The Theatre to Come
by Francesco Chiaro
With its new expressive paths and transversal, interstitial dialogues, contemporary dance is slowly changing the perspectives of the stage, opening up new horizons in search for larger spaces, longer moments of reflection and more audience-inclusive structures. Representing one of the most riveting assembly of genre-transcending international performing arts in Europe, BIT Teatergarasjen’s Oktoberdans 2022 showcased an extremely diverse range of artistic expressions that share in this truly postdramatic performative research, thus offering to its spectators a panoramic viewpoint on the Theatre to come.
From border-breaking La Caresse du Coma ft. YOLO to the time-expanding MONUMENT 0.10: The Living Monument, or from in-yer-face J’ai pleuré avec les chiens (Time, Creation, Destruction) to meaning-deconstructionist Unimages, the programme of Oktoberdans 2022 international dance festival sure packed quite the experimental punch, weaving an iridescent choreographic texture in which every thread follows a different aspect of reality, thus pulling the scene towards equally different extremes. Variegated also in its artistic direction, especially following the passing away of artistic and general director of BIT Teatergarasjen, Sven Åge Birkeland, who left a significant and permanent mark on Norway’s art scene throughout his intense career (and whose legacy was celebrated via a full day of heartfelt tributes from colleagues and artists alike during the festival), Oktoberdans 2022 constantly evaded simplistic categorisations throughout its duration, offering not only a cornucopia of thought- provoking, limit-bending performances, but also a thick forest of workshops, seminars and conversations that kept everyone busy (and talking) for the better of the ten-day festive marathon.
Thanks to the DIY structure of the programme, Bergen’s theatregoers had a chance to potentially see and discuss about everything, thus highlighting an underlying organisational effort focused also on the audience’s needs (a practice that is not always implemented by all festival). And as it happens, this year’s main star of the show was actually that multi-cephalous throng of dance enthusiasts that, time and again, was called forth to leave the comfort and safety of its seats and to step on that inviolable sanctuary that used to be the stage. Indeed, quite a few performances tinkered with the traditional, four-wall limitations of theatre, exploring the psychology of space with different tools and sensitivities.
La Caresse du Coma ft. YOLO by Anne Lise Le Gac. Photo by Thor Brødreskift.
The first and most striking example of this was, sans doute, the spatial and conceptual deconstruction of the performative act offered by French artist Anne Lise Le Gac, who plunged Studio USF’s space into an exploration of our relationships with the other – and how to redefine them. In a «constant attempt to bastardise reality to let fiction ooze in», Le Gac moved from her 2014 solo piece of the same name in order to expand on her previous work with choreographer Claudia Triozzi, this time by collaborating with musician Loto Retina. As far as the plot goes, the performance «is situated in a Croatian spa, where currently a Happiness gathering is taking place: “I have been staying in a four-star hotel-spa in the heart of Croatia for about forty days now, during a gathering of people who are in search of Happiness, convinced that they live in an INFINITE LIVING WORLD. Within the group, they each have a transitory status: as I am new, I am automatically a DOG, “a loving machine”, and my number is 23”».
Set in a dreamscape irreality where all the senses are called forth in order to concoct a shared meaning, La Caresse du Coma ft. YOLO is both a narration of the artist’s actual personal experience in this particular Croatian community and an all-round collaborative performance. Indeed, by considering the creative process as a living art constantly in the making, Le Gac opens up her initial concept to the contaminating potential of other artists and of the audience itself, here called to partake in the conscience-expanding Gloub Bath – a weekly event in which all DOGS (us included) can realise the liminality of their own existence. Therefore, while Loto Retina’s visionary soundscapes give shape and gravitas to the «common trash-can of air» that we breathe and pollute, the obliging spectators settle down in the newly conquered scenic space, ready to (literally) drink from the performer’s lips.
In spite of its unripe finale , Le Gac’s truly remarkable cosmogonic use of the word transports us into a delirious world where «digital symbiosis» and «hypotonic shotguns» are an actual thing, and where the participatory turn taken by postdramatic performers starting from the end of the 20 th Century is palpable, albeit still under-explored. Indeed, when conquering new grounds, one should always keep in mind that if space is where atoms can be, the void is where they might be, but are not.
MONUMENT 0.10: The Living Monument by Eszter Salamon. Photo by Østein Haara.
