Showing posts with label Scottish Dance Theatre. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Scottish Dance Theatre. Show all posts

Saturday, 2 January 2016

Jo Strømgren and Victor Quijada @ Scottish Dance Theatre 2013


Over the past decade, Scottish Dance Theatre has become a national treasure. Under the direction of Janet Smith, it commissioned new works from emerging choreographers - including Hofesh Schechter, who has gone on to international acclaim - and through an annual appearance at Zoo Venues during Fringe helped to re-establish dance as a vital strand of Edinburgh's August overload.

The arrival of new artistic director Fleur Darkin has seen the company maintain the pace. Currently touring with two new commissions - and a work for children from Darkin herself - SDT take advantage of having a permanent company in a similar fashion to Scottish Ballet: they can afford an eclectic, broad programme. And the two commissions bring two of dance's more maverick minds to Scotland: Jo Strømgren and Victor Quijada. Their double bill is a sustained assault on notions of dance as dull or elitist, respectively tackling a well-worn subject with wit and irony and thoroughly deconstructing the expectation of what makes an evening's entertainment at the dance.

Strømgren's entry, Winter Again, is perhaps the most obviously
connected to classical modes of dance. It is evocative, performed immaculately and seriously by the company, using a stark set and a lilting classical score to evoke the coldest month. Flitting between the idea of winter as a metaphor for emotional darkness - the spoken interludes hint at all manner of savage antics - Strømgren even finds time for a brief object manipulation of a toy hare, old-fashioned hunting rifles and some awkwardly passionate pas de deux.

"One can do something new (which always means reinventing the wheel since everything has been done before somewhere) by theme and form and style et cetera," he says. "But I find it more interesting to always change my own way of working, as in always looking for new tools to tell a story or what can be associated into a story." Certainly, Winter bares scant relation to his most famous works which landed at the Fringe. While they invented new languages and often enjoyed a broad, physical humour, his choreography for SDT showcases the dancers' technique.

"The rehearsal period coincided with a knee injury of mine, and I thought why not – I’ll sit on a chair this time, and ask the dancers to provide shitloads of material," he recalls. "A refreshing flashback to earlier days for me, and hopefully a good process for them with a lot of personal investment. As for now, Winter Again is definitively a company piece, they have adapted my vision and made it their own."

Winter Again manages to be both emotionally tough and superficially stylish, with an undercurrent of pain and anguish never far from the surface. "But for the record," he insists. "No dancers were harmed in this production."



Victor Quijada, by contrast, comes not with a history of unclassifiable work but from the hip hop scene of Los Angeles. His piece has a great deal of fun playing with the audience - Quijada even insults himself early on, and his sense of humour allows the dancers to appear to be on the very edge of chaos. To even explain the central conceit is to give away the punchline, but when the crew throw down, they strut their stuff supremely.

"The work I make uses a movement vocabulary that is influenced by my past as a young b-boy and hip-hop freestyler, and very heavily informed by the contemporary ballet works I performed during my career," he says of his basic style. "I have developed a distinct style that (in my eyes) allows a dancer to be all things: explosive, acrobatic, sharp, fluid, gentle, introspective, honest." In addition to this, SDT have a great deal of fun as the piece cracks open expectations and slowly collapses in on apparent rivalries and ambitions within the company.

When asked about his style, Quijada is precise, if elusive. "I would probably describe it as a 'post-contemporary ballet-break dance-theatre' style," he replies: a description accurate but only comprehensible in the light of the performance. And while hip-hop dance can often be frustrating because of its insistence on authenticity and spectacle, Second Coming impresses through the way Quijada mocks pretension and arrogance. There is even a playful reveal - coming around half way through the performance - that challenges the choreographer's self-importance.

Both of these commissions are reminders of SDT's recent tradition of engaging with international trends in dance and playing with the audience's expectations. That the company so readily turn their skills to the demands of hip-hop and more classical styles suggest that Darkin's reign will capitalise on the advances made by Janet Smith.

Darkin herself is already presenting her debut choreography for SDT - Innocence - which was made for a younger audience. Pulled from her own back catalogue, it introduces the poetry of William Blake to children aged up to seven. mixing up the romantic mystic's words with the simple nursery rhymes that it sometimes imitates.

If the past decade has seen the two major Scottish dance companies, SDT and Scottish Ballet, develop their international reputation and presence, the appointment and arrival of new artistic directors insists that they are not ready to rest on their laurels. With Scottish Ballet offering an ambitious programme in the Edinburgh International Festival, SDT are competing with this triple offering. Darkin herself is a dynamic and original choreographer - although Innocence might keep the kids happy, she has more serious work for adults and her Disgo, which came to the Traverse a few years ago, is a bold breaking of the fourth wall that mashes up social and stage dance. And this double bill holds the promise of more imaginative work to follow.

