Rapt
Civic Theatre, cnr of Queen Street & Wellesley Street West, Auckland
16/03/2011 - 19/03/2011
Production Details
rapt is a major new work from Douglas Wright. Creative iconoclast, choreographer and writer – an influential figure in New Zealand’s dance theatre genre – Douglas is one of this country’s most significant and visionary artists. Wright’s 11th full-length work, rapt, will be performed on The Civic stage by a company that features some of New Zealand’s finest international dancers, many returning home for this work. With music by the 17th century baroque composer Heinrich Biber and New Zealand composer David Long (Mutton Birds, Six Volts, Plan9), rapt is steeped in the unnerving clarity and signature wit characteristic of this revolutionary artist.
"rapt is a bringing to light of the buried part of ourselves that needs dance in the same way a body needs a heart. Human beings have always expressed their joy, anger, triumph and fear through movement; movement then ritualised, now lost. rapt celebrates the dark radiant energies of the body. It explores the threshold between sleep and waking, life and death, revealing a deluge of visceral images and haunting unforgettable dances of serenity and power."
– Douglas Wright
Dancers:
Sarah-Jayne Howard, Kelly Nash, Kilda Northcott, Nancy Wijohn, Sarah Foster, Liana Yew
Alexa Sasha Leonhartdberger, Craig Bary, Will Balring, David Huggins
Producer: Jessica Smith
Choreographic assistant: Megan Adams
90 mins
..a night for humanity... a night for dancers
Review by Jack Gray 17th Mar 2011
I’m going to start at the end of the night and work my way back to the beginning. Rebirth. [Perhaps fairy tales are more interesting told in reverse?]
After function drinks at the Wintergarden now drained, drips and drabs of hanger on-ers standing around, catch up with new and old friends. There is an invisible momentum for more merriment to be had, as star dancers and entourage make tracks outside the Civic to head into a beautifully warm Auckland eve.
I spy the Man Himself picking up his backpack, in an unguarded moment (though to be fair – he always seems to be unguarded). I see this is my moment to hug him and to look into his eyes. I love how he mentions how difficult the production week was – and see a private, honest-to-goodness “we did it!” type of embrace shared between himself and his exhausted and very relieved looking producer, Jessica Smith. [Earlier, Douglas acknowledged that without her insistence – the world would not have seen RAPT].
Choreographic assistant, Megan Adams (dressed head to toe in a Comme De Garcons pristine white suit) is a lynchpin in the configuration as she has provided lieutenant-ship in the rehearsal studio on behalf of DW). Without her, Douglas said we would be “looking at an empty stage”.
For all the accolades that have been heaped on DW over the years and his enforced ascent to the summit of New Zealand’s cultural and im/moral landscape – my heart smiles to simply see a vulnerable hu/man; one who knows full well the terror of recognising and transforming his inner demons (and angels) into art. Art for us, art for everybody.
With post show-buzz and echoing applause ringing out for his newest premiere (described as a ‘gift’ to us), there are brilliant speeches made giving us context and reinforcing how special the event is. Douglas acknowledges the auspiciousness of the work opening on the birthday of late actress Peta Rutter, for whom RAPT was dedicated.
I commit a fabulous faux pas while making a beeline for the luminous Kilda Northcott resplendent in a shimmering aqua gown, her hair cascading out. (Perhaps I imagine a halo). Interrupting her talking to a man, I butt in with the excuse that I wanted a quick kiss to congratulate her for a stunning performance. As I start to fawn, she says under her breath “Jack, that’s the mayor of Auckland Len Brown you just cut in on”.
LB’s speech is pretty darn great for a Kiwi politician. [I’d hate to make comparisons with Obama – God forbid – but I actually had shivers]. I appreciated that he didn’t have a tacky/typical pre-written speech (or maybe he was just a clever ad-libber) and that he spoke directly to Douglas saying they shared a few things in common: same age, same height and both “South Auckland boys” (I let out an inappropriate “yeah yah”). Of course many other uplifting words were said, continuing with comparisons of working hard to unite and push our city forward. Douglas replied with usual Zen-like summation “I won’t say much as I said it all on stage”. Amen.
In as much as it was a night for humanity, it was also a night for dancers. I made a crass observation to a friend that if the roof collapsed that would be the end of the NZ dance community – keenly aware of recent catastrophic events in Christchurch and Japan contributing to a jittery sense of uncertainty with exactly who is in charge of destiny. [Mankind? Mother Earth? God?]