Just as space is altered, so is the temporality of the spectator in the postdramatic theatre. By sharing time, all participants in the creative process are forced to endure the live quality of time as the same reality, in a constant reminder of the collective limits of the experience. An interesting (albeit unsuccessful) example of this was Hungarian choreographer Eszter Salamon’s MONUMENT 0.10: The Living Monument, the latest collaboration between the associated artist and Norway’s very own national company of contemporary dance, aka Carte Blanche.
Last in a series of performances revolving around «monuments as political manifestations of freedom, memory and inclusion», The Living Monument «oscillates between mythic fantasy and contemporary dance», gradually transitioning between «colours, costumes and scenic landscapes». Set in an ominously ever- changing scenery, the ten different monuments are brought to quasi-life by 14 unflagging performers who, donning undeniably suggestive costumes, slowly make their way in and out of these colour-coded tableaux vivant. Be it black and crepuscular or yellow and sumptuous, red and vocal or white and sepulchrally silent, each monument strives to create a feeling, letting the audience «dig into sensations and figures» built on «still life, slowness and bodies’ presence».
Salamon’s commendable intention (from Latin intendere “to turn one’s attention”, literally “to stretch out”) to open up a threshold for the public to collectively inhabit and fill with its own fictions in a privileged, non-consumeristic «slowness», however, seems to miss its predetermined target, giving spectators too much to admire, and too little to ponder over. Indeed, albeit aesthetically pleasing, the repetitious sequences of epic grandeur lose their purported evocative quality quite quickly, plunging the audience into a strenuous, two-hour long expedition into a lacklustre, narrative desert where every individual is left to fend for him/herself. Moreover, by denying the full dancing potential of its performing bodies, The Living Monument’s microscopic choreography misses a chance to expand the imaginative reach sought- after by Salamon also to the realm of movements, which are thus relegated to a very limited range of expressiveness.
Nevertheless, the performance still manages to put into practice a stimulating attempt of compressing or negating the effects of linear or causal time in the experience of theatre, thus pulling it towards new and fertile horizons. Indeed, according to theatre critic and theorist Hans-Thiess Lehmann, these changes in the temporal structure of theatre are also capable of producing a different quality of attention, so that the spectator attends to the many and little differences which resonate with their own psyche-soma, increasing its awareness of the transformative potential of the performative act on each individual: «through their own sense of time, imagination, empathy and the capacity to relate physically to sequences of movements, the viewers come to know the temporal movement in the image».
J’ai pleuré avec les chiens (Time, Creation, Destruction) by Daina Ashbee. Photo by Photo by Thor Brødreskift.
Another fascinating postdramatic interstice, this time political in content and alienating in form, was analysed and represented by Daina Ashbee’s latest creation, J’ai pleuré avec les chiens (Time, Creation, Destruction). Starting from the renegotiation of the illusion/anti-illusion dichotomy – here represented by a non-traditional entrance of the performers on the stage – this work invites a serious reflection on the critical stance (and distance) of the audience, hereby violently called to encounter alterity, but without much agency.
The Canadian choreographer and dancer’s first group piece could be described as a durational performance for six naked bodies – but that would be an understatement.Of Métis, Cree and European ancestry, 30-year-old Ashbee first appeared on the Canadian national dance scene in 2014 with her breakout piece Unrelated, a visceral work about the suffering of missing and murdered Indigenous women (notably those in the First Nations, Inuit, Métis and Native American communities), which soon propelled her abroad, reaching BIT Teatergarasjen’s Oktoberdans festival in 2016. Six years, four performances and one pandemic later, Ashbee made her return to Bergen (after Pour, a creation inspired by the menstrual cycle, also showcased in the Norwegian festival in 2018), this time with a collective work rich in stratifications, provocations and, most importantly, interpretations.
«J’ai pleuré avec les chiens (Time, Creation, Destruction) shapes a ritual of cohabitation and decompartmentalization – a constellation of possibilities that escapes confinement in a category, a genre, a territory, circumscribed affiliations. Everything there is transitory, fugitive». Ranging from the soft voice of Louise Hay’s self-healing tapes (the North-American motivational author/guru who purported that negative thoughts could help cause AIDS, amongst other things) to the «rumblings, yelps, tears and calls» of the down-facing dogs embodied by the performers, Ashbee’s creation sure puts a lot of effort into disrupting conventional modes of sense making. Indeed, in an attempt to re-distribute the sensible (as Rancière would have it) and free both forms and aesthetics from the Western «hegemonic logic of domination», the choreographer provokes the participatory agency of the audience by implementing a series of controversial performative strategies that end up rousing spectators in more than just one way.
