They appear as two beings who, from a common desire, walk together in the same direction.

Rancourt introduces us to the second half, "Le Lapin Samouraï," by blindly and awkwardly mimicking the short but stout samurai rabbit at the back of the room. When Gagnon joins him onstage, he watches her fall repeatedly, more likely to pull away than to come to her rescue. His lack of action is less malicious than an apparent feeling of complete helplessness in the face of the world's destructive forces. Her body lying on the ground, he takes her hand as if it's the best one can hope for: to join oneself with a casualty of life or, more optimistically, with the other's vulnerability. More simply, it might just be what must be done, the duty of the samurai.

Despite what the title of each section might imply, more emotionality emanates from "La Lapin Samouraï." The dancers embrace and, on the other hand, shove each other. The contrast between the previous coldness and this sudden emergence of emotionality makes the latter appear cliché. So, for better or for worse, Rancourt loses his connection to Gagnon as his movement becomes robotic, a trauma caused by his inability to truly connect with the other.

Gagnon might be a young choreographer, but her work is mature and courageous. She is not afraid to be serious in her art. She is also unafraid of choreographic silences. She understands that they are just as much a material as sound, that one can sculpt with them, that they are necessary for rhythm. They also provide contrast and build anticipation for the next movement: when? what? where? By blending dance, sculpture and performance art, Gagnon and Lareau have crafted one of the best shows of the year.

La Marche Invisible
Tangente
February 4-7, 2010
Tickets: 17$ / Students: 14$
514.525.1500