“God! God! God! God! God! God! God! God! God! God! God!”
The dancers kneel, holding hands they chant the word “God” over and over, bringing waves (tsunami) of fear, anxiety and commandment to the audience. Their exact replica of the reforming line (three times) highlights the inevitability and the habit of doctrine, whether political, religious or otherwise. In a way that a word can sometimes change through repetition (like “She sells seashells”), “God” sounded at times like “Gold” (pre- Rugby World Cup anxiety?) or “Dog” (relentless barking in pursuit of perfection?).
DW has a claustrophobic intensity with religious matters, prevalent in his past and present works. RAPT, suggests things both light and dark. [Perhaps referring to being carried away in body and spirit to some perceived ‘higher’ place.]
There are delicious moments that tingle on the skin, like the opening solo performed faun-ishly by mesomorphic Sarah-Jayne (you know you’re famous when you don’t need a surname attached – it’s Howard for the record). Her dancing played with eddying time and space, gently first then with DW trademark moments of convulsion, catching, falling, resisting and attacking arcs of movement. Her hair and green dress were especially pretty.
This blissfulness starkly contrasted with later sequences, where the characters bow down in repetitive prostrations, to a sped up version of The Lord’s Prayer mumbled through the soundtrack. The constant bowing caricatures into an action that looks unhinged, insane or like a weird sexual self-practice leading me to utter aloud: “Girlfriend’s got issues!”
[The bigger question seems to be about how and where we find respite, comfort and oneness. How do we make our peace with a God that both giveth and taketh away?]
I think my closest connection to the dance was transmitted most clearly through the unmistakable electricity flowing through the blood and bone of each dancer on stage. Hierarchically, the company comprises principal dancers alongside newer dancers, and though they worked well as an ensemble – it seemed to be a reading of the individual’s journey within himself or herself that spoke volumes.
Kilda Northcott is undoubtedly the High Priestess of Dance, continuing to be the gatekeeper to the magic of DW after a thirty-year relationship as his muse. She should give master classes in how to make an entrance, as she entirely captured our attentions with her magnetic presence, palpable and rewarding. Her solo was exciting to watch and she surely gave the younger ones a textbook lesson in performance chemistry.
Star of the night was a red-hot Alex Leonhartsberger, who set a standard on stage that lit it well and truly alight. A comment from a friend afterwards, mentioned that his European classical training gave him an edge over the Kiwi-trained dancers in so much that his execution was “finished”. I remember just watching his feet, cleanly moving through the space, even though his body is long and lithe – he managed to articulate every single membrane of his body. His jumps were exquisite (like motion capturing a leap from a trampoline) another friend commented that “he looked like an elk”. More than that however, I glimpsed an insight into his inner qualities. Deep, strong, clear, passionate, emphatic and marvellously sensitive. If he ever had a point to prove, tonight’s performance was categorically hit out of the ballpark.
Amongst the leading ladies, centre-stage belonged to a stormy, translucent and equally shimmering Kelly Nash. Being a long time colleague and friend of Kelly, allows me the perspective to really celebrate her shining amidst a world of constant change and occasional chaos. I have heard of the struggles of working with DW. This is no secret. The tireless, pushing, exhaustion of relishing in his exacting standards for dance contribute to the reason why his work has been lauded globally. Through the pain, tiredness and being kept mentally, physically and emotionally on the edge, Kelly gracefully combined these things to not bring about madness – but an incredible endurance and resilience – which is what leaving timeless visceral imprints is all about. Her duet with Leonhartsberger hit all the veritable nails on the head (!)
The group sequences of dance feature the talents of all the performers. My notes say “Vivid, like carvings on mahogany”. Craig Bary and Will Barling draw on their obvious multi-skills, talking, singing, acting while the girls, Nash and Howard are ably backed up by Sarah Foster (fell sick during the process and did not feature as much) and newcomer to the company Nancy Wijohn.
RAPT introduces and ends with reference to an endearing character that I call ‘Bird Man’ (played wonderfully by Australian-trained but Kiwi born, David Huggins). A tall Bill Hammond-esque figure dressed in a brown suit with yellow shoes, he has a large oversized Eagle mask (though at times he looked like a Kiwi), carries a cane and has a penchant for heights. Walking down the side of a square building (with the aid of wires) you get a glimpse of the inside of DW’s vast imagination and theatrical scope.