As a matter of fact, the mixture of (acro)yoga poses (a decade-long victim of cultural appropriation/appreciation), brutal krumping-esque movements, Lovecraftian bellows and imposed, reiterated animalistic face-to-face nudity deliberately create disturbing effects on the onlookers, who are left at the mercy of a «sensory experience» that eventually brings many of them to break down and cry, shut off from the performance, laugh nervously or simply leave the room. In J’ai pleuré avec les chiens (Time, Creation, Destruction), then, the «refusal of the ways of knowing, creating, and feeling that are marked by colonialism» seems to translate not only into a tiring physical and vocal labour for the enormously capable and convincing six dancers, but also in a nerve-wracking experience for the audience, who is tasked with finding an artistic and political interpretation to that extensive array of often contrasting stimuli that Ashbee calls «potentialities».
Radical in its provocative quality, then, Daina Ashbee’s performance (which was also one of the most controversial of the whole Oktoberdans 2022, perhaps also due to the lack of a clear narrative intention, paired with the postdramatic overplaying of the monadism of the individual, interpellated in its experiential anonymity) played on the moving limits of intimacy and distance, betting on the spectators’ willingness or not to suspend judgment (for the moment) and let themselves be enmeshed in a rapid responsiveness to eyeball to eyeball sensations, impressions and spectacle. It is interesting to note how the “success” of the piece almost entirely depended on the viewers’ disposition (as gathered during one of the Breakfast Club critical meetings with the public offered by the festival in collaboration with i.c.a.p. ), thus highlighting the growing importance of the communicative aspect in the performative act, which is finally leaving behind the concept of ready-made “entertainment” in favour of a more fluid collaborative process in constant negotiation.
Unimages by Florin Flueras. Photo by Thor Brødreskift
Similar in provocation and meaning-creation, yet different in format, setting and, especially, corporeal language, Romanian choreographer Florin Flueras’ Unimages vigorously focuses on the presence of the artist and the audience in the same space, de-contextualising both so as to make it «no longer clear whether the presence is given to us or whether we, the spectators, produce it in the first place», as stated by Hans-Thiess Lehmann in his Postdramatic Theatre. Indeed, Unimages intervenes «in the implicit process of transforming reality into images and certainties» so as to question and refresh our capacity «of seeing and understanding». Within his exploration, which forms part of a larger body of thoughts called Unofficial Unworks (including, other than the piece presented at Bergen’s Hordaland Kunstsenter, also the performances Unexperiences and Unhere), Flueras seems to take inspiration form the cultural hijacking processes popularised by the Post-Spectacle artists of the 1960s French International Situationist group, who exposed the mechanisms of the artworld so as to denounce its inherent conformism to dominant capitalistic dynamics.
By proposing «performative anomalies that affect the automatic readings and perceptions», then, Unimages stimulates a renewed research of meaning within the institutionalised walls of performing arts, all the while problematising the political component in art as well as the aesthetic component in politics. «As visitors we usually conform, performing our roles, consuming quietly what is in front of our eyes. As artists we mostly follow artworld’s implicit codes, protocols, structures of validation, hoping to be seen, invited, appreciated. As people we conform to prevailing perspectives and certainties. Artists can and should sometimes deviate from these dynamics. And visitors too» (from the Unofficial Unworks description).
In the presence of such a complex thought process, it was interesting to see how the audience of Oktoberdans 2022 reacted to the philosophical provocation carried out by the displacing unmovements of Florin Flueras, Eliza Trefas and Martina Piazzi. Indeed, the extremely polite and respectful spectators present at Thursday’s performance (Lehmann would call it the «passive obedience» of participatory theatre’s spectators) diligently decorated the walls of Hordaland Kunstsenter so as to leave the empty floor to the artists, who then had to struggle quite a lot to get their message across, especially considering that Unimages «are inserted in contexts where something else is already happening, adding an extra layer to their ordinary function» – and nothing was happening in the immaculate room.
