The duration of Eszter Salamon’s Monument 0.10 The Living Monument is indicated on the ticket: 2 hours. When the charcoal-black scene emerges from the darkness, I feel like somebody has slowed down my playback. I cannot measure the tempo but I know that a speed of 0.5x will double the duration. Will it turn into a crescendo?

Unfortunately, no. The stage is stuck in a phenomenon of (re)cycle. Symptoms? Monochrome landscape with costumes in sophisticated relief, undisclosed dancers in deliberately slow motion, sedative sound in continuous pattern. Close your eyes for five minutes and open again: barely a difference in the cosmic nuance on stage. But the heterogenous, refined and metaphorical costumes continue to stun us, even more so when you learn (from the programme pamphlet) of their origin in recycling.

The scarlet red scene disrupts the landscape with a melodic vocal duet cocooning two intertwining bodies. Colours become more radiant from then on: a yellow statue pulling a yellow ‘boat’ towards land, orange creatures suggesting the imminent danger of climate change, golden effigies assembling the glorious history of civilization.

In the milky white ending, the moment is stirring when 14 dancers finally reveal their faces: that is where we were and look at where we are. Monuments are cold, static, soundless; human bodies are warm, breathing, chanting. Carte Blanche’s new performance is undoubtedly both long and remarkable. Remarkably engaging/boring? Remarkably arranged/choreographed? Remarkably progressive/redundant? Remarkably ambitious/pretentious? Listen to the audience after the show: they are remarkably divided, as the world is today.