Marco D'Agostin Viola
Sarah Lewis & Steve Johnstone Chairs
Uchenna Dance Company Vicki Igbokwe Life After
The first two works were performed by their creators, beginning with an intense solo by Marco D'Agostin, performed to throbbing sci-fi pulses by Ryoji Ikeda. D'Agostin arrived on stage, wearing tight black briefs, like a latter-day Tony Manero, before dressing while narcissistically examining himself in some faraway mirror. Punctuated by aggressive body-slapping and knuckle-clicking his quickfire movement kept us guessing, but as the aggression turned towards vulnerability and the clothes came back off, predictability returned. By the"curtain-call" D'Agostin's nervous acknowledgement of the applause suggested an altogether different figure from the cocksure youth of the beginning and for that trick alone his performance was well worth seeing.
Sarah Lewis and Steve Johnstone shared the stage with an assortment of chairs, preparing for a party while using each other as seats in every conceivable permutation, quickly changed and rearranged with clever and well-rehearsed interaction. Although the party never gets started, a game ensues with Lewis falling to the floor as Bowie's Let's Dance is regularly interrupted: "musical chairs" without the sitting, ironically surrounded by a circle of empty chairs. As candles and party hats are pulled from a cardboard box, the pair take on the aura of sad clowns in an unwatched circus. It was a performance with hidden depth that merits a further viewing.
After trying to decipher hidden meanings in dance theatre, there's a lot to be said for the honest endeavour of an ensemble performing steps in unison and this is largely what Vicki Igbokwe achieved for her sextet of females in Life After. Her choreography relies on tight group harmonies and mixing this symmetry with asymmetric elements as, for example, two dancers detach and move in counter-flow to the remaining quartet. The voiceover and some ragged elements towards the end didn't work as well as the rest but Igbokwe demonstrated an interesting ability to conjure with space and form and clearly has the courage to experiment with conviction.
Graham Watts
The beauty of Viola lies in its ambiguity and Marco d'Agostin's ability to draw us in. Wearing pants, he faces one side of the stage and touches himself as if exploring his body or rehearsing moves in front of a mirror. Violent punches to the air follow kicks and beats on chest. Is he asking for a fight? Is he seducing a woman? The sexual tension heightens as he vigorously smacks his bottom, bites his arm and licks his finger erotically. It's gripping because he's extremely physical. Whether defiant or showing off, erotic or self-abusive, d'Agostin exudes vulnerability. The dancer finally faces the audience, genitalia tucked in between his legs and fades in the dark.
In a similar vein, dependence is the kind of weakness that Sarah Lewis and Steve Johnstone fight against in Chairs. How many ways of sitting down can there possibly be? On someone's feet, lap, calf, in their swaying arms, bum on bum... and on chairs! As they dance to popular songs, Johnstone's power over Lewis becomes apparent and the latter wants to regain control. Arranging chairs and tea-lights, they prepare for a party. However, this is a dismal set up. She feels uncomfortable in her own body, contorting herself and pulling out ills. We feel reassured when he takes chairs away, preventing her from stumbling over them. After all, don't we all need someone to lean on?
Vicki Igbokwe's voiceover recalling the passing of her mother, is the starting point of her Life After. Six female dancers fuel the piece with hip moves and capoeira accents but their uneven technical ability taints the enjoyment. Maracas and samba tunes turn ritualistic and shamanic, taking Life After closer to personal therapy than a show. Igbokwe asks us at the end: "Can you tell me what is the meaning of life?". This is too much of a question to ask since she neither untangles it, nor makes it more interesting to discover.
Marina Ribera