| Lydia Wharf |
| Hi Bea! Get back from Norway ok? I’ve been thinking about the shows we saw in Oktoberdans, in particular Monica Calle’s Ensaio Para Uma Cartografia. What did you make of it? Did you enjoy it? |
| Beatrix Joyce |
| Hi Lydia! Yes I definitely enjoyed it. I felt the rawness of Ravel’s Bolero. I felt connected to the dancers’ vulnerability, their nudity on stage, their amateur instrumentalism… |
| Lydia Wharf |
| Oh yep, I definitely felt their vulnerability: They were naked, all female, a variety of ages but none in the typically athletic ‘dancer’ mould. To me, the soundtrack, with an orchestra stopping and starting again and again in an exhausting rehearsal, and what happened on stage, were metaphors for something much darker. These naked women were dancing as though a gun was at their heads. They looked increasingly terrified and pained, they were dutiful and defiant. I felt I was seeing scenes from war, emotional abuse, torture…and yet I heard chuckles in the audience! I saw one guy wiping away tears … of mirth! That really freaked me out. Did I read this show all wrong? |
| Beatrix Joyce |
| No, I think humour definitely played a large part in it! Especially when they were trying to mimic the grandeur of the music – to me it was a kind of tongue-in-cheek dedication, that nonetheless with enough persistence, became real. This perseverance is what I mainly read into it. The “gun to the head” was more of an internal resilience, an act of endurance – a struggle that was played out in their facial expressions. |
| Lydia Wharf |
| Well… ok, but that endurance wasn’t exactly internal – it was right there! It looked painful to keep going, and going, and going again. And I definitely thought they looked fearful. The stark lighting, the sense of foreboding, particularly in the second half where they each took a turn in an unforgiving spotlight, struggling to perform in pointe shoes. Their vulnerability, their quiet sense of dignity, threaded with defiance in the face of unachievable physical demand, felt to me like they faced tyranny. The very last thing I saw was humour! What was funny?! |
| Beatrix Joyce |
| No, I think humour definitely played a large part in it! Especially when they were trying to mimic the grandeur of the music – to me it was a kind of tongue-in-cheek dedication, that nonetheless with enough persistence, became real. This perseverance is what I mainly read into it. The “gun to the head” was more of an internal resilience, an act of endurance – a struggle that was played out in their facial expressions. |
| Lydia Wharf |
| Well… ok, but that endurance wasn’t exactly internal – it was right there! It looked painful to keep going, and going, and going again. And I definitely thought they looked fearful. The stark lighting, the sense of foreboding, particularly in the second half where they each took a turn in an unforgiving spotlight, struggling to perform in pointe shoes. Their vulnerability, their quiet sense of dignity, threaded with defiance in the face of unachievable physical demand, felt to me like they faced tyranny. The very last thing I saw was humour! What was funny?! |
| Beatrix Joyce |
| I think it was exactly this unachievable physical demand that was laced, inevitably, with failure. I’ll give you a story: once, my 4 year old cousin was zooming naked around the room on a tricycle, thinking he could ride straight into the garden – but cycled face first into a glass window. Poor thing! Thankfully this accident was not at all serious (that would not have been funny) but his childlike innocence and overriding optimism definitely got some laughs. Laughing WITH, that is, not laughing AT! hat’s the same feeling I had for the performers here. I could feel with them, when they willed themselves into being perfect ballerinas, when they embodied the drama of the dying Swan, whether or not they could actually do the choreography. It’s delicate, humble and human. |
| Beatrix Joyce |
| And about the foreboding – I also felt it was tangible, like something really bad was going to happen and they needed to stick together. The role of the older woman was very strong in this. It was like she was an authority, as she would have a slightly different choreography to the others or she would be placed right at the front of the group. But then later she was in the middle, as if they were protecting her from harm. |
| Lydia Wharf |
| Ooh yes, I’d forgotten about this older member. I remember her remaining completely still through the first section, at front centre, stoically still. Defying instructions, perhaps challenging the tyrant? Later, I agree that she seemed protected by the others. I felt a sense of solidarity throughout, which was touching. But I don’t see the parallel with unfortunate childhood accidents! I couldn’t feel optimism or naivety here. I saw exhaustion, cynicism, fear. |
| Beatrix Joyce |
| Well I didn’t see fear, or at least not fear of a dictator or a tyrant – rather I saw endurance and resilience. I did see exhaustion, but it felt somehow romantic: they won’t give up, they will continue no matter how hard it gets. They are true to their cause, namely to make out of the Bolero the ballet they wished it to be. And with all the present uncertainties and doomsday scenarios across the globe, this gave me a certain confidence and sense of empowerment. All of us carry within us this human resilience, this capacity for hope, even in vain, which is quite dark and quite incredible at the same time. |
| Lydia Wharf |
| You’re such an optimist, Bea! 😉 I’m glad you found hope where I found it so bleak and sad. I mean, I think you’re totally wrong, of course, but I guess you’re not alone! It did prompt such different reactions. What did you make of the part where they played musical instruments very badly? Act of rebellion? |
| Beatrix Joyce |
| I really liked this part. For me the emphasis was not on what or how well they were playing, but how much they could be in sync (if not in tune!). They would gather the instruments and then collectively wait for a cue for one of them to start playing. We were holding our breath in suspense. The focus shifted from virtuosity and perfection to a sharpened sense of listening and moving at the same time. Like an organism. And the best orchestras also have this quality of being completely in sync with each other. So I didn’t read it as rebellion against orchestral music or rehearsals, quite the opposite: it was a different kind of orchestra. And I didn’t find the piece rebellious in other ways either – it seemed to me they were embodying the ideas at the core of Ravel’s Bolero, particularly: repetition, repetition, repetition. |
| Lydia Wharf |
| Hmm… well, unlike you, I read this collective act as rebellion. The synchronicity, the impeccable timing, the virtuosity on the soundtrack, all highlighted the orchestra’s ability to perform – contrasted with their refusal to do so, or to do so in tune! The discordance was an act of defiance that was hard on the ears. They made their point through the music – that they could really play and that they were standing together and simply refusing to do so. |
| Lydia Wharf |
| Let’s agree on this definition, Beatrix: Bolero was a brilliant, divisive, defiant organism! |
| Beatrix Joyce |
| Sure – and next time we’re at the theatre, let’s go another round in the ring! |