A tormented shriek, a sudden drop into darkness and a tall figure in robes emerges from the shadows, ranting. “God said .th.th. Only Son .th.th. God has spoken to Abraham .th.th. ” His words morph into rap-like chant, morph into rock concert frenzy, loud, terrifying, while taut and terrific bodies stamp, jump, twist, possessed by this thundering music. Stage smoke writhes all around.

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Akram Khan’s iTMOi purports to share with us what was in the mind of Igor Stravinsky while creating his famous 1913 ballet and orchestral score Le Sacre du printemps, (The Rite of Spring), The score is  now famous for its innovations in musical form, for the associated innovations in choreographic form by Nijinsky in setting dance to it, and for the storm of controversy that erupted on its premiere, halting the debut performance of the ballet when the dancers could not hear the music over the barracking of the audience.  iTMOi, however, appears to focus on Stravinsky’s research into rituals of human sacrifice and his preparation of  the narrative elements underlying his famous score, rather than on anything to do with musical form, and it presents us with several examples of such ritual and their associated symbology, from both pagan and Christian times, presumably part of Stravinsky’s research

iTMOi opens with a shout on a darkly apocalyptic scene, smelling strongly of incense, with smoke underfoot and lightning-like flashes overhead. Light bounces off the bald head of a robed man wearing garments similar to those in The Matrix movies, or priests in Eastern Orthodox religions. The man shouts and rages and paces restlessly, apparently arguing with God about the demand that he, Abraham, sacrifice his son, Isaac. Lurking in the shadows behind him is a horned man, perhaps symbolic of the sacrificial ram whose blood was spilled instead of Isaac’s, or all the rams and goats and deer and other horned animals which have been sacrificed through the ages for whatever reason. 

The main body of the work is presented by eight circling, dashing, capering, rapidly moving figures with elaborately detailed hand and arm gestures, perhaps all members of the same village. They are watched over by the Robed Man, with the Horned Man prowling restlessly on all fours behind them, or occasionally walking upright like Nijinsky’s famous Faun. They passionately, vigorously, rapidly wheel and whirl and circle and fall and roll and leap with feet jumped up underneath their bottoms, constantly waving their arms and making intricate patterns with their fingers. Dressed individually in layered garments of a single colour, at first they seem a strongly communal ensemble, dancing together though not in unison, but individual personas steadily emerge as events roll on, and you have the choice to sit back and let it roll over you, or pay attention to what happens to the individuals.

A statuesque, white-painted woman in a white hooped skirt and enormous elaborately shaped white lacy hat appears, and all action halts as she glides to centre stage where the dancers encircle her, bodies angled towards her and standing as if statues, with a bent arm raised to shoulder height in salute. Dressed like a Minoan snake goddess, though minus the snakes, she is definitely a figure of power, and nobody dares to move without her permission.

It turns out that she is seeking a successor, and when her choice of a slim young woman in white  is made, it is immediately challenged by the Rebel in Mauve, leading to the punishment, torture and death of the rebellious challenger. He is tethered by ropes which are pulled, whipped, and tossed by the villagers, and threatened by the horns of the Horned Man, til his body is a still mass off to one side of the stage.  

The successor dons the hat and starts to recognise what it will mean for her life.

Darkness descends again, and a golden orb begins to swing, set in motion by the Robed Man. The Horned Man appears again, perhaps this time as the counterpart to the Minoan snake goddess, as Dionysus, the Minoan god of ritual madness, theatre, and religious ecstacy. He is joined by a semi-naked woman whose mass of dark hair falls well below her waist, and ritual coupling commences – in the spirit of sacrifice, this can also be seen as rape. The orb swings lower and lower, almost pinning the couple to the floor, then is raised again, leaving room for the couple to depart into the darkness.  

These events are accompanied by a score contributed by three composers, each creating specific sections which are linked by quiet static similar to a record player at the end of a recording. Ben Frost contributes aggressive walls of sound replete with subsonics, which are most evident at moments of high tension and ritual sacrifice. Nitin Sawhney’s music for collective dancing has a tribal feel, strong, percussive rhythms, exotic sampled sounds; and Jocelyn Pook’s contribution is gentler, lyrical songs and melodies which you want to hear more of, somehow.  Stravinsky’s distinctive bassoon motif from Le Sacre appears in the final section, ever so quietly, perhaps suggesting that it is the motif that was decided first, and from that all else followed in the creation of the score for that famous work.

iTMOi is a big work, dark and dynamic, with complex and challenging movement and eleven dancers who deliver entirely superbly exactly what is demanded of them. And yet, it seems to polarise viewers, who seem to love it or to dilslike it intensely. Those who love it say they want to see it again, and  I imagine that they love it because they became immersed in it, that they made the choie to let it wash over them rather than tracking events in a conscious way.   As one who chose to track things, I have to admit to definitely disliking iTMOI, with its long passages of performance oriented inwards to the on-stage community, and the repellent activities occurring there, even though I admire and respect the performers. 

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