Monday, 21 May 2012

Those Dogs Want More

Once I gave up on completing my article on Pavlova's Dogs - I like to think that sudden endings are charmingly reticent, rather than betraying my lack of motivation - I decided to find a few images to illustrate the piece. Unfortunately, I chanced about a few reviews of Pavlova's Dogs which were not exactly in disagreement with me, but seemed to think that giving the work a rating - or using phrases like "it's quite a lively ride" - is still the best way to write a critique. Puzzling over a choreography, poking around at the ideas, or having some smart-arse interpretation, is oddly unfashionable.

It only took a paragraph of venting for me to feel better. I accept that those reviews have a right to exist, and are probably quite helpful as part of the general discussion around dance.

No, no they are not. If Pavlova's Dogs has any worth, apart from keeping a dozen people off the streets and giving audiences cheap laughs at bunny ears, the critique has to engage with the ideas that the choreographer was addressing. So, rather than name and shame the reviewer who has so displeased me, I had better get back to writing.

Rachel Lopez de la Nieta is fascinated by the undercurrent of cruelty that exists in ballet. Her fairy tale - told by a man who might represent the patriarchy, or just be a rather bitchy type - echoes the romance of classical ballet's stories, but is explicitly unpleasant towards the heroines. Then the dancers are accused of being fat. They are dressed simply, and their dances are increasingly contorted as the fairy tale gets more vicious. One of them argues with the man who might represent the patriarchy. She is placated.

Add to this the brief programme notes that claim that it "is partly inspired by some of the early experiments in psychology" where certain ethics were questionable". Lopez de la Nieta is drawing a direct analogy between the torture of dogs to find out how instinct could be manipulated, and the training of ballet dancers.

Nipping back to my thoughts on Streetcar, which included an unease about the physical state of some dancers, I am inclined to think that the playful veneer of PDs is less interesting than the implied attack on ballet's ability to ruin lives and turn women into mere bodies. This is a long way from the post-modern dance of Trisha Brown, which focusses on breaking down existing possibilities of choreographic movement.


Revolving Pavlova

Scottish Dance Theatre's Drift (choreographed by James Wilton, starring a bruising track by Nine Inch Nails) is one of those pieces that gives "contemporary dance" a good name. It's a classic pas de deux format - sexy, bursts of technical brilliance, thumping yet emotive soundtrack - with a few added touches that separate it from ballet. Specifically, it is melancholic and the dancers play trust games - and the dancer's moves and gestures are spikier, more aggressive.

At only ten minutes, Drift can either stop the show or act as a juicy bonus. No wonder it has held its place alongside Kate Weare's Lay Me Down Safe on SDT's latest touring triple bill: and it acts as a comfort blanket before the finale of Rachel Lopez de la Nieta's experiment on Pavlova's Dogs.

At this point, I have a bad feeling I am about to shame myself by trying to use Big Theories. I am thinking post-modernism, contrasting popular ideas about what it is ("everything is relative, man"), a slightly more rigorous definition ("there is no central narrative, and everything is relative, human") and dance's specific movement (the Judson Memorial Church, buddy).

Because to call both Drift and Pavlova's Dogs "contemporary dance" seems absurd. I am not even sure if  PDs is even dance (not that that's a bad thing). It asks questions about the nature of dance - thankfully, it gets beyond "what is dance?" quickly and has a few pokes at ballet mythology. There's music and the two guys do a bit of "entertainment" (tops off, rocking out to Fleetwood Mac, or dressed as bunnies and camping it up to Flanagan and Allen). There are even four female dancers making shapes that would not disgrace the choreography of -well, Kate Weare or James Wilton.

Yet the main feature of PDs appears to be the chatter of two guys. It is their argument that creates the dramatic tension, their ideas that dictate the pace. Lopez de la Nieta works closely with a dramaturge, Henrietta Hale. Unlike Scottish Ballet's Streetcar, where the dramaturge seemed to just encourage the choreography's theatricality, it feels as if Pavlova's Dogs would be as comfortable as a theatre company's production.

None of these things are necessarily bad, unless I am trying to insist that rigid categories are more important than an art-form's flexibility in the face of an artist's vision. It's probably important to Lopez de la Nieta's intentions that the usual conventions of dance are so easily disassembled, and since her own training was in classical ballet (at least at first), it's as if she is working through both personal and public stereotypes of "the dancer".

It would probably be better to simply call it "performance", but that denies the importance of the dance conventions that the choreographer aims to deconstruct. And I can't call it post-modern dance: although it conforms to the more rigorous definition two above, it lacks, except in limited sequences, the precise strictures that came out of the Judson Memorial Church crew ("task-based" movement, fiddling about with the gaze of the dancer, rejection of virtuosity).

Here's the real post-modern magic of Pavlova's Dogs: it is never fixed, and any attempt at definition causes the definition to slip away, like the last pea on the plate, chased by the critical fork.