A NEW CREATION MYTH |
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) Hullapolloi Created by Jo Randerson and Kate McIntosh in collaboration with Footnote Dance at Q, 305 Queen St, Auckland 5 Oct 2011 [1hr] Reviewed by Dr Linda Ashley, 6 Oct 2011 |
I had pondered writing a one liner: “Go and see it!” However, I decided to deliver a fuller account, but it's not anyway near as comprehensive as this highly engaging and perceptive work deserves. If aliens landed tomorrow and saw this piece of dance theatre they could be forgiven for believing it is Planet Earth's creation myth.
Ever the lover of playing with words (and movement) I started out with the dictionary as a bit of pre-performance research. Hullabaloo–uproar; Polliwig-a tadpole (poll-the head, a register of persons or heads and wiggle); hoi polloi (ordinary people). Yes, to all of the above. As it turns out my word/movement obsessive compulsive disorder is suitably placed alongside Jo Randerson's literary bent and Kate McIntosh's astutely observed movement which combined culminate in narrative (wordless), poetry and theatre bewitched with a sense of dark wonderment and hilarity - that is Hullapolloi.
Embarking with a portrayal of an acephalous community (anthropological term referring to tribes who do not have a chief or ruler, also can refer to headless creatures - mainly molluscs) seems a wholly apt picture to paint for this performance. As the alien-bipeds gregariously come and go it soon becomes clear that having no leader can result in hopeless confusion and panic if something different comes along; and so a Darwinian evolutionary trail commences.
The dancers, Francis Christeller, Lucy Marinkovich, Emily Adams, Emanuel Reynard, Olivia McGregor and Danielle Lindsay add to the bun fight with supreme comic timing, even though they can see very little behind their hooded faces. American choreographer, the great Paul Taylor tells a story that involves Martha Graham ticking him off. In response to his three faceless (lycra bound from head to toe), earthbound, crouching and almost human dancers, in the whimsical and very funny 3 Epitaphs (1954), she admonished him with something along the lines of “Naughty boy! You must never hide their faces!” Well, as we see in Hullapolloi, not seeing the faces can be extremely expressive. The body's slightest postural nuances take on profoundly meaningful significances and McIntosh and Randerson have fully exploited this possibility.
In bringing to mind the context of past dance theatre, I align this work with such a tradition and I think this is important and deserved. Hullapolloi's take on what the late Alwin Nikolais described as ‘the primality of man', a mystical animalism as underpinning the human condition but tempered by language, is thoroughly involving. In grappling with issues of the environment, ecology in conflict with ours and others' needs and demands, for Nikolais, ‘man', as he then referred to us, should be united with the environment rather than dominate it - art became an environmental event.
McIntosh and Randerson draw our attention to similar challenges in a timely manner... somewhat of a palimpsest; and I mean this in the most complimentary way. There is, for instance, a subtext of endless, comedic inventive use of recycled materials, recycled in the dance to the point of obliteration and hence also lowering the carbon footprint. There are some serious illusionary distortions possible with these costumes and props and Hullapalloi makes the most of the possibilities. After the show I was chatting with a colleague who seemed to think that more production value was needed, and I can see his point particularly in terms of possibilities for set and such. In Europe, Randerson and McIntosh will have seen opulent productions and may well dream for the same, however apart from the added cost I wonder if this low tech production is in itself an apt statement to the overall intent?
Continuing… a plethora of images, too many to mention, invade the viewer's own twenty first century social understanding of sport, animal life, media, fashion, violence and so forth. As time moves on the ever-inventive bipeds create more and more ‘stuff'. Gradually the social order unravels exposing the fragility and ugliness of capitalism and consumerism to reign supreme. Hullapolloi creates new dimensions of time and space, as in Nikolai's world, these are not persons in a capitalist society, they are capitalism, they are the dark forces and they are us!
This is art not as metaphor but more an analogy of our lives. Is this a pre-election statement New Zealand? Clearly there is some type of governance going on here and it has a number of possible outcomes. Unlike evolution or metamorphosis of tadpoles to frogs this is development and its cause is human action- we are agents of change in a ‘free' market. Freedom, however, can be costly and not just in monetary terms. There is a certain sense of liberty in bondage on this surreal, plastic, even plasticine planet, as our cute little utopian bipeds transform into fat cats, beggars, clueless victims and sycophantic collaborators. When we hit the wasteland in all its desolation there is a hint of redemption and ideological transformation – but maybe go and figure out that one for yourself.
