Rambert, Eternal Light
Rambert Dance Company
Eternal Light Tour 2009
To begin with, I should just make it absolutely clear – I know nothing about dance.
My personal involvement doesn’t go much beyond bad disco and my frame of reference for dance-as-an-art-form stretches from the aspirational saccharine of Billy Elliot to the leather trousered, clog-hopping, dwarf of River Dance. So if you want to read a knowledge-based review of this evening I suggest you go here or here.
If you are still with me at this point then you share my finely balanced traits of curiosity and ignorance, so welcome aboard and read on.
I had time to snatch a few words from the programmes before the lights downed and the curtain upped. This background research was all I had to go on for the first act. So the key phrases of The Raft of Medusa and ideas about Rapture were to be my guides for the evening. The Raft of Medusa was a giant surfboard on which 150 semi-clad Frenchmen cannibalised themselves. This was going to be interesting.
Eternal Light: A Requiem
I kind of got the raft formation of the dancers so was happy to go with the metaphor. OK, so first thoughts after heaping praise upon myself for getting the raft-thing – they didn’t all seem to be moving in time. The pussycat dolls may not have much classicism under their basques but when they writhe, they writhe as one. Then the raft formation broke up. Remember in primary school PE music and movement lessons? Well it was a bit like that with elements of Dead Head look-at-me-I-am-a-free-spirit-ism thrown in there.
Everybody off stage, all change.
When the next erm…act? scene? movement? began, I noticed the music. Up until this point I had been so busy trying to analyse something that was far beyond my understanding that I hadn’t even registered that there was any music. Suddenly everything was transformed. From this moment, some primal quarter of my brain took over.
Latin chanting and half remembered poems dragged up stuff I can’t describe from places I dare not go. Twelve crucifixes were lowered over the stage. Here was a trick learnt from masters, Madonna, Metallica, Ozzy Osbourne all new the power of this stuff. “In Flanders fields the poppies blow, between the crosses row on row” overlaid with “Dies Irae”. Bloody hell! Literally. Judgement Day. This would have little Billy Elliot pissing in his pants. Doom laden death ballet. Or was it full of hope? That probably depends on your glass half-full, half-empty status. And anyway it’s a yin-yang thing.
More of the same up until the interval; which isn’t a bad thing – coz I was loving it.
Two Solos as a Tribute to Norman Morrice & See Me
Part two was good, but not as good. The resonant chanting of penitents was replaced with the yeah, yeah, whatever music I expected. The lighting made me think of the scene in Face/Off with Nicholas Cage totally out acting John Travolta. As I thought this I realised that I was no longer in The Zone. I started to notice that the dancers’ footsteps were very loud on the stage – which was very shiny.
During the second interval, I debated with myself as to wether I should go/stay.
I was distracted from my inner arguments by three plums in shiny suits standing next to me at the bar. They were debating the quality of the dancers and Rory – a fat goggle eyed twat – announced that he would “do” the second girl from the left.
I stayed. I wish I hadn’t.
Carnival of the Animals
The third part was carnival of the animals. To my layman’s eyes/ears it was plinky-plonky music that was intended to sound like an animal accompanying a dance that represented said animal. Some retrospective googling proved this guess to be fairly accurate. It was the Lion King without the costumes or music. I am sure Fat Rory got off on seeing his favourite dancer portraying flirtatious chicken. But I didn’t get it. The backdrop portrayed Henri Rousseau in one of his jungles and I could hear him thinking, “my paintings of animals are childlike and unrealistic, but this takes le biscuit” Well-said Henri.
The Rambert Dance Company’s press officer agent told me that three parts of the production was like a box of chocolates. I like the metaphor; I will stretch it beyond its elastic limit.
To begin with I picked out an orgasmic liquor. I bit into it tentatively and was pleasantly surprised as liquid seductively ran all over my tongue before warming my throat. The vapours infused my mind leaving me feeling light-headed. Part two was a strawberry cream. The finale was that hard caramel that gets thrown way with the packaging.
When: 04/03/2009
Where: Theatre Royal Brighton
For more info www.rambert.org.uk