Batty Bwoy - by Harald Beharie. Photo by Julie Hrncirova
On a side note, a final and interesting point in the phantasmagoria of works presented in Oktoberdans 2022 was also raised by independent Norwegian- Jamaican choreographer and performer Harald Beharie, who decided to translate his exploration of space, body and movement called Batty Bwoy into a fierce political act (much in the wake of the 21 st Century’s politicisation of the arts on identity issues). Indeed, in the Jamaican Patois creole language, “batty” means “buttocks”, and thus “batty bwoy” translates to the ridiculous-sounding “butt boy”, a derogatory term for a gay or effeminate man. But before digging deep into Harald Beharie’s first solo work, perhaps it would be best to contextualise it within the framework of violence and discrimination that the LGBT community has faced -and still, constantly faces- in postcolonial Jamaica.
«On July 21, 2013, 16-year-old Dwayne Jones attended a dance party in Montego Bay, Jamaica, dressed in women’s clothing. When partygoers at the bar in Irwin, St. James, realized she was biologically male, they subjected her to almost every form of physical violence imaginable—beating, stabbing, and shooting her before running her over with a car. No one helped her during the assault. When police arrived, they found her body dumped in bushes along the main road. Dwayne had been homeless since age 12, rejected by her family because of her gender identity. Her family initially refused to claim her corpse from the morgue» (from Human Rights Watch’s report Not Safe at Home). Albeit lying at one extreme end of it, Dwayne Jones’ story still falls within a continuum of violence experienced by Jamaican who identify as lesbians, gay, transgender or bisexual and who, as such, are forced to live in an extremely vulnerable position within the society. To make matters worse, as of today, homosexuality is criminalised in the island, with 1864 anti-sodomy or “buggery” laws still in force, prohibiting same-sex conduct between consenting adult males and making the «abominable crime of buggery» punishable «by imprisonment and hard labour for a maximum of ten years». It is against these homophobic shadows, then, that Batty Bwoy takes its first, luminous steps, regurgitating on the scene all of the violence operated on the body by gender-normative constructs – both here and abroad.
A seemingly sitting duck on a red, brutal table (a visceral sculpture created by artists Veronica Bruce and Karoline Bakken-Lund), Beharie’s friction-filled representation of a queer, black body welcomes the audience in all of its naked corporality, baring much more than the mere skin. Indeed, if the explicit language is that of saliva, genitalia and vulnerability, the implicit discourse speaks about embracing intimacy, reclaiming the flesh and eviscerating stereotypes, all the while «questioning notions of normativity». Starting on all fours and then slowly gaining both verticality and pace, Batty Bwoy’s choreography coerces the performer into an hour-and-a-half-long tour de force around the non-linear spatiality of Bergen Kjøtt’s stage, exacerbating the self-inflicted physical pain with violent gag reflexes and extended grimaces. Moreover, as eyes begin meeting and boundaries blur, the performance becomes more and more confrontational and spectators are presented with a wide array of «ambivalent creatures who find themselves at the breaking point between their precarious body, liberated joy, power and batty energy»: it is in these intersections that the relationship between “femininity” and “masculinity” is explored, offering now inward, now outward movements in an attempt to dissect known physical narrations and destereotype reality.
In spite of its commendable physical, social and political commitment (especially considering the courage and real risk involved in taking up this topic), Harald Beharie’s first solo work – which definitely holds a story between head and eye and heart and hand, as demonstrated by the project’s nomination for the Norwegian Critics Association Prize 2022 – presents a few formal issues that inhibit its dramatic and cathartic potential, delivering a softer-than-expected hit, regardless of the sweat and blood that is left to dry on the wooden floor once the artist is gone. Regardless of its contingent outcome, what is fascinating here (and in the other pieces mentioned above) is the general focus on the audience’s role within the performative act. Be it spatial, temporal, experiential, cognitive or political, the engagement and participation of spectators is becoming a major preoccupation in contemporary performing arts, making us feel more dangerously close to an accomplice than to a consumer of artistic products and thus seemingly giving us the responsibility to have a say in wherever it is that contemporary theatre is going.
Whether we share in on that responsibility or not, however, is entirely up to us.