The valuable input of the dancers to the creative process is clear, as is their skilful ‘wiggling', stamina and performance quality. The sound scape (Thom McIntosh) and lighting design (Piet Asplet) are both incisive and in tune with the work. Last, but by no means least, Deirdre Tarrant's indefatigable work since 1985 with Footnote is to be recognised as crucial to the NZ dance scene. This full-length work emphatically confirms that ongoing financial support is essential and deserved… And yes I know that money is the root of all evil, but what does one do?
Ever the lover of playing with words (and movement) I started out with the dictionary as a bit of pre-performance research. Hullabaloo–uproar; Polliwig-a tadpole (poll-the head, a register of persons or heads and wiggle); hoi polloi (ordinary people). Yes, to all of the above. As it turns out my word/movement obsessive compulsive disorder is suitably placed alongside Jo Randerson's literary bent and Kate McIntosh's astutely observed movement which combined culminate in narrative (wordless), poetry and theatre bewitched with a sense of dark wonderment and hilarity - that is Hullapolloi.
Embarking with a portrayal of an acephalous community (anthropological term referring to tribes who do not have a chief or ruler, also can refer to headless creatures - mainly molluscs) seems a wholly apt picture to paint for this performance. As the alien-bipeds gregariously come and go it soon becomes clear that having no leader can result in hopeless confusion and panic if something different comes along; and so a Darwinian evolutionary trail commences.
The dancers, Francis Christeller, Lucy Marinkovich, Emily Adams, Emanuel Reynard, Olivia McGregor and Danielle Lindsay add to the bun fight with supreme comic timing, even though they can see very little behind their hooded faces. American choreographer, the great Paul Taylor tells a story that involves Martha Graham ticking him off. In response to his three faceless (lycra bound from head to toe), earthbound, crouching and almost human dancers, in the whimsical and very funny 3 Epitaphs (1954), she admonished him with something along the lines of “Naughty boy! You must never hide their faces!” Well, as we see in Hullapolloi, not seeing the faces can be extremely expressive. The body's slightest postural nuances take on profoundly meaningful significances and McIntosh and Randerson have fully exploited this possibility.
In bringing to mind the context of past dance theatre, I align this work with such a tradition and I think this is important and deserved. Hullapolloi's take on what the late Alwin Nikolais described as ‘the primality of man', a mystical animalism as underpinning the human condition but tempered by language, is thoroughly involving. In grappling with issues of the environment, ecology in conflict with ours and others' needs and demands, for Nikolais, ‘man', as he then referred to us, should be united with the environment rather than dominate it - art became an environmental event.
McIntosh and Randerson draw our attention to similar challenges in a timely manner... somewhat of a palimpsest; and I mean this in the most complimentary way. There is, for instance, a subtext of endless, comedic inventive use of recycled materials, recycled in the dance to the point of obliteration and hence also lowering the carbon footprint. There are some serious illusionary distortions possible with these costumes and props and Hullapalloi makes the most of the possibilities. After the show I was chatting with a colleague who seemed to think that more production value was needed, and I can see his point particularly in terms of possibilities for set and such. In Europe, Randerson and McIntosh will have seen opulent productions and may well dream for the same, however apart from the added cost I wonder if this low tech production is in itself an apt statement to the overall intent?
Continuing… a plethora of images, too many to mention, invade the viewer's own twenty first century social understanding of sport, animal life, media, fashion, violence and so forth. As time moves on the ever-inventive bipeds create more and more ‘stuff'. Gradually the social order unravels exposing the fragility and ugliness of capitalism and consumerism to reign supreme. Hullapolloi creates new dimensions of time and space, as in Nikolai's world, these are not persons in a capitalist society, they are capitalism, they are the dark forces and they are us!
This is art not as metaphor but more an analogy of our lives. Is this a pre-election statement New Zealand? Clearly there is some type of governance going on here and it has a number of possible outcomes. Unlike evolution or metamorphosis of tadpoles to frogs this is development and its cause is human action- we are agents of change in a ‘free' market. Freedom, however, can be costly and not just in monetary terms. There is a certain sense of liberty in bondage on this surreal, plastic, even plasticine planet, as our cute little utopian bipeds transform into fat cats, beggars, clueless victims and sycophantic collaborators. When we hit the wasteland in all its desolation there is a hint of redemption and ideological transformation – but maybe go and figure out that one for yourself.
The valuable input of the dancers to the creative process is clear, as is their skilful ‘wiggling', stamina and performance quality. The sound scape (Thom McIntosh) and lighting design (Piet Asplet) are both incisive and in tune with the work. Last, but by no means least, Deirdre Tarrant's indefatigable work since 1985 with Footnote is to be recognised as crucial to the NZ dance scene. This full-length work emphatically confirms that ongoing financial support is essential and deserved… And yes I know that money is the root of all evil, but what does one do?
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