Bird Man has many Fantastic Mr Fox – like appearances, including a wickedly droll dance and duet with Will Barling, and his dis/appearance in a bed with massive breathing tubes connected to the ceiling. Wherever he is, it seems real-time and space, do not exist and he serves as some type of guide into the inner consciousness. Afterwards, a Peruvian friend comments on how as a foreigner he was very perplexed and wasn’t sure if he could grasp all the references. He made a stab in the dark about Osiris, Egyptian Ruler of the Dead.
The work was constructed in several dis/connected episodes with classic Douglas-ism’s scattered throughout.
The dancers call each other by their real first names (as in Forever), there is dark humour (a woman in a bikini and skull mask), theatrical societal relationships (Nancy Wijohn, Craig Bary being harassed by vocalist/dancer Will Barling “Do you like me?”), confronting the audience, imagery of concentration camps (a duet with gas masks), singing a well known song (“Blue Moon”), falling off boxes, objects in their mouths and a big F#$K OFF Pneumatic drill (apparently it stood for drilling into the subconscious?).
Seeing Wijohn topless at the end made me think of older works (requiring nudity like A Far Cry) and how these current performers have now joined the echelons of former dancers who have all been part of the Limbs and Douglas Wright Dance Company legacy. [Taane Mete was in the audience wearing a Buried Venus T-Shirt in a fitting tribute to DW].
Aesthetically RAPT was beautiful. All design elements, muted, muddied like forest greens, browns, greys, with patches of dark, currents of lights rolling through the dance sequences. An epic painted backdrop designed by John Verryt. The work also featured an array of moveable large-scale objects including a room on wheels, expertly lit by Jeremy Fern who created continuous pockets and avenues for the dancers to appear and disappear into and out of.
The dancers were given an opportunity to stand out in a variety of costumes designed by Victoria Ingram, from midnight blue and lime chiffon-like dresses, to eye popping backless tops and boys short-shorts in colours that really made the performers “ping” onstage. The music by David Long was unerring, disturbing in the way it tipped the balance of the subconscious at times, alongside some heartrending music from Heinrich Biber, Richard Wagner and Lionel Belasco.
At the beginning of the night, there was a frantic air of expectation and open minds – mooching about were former dancers of Douglas’s milieu who were all there eagerly awaiting the return of the ‘King’. [Including legends Ann Dewey, Marianne Schultz, Shona McCullagh, Mary Jane O’Reilly, Felicity Molloy, Wendy Preston, Jo Kelly, Cath Cardiff).
There were widely differing reactions after the show, ranging from absolute love to absolute hate (and confused indifference) –I do think it is a rather great mark of a person to be able to move people to such extremes. In the end as with light and dark, life and death, good and bad – these positions all exist along the same continuum, providing platforms for truth and transition.
I awoke this morning rather pleasantly with RAPT images still dancing somewhere inside my mind. While a friend said she didn’t feel moved as deeply as usual, I see our human desire to find our own peace – and yes our own God – whatever that may be – to be a constant inter-relational pull that ebbs, flows and resounds deeply beneath the surface, in conjunction with everything around us.
The beginning may also be the end.
“Innermost in man is the spiritual pleasure derivable from the possibilities of out-gunning and out-running gravity, of overcoming or re-enacting earth’s pull” – Vladimir Nabokov
_______________________________
For more production details, click on the title above. Go to Home page to see other Reviews, recent Comments and Forum postings (under Chat Back), and News.
Copyright © in the review belongs to the reviewer
Wright’s dancers in full flight to spin tale of hope against the odds
Review by Bernadette Rae 17th Mar 2011
When Douglas Wright sets his stage with a big grey wall, it’s a wall with an enigmatic, palpable life of its own.
If he furnishes his proceedings with a shiny white box on wheels, it is proscenium arch high and can spin like a dervish.
When he specifies a therianthrop, that mythical man-with-an-eagle’s head, then that eagle head becomes a veritable godhead, with an omnipotent gaze – and apocalyptic yellow shoes.
Wright has always been the master of arresting visual image, rich in meaning, fuelled by a piercing intellect, eclectic imagination and a punishingly, specific point of view.
Then there is the dance!
Copyright © in the review belongs to the reviewer
Comments
Douglas Wright fan April 8th, 2011
Is this show going to come to Wellington??? Please!!!
Make a comment
You must be logged in to post a comment.
Comments