Conor Doyle The Bow and Arrow
Silversmith Dance Theatre Six O'clock Swill
Miguel Guzman Drain Site
Why don't more dancers strut like rock stars? As he belted out a version of Nick Cave's Get Ready For Love with both mouth and body, Conor Doyle owned the stage, whipping up a raw animal excitement that made you want to roll around on the floor. Or bodysurf on to the stage. Anything except sit and clap politely. This was dance that made you feel alive.
There was a lot going on in The Bow And Arrow, too much for its twenty minute duration. Pitched midway between a rock video and a surreal dream, Doyle enlisted a string quartet, a trio of backing dancers (styled on Robert Palmer's Addicted To Love) and a throbbing keyboard to whip us through an off-kilter muse on the hunt for love that felt like it was on breathless fast forward. It was a jagged and bumpy ride, but with Doyle (a Punchdrunk regular) stalking through the action, it left you hungry for more.
It was rather hard to tell when Six O'Clock Swill had actually started. A masked figure appeared at the back of the theatre, audience necks craned backwards. Slowly, too slowly, the figure, out of the eyeline for many, headed for the stage. It was a misjudged beginning because, once she was in front of us, Lorraine Smith half-cut a poignant figure, clutching a beer can and caught in the anguish of alcoholism.
Miguel Guzman's Drain Site was one of those pieces that tried hard to look and sound profound but ended up signifying nothing. Built around the loose framework of children's games - the performers all fell down at regular intervals - the action hinged on a cuckolded group rising up and taking revenge on their control freak ringmaster. But the cuckolds were such an irritating bunch of fake characters, all daft quirks and tics, that their triumph felt hollow to the core.
Keith Watson
With Valentine's Day approaching, the high street dominated with a hearts and flowers approach to love, it was refreshing to see a post-modern take on two people finding each other in The Bow and Arrow. Conor Doyle made us sit up and drink in his intoxicating choreographic debut from the off. A striking tableau greets the audience: string quartet, roped off VIP area complete with bouncer and three reclining ladies, with flashing teeth. The piece moves from a softly gymnastic, explorative solo by a male dancer, through some comical subtitled scenes, to a memorable slow motion, strobe-lit depiction of a couple; locked tongue to tongue they are oblivious to the writhing clubbers around them, and of cupid hovering above. This is an inspired contemporary take on the hunt for a suitable mate.
From an energetic depiction of a night out in the city, to a more sobering exploration of the perils of drink, The Six O'clock Swill promised to delve into society's relationship with alcohol. Suitably alienating from the start, I was forced to crane my neck to observe the solo performer emerge from the top of the seating rig, wearing a Commedia Dell'arte mask, suit and tie. As the piece moves onto the stage though, there are some poignant moments, as Smith's body contorting choreography tells of the physical symptoms of alcoholism and the related mental health deterioration.
In Drain Site, it seemed that all eight performers were suffering varying degrees of insanity, although I am not sure it was Guzman's intention to create such an impression. Zombie-like ragamuffins roam the stage, seemingly unaware of the time and place in which they exist. At loudly heard cries from an unseen man, the performers fall to the floor, then gradually rise and wander again. Later, they line up shoulder to shoulder, in turns chattering like monkeys, mumbling like newborns and stuttering like simpletons. I was also left struggling for words to describe this obtuse performance.
Sam Gauntlett
Conor Doyle, The Bow and Arrow
Silversmith Dance Theatre, Six O'clock Swill
Miguel Guzman, Drain Site