The shows were played within Oktoberdans 2022 international dance festival Bergen – Norway, various locations from 20 to 29 October 2022
La Caresse du Coma ft. YOLO
concept and performance Anne Lise Le Gac
performance and sound creation Loto Retina
light creation Anat Bosak
technic and sound Benjamin Delvalle
layout of the land Anne Lise Le Gac and Anat Bosak
costumes Elie Ortis
production and diffusion Claudia Petagna for Parallèle
production OKAY CONFIANCE
production and touring Parallèle - Pôle de production international pour les pratiques
artistiques émergentes
coproductions Nouveau Théâtre de Montreuil | Arsenic—Centre d’art scénique contemporain, Lausanne | Veem House for Performance, BUDA (Kortrijk) et BIT Teatergarasjen dans le cadre de apap—FEMINIST FUTURES, un projet de coopération du programme Europe Créative de l’Union Européenne | Antistatic Festival / Brain Store Project Foundation, Workshop Fundation dans le cadre du projet européen Life Long Burning supports Département des Bouches-du-Rhône | Ville de Marseille | DRAC PACA dans le cadre du Plan de relance pour la culture en Provence-Alpes-Côte Azur | Friche la Belle deMai | Centrale Fies / art work space | la Manufacture CDCN Nouvelle-Aquitaine | GMEM — Centre national de création musicale
MONUMENT 0.10: The Living Monument
by Carte Blanche
concept, choreography and costume design Eszter Salamon
scenography James Brandily
lighting design Silje Grimstad
composer Carmen Villain
choreography assistance Elodie Perrin and Christine De Smedt
costume design assistance Laura Garnier
sound design Leif Herland
dancers Adrian Bartczak, Aslak Aune Nygård, Anne Lise Rønne, Brecht Bovijn, Caroline Eckly, Dawid Lorenc, Irene Vesterhus Theisen, Gaspard Schmitt, Hanne Van Driessche, Mathias Stoltenberg, Noam Eidelman Shatil, Ole Martin Meland, Tilly Sordat, Trine Lise Moe
dancers (original cast) Adrian Bartczak, Aslak Aune Nygård, Anne Lise Rønne, Caroline Eckly, Daniel Mariblanca, Dawid Lorenc, Irene Vesterhus Theisen, Lin van Kaam, Mathias Stoltenberg, Max Makowski, Nadege Kubwayo, Noam Eidelman Shatil, Ole Martin Meland, Tilly Sordat
J’ai pleuré avec les chiens (Time, Creation, Destruction)
by Daina Ashbee
choreographer Daina Ashbee
rehearsal director Gabriel Nieto
performers Angélica Morga, Irene Martínez, Greys Vecchionacce, Gabriel Nieto, Lorena Olguin, Elise Vanderborght
mentor Benoît LaChambre
lighting designer Vito Walter
project manager and administration Angélica Morga
musical compilation Sean MacPherson, Daina Ashbee, Gabriel Nieto
audio text Louise Hay
text (Française) Nayla Naoufal
photo and video Nicolas VanAchter and Stephanie Paillet
co-production partners KVS Brussels Stadstheater, Festival TransAmériques – FTA, Agora de la danse, Rencontres chorégraphiques internationales de Seine-Saint- Denis (FR), BIT Teatergarasjen (NO), National Arts Centre , Centre de Création O Vertigo - CCOV
residency partners KVS Brussels Stadstheater, Harbourfront Centre (TO),
Montpellier Danse (FR), CCOV (Mtl)
developed with support from the National Art Centre’s National Creation Fund, Canada Council for the Arts, Conseil des Arts et des Lettres de Québec
Unimages
by Florin Flueras
performers Eliza Trefas, Martina Piazzi, Florin Flueras.
production Artworlds Bucharest with the support of CNDB Bucharest, BIT Teatergarasjen, Kunsthall Bergen, APAP 2020 Feminist Futures network
Batty Bwoy
by Harald Beharie
choreography/performer Harald Beharie
scenography/sculpture Karoline Bakken Lund and Veronica Bruce
music Ring van Möbius
sound designer Jassem Hindi
outside eye Ines Belli and Hooman Sharifi
co-producers Dansens Hus and RAS
supported by Norwegian Art council, Fond for lyd og bilde, FFUK, Sandnes Kommune and Tou Scene
photo Julie Hrncirova
