Brice Asnar Omnis
Anjali Dance Company Aya Kobayashi Fruit for thought
Eye Spy Arts Liat Rosenthal & Oliver Hymans Jew(ish)
Omnis, by Brice Asnar, is ballet with mood swings and awkwardness like that of a teenager. The polo necks, hot pants, pointed feet and splayed fingers are uniform amongst the quintet of ballet-pump-wearing dancers. Caught by the tight, flick-filled and spiney ballet vocabulary, they move through solos, trios and (the institution that is) the duet. The women swap partners, the men stand tall and they all display their impressive classical gait. Bold coordinated snaps of light and sound are not met with bold movement; however the dancing of Kumiko Nakamura oozes with such cartoon competence and emotive confidence that her face alone fills the emptiness hanging over the dense choreography.
Aya Kobayashi's Fruit for thought, presented by Anjali Dance Company, is a beautiful reminder of the power of considered presence and embodied movement. With dream-like focus the six dancers, all with learning disabilities, perform scenes which haphazardly celebrate the many joys and cultural quirks to be found in a garden. The relentlessly changing music and the excess of undefined moments undermines the groundedness of the performers, but their calmness and ownership of the piece is always captivating. The humour, created by a surprising peculiarity, is a strength of the piece: ninja plant growers, dramatic underfoot apple crushing, an Eve drunk on apple juice and some well placed air guitar all combine to create the simple story of a seed becoming tree.
The third piece, Jew(ish), is just that. A higgledy-piggledy drama filled with Jewish sounds, Jewish looks and Jewish clichés (including long coats and a lost-looking unicorn). Beautiful scenographic ideas emerge - puppetry with a coat, books used as stepping stones and bread dough thrown around the stage - but nothing becomes more than a flat image. The opening picture of the whole cast rocking, as if in prayer, has strength and beauty which never quite returns. Scenes and ideas stay short and sweet rather than being opened up or broken down. The live music is great when it veers into Klezmer, less so when it veers into nineties pop riffs.
Eleanor Sikorski
Just as you can see imitations of designer labels in street stalls, so you can see imitations of upmarket choreography on offer at Resolution! This year, the name on the tag was "Wayne McGregor". Brice Asnar's Omnis - hyperarticulated bodies, hyperactive partnering, a vaguely sci-fi title, teeny-weeny trunks - was the latest of several pieces to wear the McGregor brand on its sleeve. Still, this is a well-made copy. The five dancers race nervily through snapshot scenes that start out looking like pale imitations but gradually gain depth and strength as Asnar's spidery phrasing solidifies into motifs, and Kumiko Nakamura emerges as an almost human presence - someone with feelings as well as senses.
Fruit for Thought by Anjali Dance Company, a troupe of dancers with learning disabilities, has a lot of feeling, makes little sense, and is a bundle of fun. The piece is held together, just, by a potted plant which grows into a tree and bears plastic fruit. A bumpkin gardener bumbles through, oblivious to the rushes of activity the tree induces: repeated invasions by chop-socky action heroes, an orgy of juice-drinking, a fire-and-brimstone conductor, air-guitar to the theme from Betty Blue. Dramatically, it's a bit all over the place; but if it were tidier it would be less of a romp.
Jew(ish), by Liat Rosenthal and Oliver Hymans, is Jewish-ish: a little diaspora of Jewish sounds and sights - klezmer, a unicorn, a travelling family, wide hats and long coats - that brim with ideas and emotions that could speak to anyone. The most gripping scene sees a puppet conjured from a couple's baggage: an empty coat that takes on a haunting, spectral life of its own. The imagery is very strong throughout: bottled-up drinking scenes, ribbons that both decorate and bind the dancers' arms, books lined up like mystical stepping-stones. A shame that the ending undermines this gravitas, as all seven dancers segue into a deadpan klezmer version of Thriller.
Sanjoy Roy