by Michaela Preiner | Sep 19, 2022 | 2021, Theatre
The ‘Musiktheatertage Wien’ programme by Thomas Cornelius Desi and Georg Steker offers the audience an almost breathtaking range of different performances. This is shown alone by the two thematically diametrically opposed productions “Chornobyldorf” and ‘European Kitchen Encounters: VR-Bania’.
This ‘virtual reality project with taste’, as the subtitle says, comes from Austrian director Carmen C. Kruse and Italian composer Manuel Zwerger. They travelled to the Italian town of Verbania on Lake Maggiore and interviewed different residents on the subject of food. The interviews were edited into small sequences that could be seen with the VR glasses just like the preparation of a risotto – to be precise, a “risotto giallo con salciccia”, cooked by the performer Anna Piroli. She was supported by Leo Morello with a fine soundscape in which one could hear the scraping of the knife on the wooden board just as alienated as the rhythmic trickling of the rice grains into the pot. Snarling, vibrating, tapping, he supported Piroli with all kinds of percussion instruments, just as silent film music was made in the old days. The only difference was that the auditory repertoire was much more contemporary.
VR-Bania (Photo: Nick-Mangafas)
The audience was invited to follow the cooking procedure as well as the interviews with movements on the swivel chairs on which they had been placed. The highlight of the performance, however, was that while the videos were being played in the kitchenette of the WUK behind the audience, this dish was actually being prepared, and thus the olfactory events merged with the videographed ones to form a live experience.
VR-Bania (Photo: Nick-Mangafas)
The subsequent dinner with the director and the composer provided an opportunity to talk not only about what had been seen, but also about what had gone before. This part in particular should be emphasised, because it is the experience of togetherness that one cannot feel while wearing the VR glasses that gave the performance its real spice. It is what audiences need now more than ever when they are exposed to theatre experiences. Videos, feature films or recorded plays can be watched post Corona in droves in front of the video screen at home. The conversation with people you don’t know, but who at least have a common denominator – the desire for theatre – this conversation and this exchange cannot be replaced, but should be intensified – as exemplified in this production.
This article was automatically translated with deepl.com
by Michaela Preiner | Sep 19, 2022 | 2021, Oper
In the darkness of the hall, a man’s voice becomes audible. It tells of how what is being spoken is actually the end of a letter; a letter that was never sent, but will nevertheless be written one day. Shortly afterwards, his voice is visually accompanied by a woman whose portrait appears on a video. While the man speaks and recites a long poem in Ukrainian, she begins to express herself with onomatopoeic sounds in an unknown artificial language. Although – if you don’t speak Ukrainian – you can neither follow the content of the man’s voice nor know exactly what the woman wants to say, you get a feeling that what is being conveyed here results from experiences that are painful.
In fact, the title “Chornobyldorf. Archeological opera” is already a hint that one reference of this new opera is the tragedy of Chernobyl. The combination with the noun affix ‘dorf’ came about because the ensemble visited Zwentendorf and its surroundings at the beginning of the work. The nuclear power plant in Austria, which never went into operation, and the one in Ukraine, whose construction began in 1970, before the country’s independence, prompted the Ukrainian cultural creators to come up with the idea of a global view of the subject of nuclear power plants and their dystopian effects; regardless of where these reactors are located, they pose a cross-border threat to humanity.
The opera is set between the 23rd – 27th centuries, in a time when we have long been history and will be gone. It is based on the assumption of a world-spanning catastrophe in which the survivors must once again become aware of their identity. In a future in which new rituals are created and yet everything that happens interpersonally in societies consciously or unconsciously draws on historical models.
The seven chapters, which merge into one another without a break but still recognisably, bear the headings: Elektra, Dramma per musica, Rhea, The little Akkorden girl, Messe de Chornobyldorf, Orfeo ed Euridice and Saturnalia. In this way, the two composers Roman Grygoriv and Illia Razumeiko on the one hand take up great Greek myths, which became the primary breeding ground of European art production. On the other hand, they refer directly to Slavic musical traditions. This artistic interlocking, in which different musical stylistic means are used, makes one thing clear: the people who are on stage here and all those who worked on this opera see themselves as deeply belonging to Europe. The current discussion about admitting Ukraine to the EU is legitimised in a quasi cultural-historical way in the historical references that are made here. But what makes Europe, the individuality of the countries and their different ethnic groups, is also vehemently expressed. Again and again, historical musical quotations – transformed into modern sound images – are replaced by Bosnian-Herzegovinian and Ukrainian folk tunes. Lamentations as well as wedding songs are sung in their typical melodic line. Unison lines separate into a briefly audible microtonality that is centuries old and yet sounds new and fresh. Seconds detaching themselves from it, already almost purely felt, as well as subsequent seventh leaps intensify the emotionally painful expression. Mahlerian chord progressions, sung chorally, and a fugue by Bach that seems to go out of control, lay a music-historical trace in that core of Europe that literally set the tone from the Baroque to the last century.
All this is met by a wealth of new sound material: weird string sounds, the most diverse, sometimes strongly accentuated rhythms, played on a percussion construct assembled from various found objects (Evhen Bal), as well as electronic additions that make wind atmospheres or a threatening, indefinable drone audible.
Chornobyl Village (Photo: Anastasiia Yakovenko eSel)
A rapid succession of images, supported by video inserts showing fragile human figures in Ukrainian landscapes, frequent changes of persons and costumes as well as the creation of emotional alternating baths, create an abundance of theatrical events that wash over you like a tsunami. At the same time, one is drawn into the sometimes somnambulistic events in such a way that it is difficult to put one’s cognitive abilities above one’s own strong feelings.
The almost surreal, yet at the same time highly romantic “coronation” of a young accordionist, supported by a video feed that expands the space, is replaced by religious sounds and images. A fitting Agnus Dei, sung in a classical-harmonic structure, is interrupted by a similar, but explosively punk-like one. Shockingly, one finds oneself in the here and now, in a state in which romanticism no longer finds a place. Euridice’s entombment, the lament of her Orpheus, is realised in a visually powerful choreography in which the nakedness of the participants particularly emphasises their fragility and need for protection. The finale is a saturnal orgy around a cardboard portrait of Lenin turned upside down. Everything that has previously accumulated in inexpressible feelings and suffering, everything that is difficult to talk about, dissolves in this wild, exuberant scene in which one would like to dance along oneself. The fact that the end with its wind noise is reminiscent of the beginning of the production may well symbolise an eternal cycle. A cycle in which the existentially human is ultimately lived over and over again, but is also reinvented, indeed must be reinvented. When nothing is the way it used to be, then one has to fall back on what lies dormant deep within the human being, but also what distinguishes him as a living being on earth. He is a being that is constantly reforming and adapting and yet still carries within him his supposedly cut roots.
None of the artists would have dreamed, when the opera was created, that so much of what is shown in it would be given a topical reference. The horrors of war and the suffering that is currently taking place in Ukraine resonate strongly in the reception at the moment. The threat to the earth posed by technological progress, hybrid forms of human beings practising artistic genres that can nevertheless never be animated by them, this too is contained in “Chornobyldorf”. It is to be hoped that the opera, after its premiere in Rotterdam and the second station in the WUK in Vienna, on the occasion of the ‘Musiktheatertage Wien’, may experience many more stations. And it is to be hoped that the ensemble will receive the message from the audience that a work like this, especially in difficult times, is one that is needed, and even more: that it also contributes to survival. In view of the brutality of the events, one singer said during the audience discussion that she was no longer convinced that theatre could achieve anything. The experience of violence, which suppresses everything, is too diametrically opposed to this idea.
May the statement “vita brevis, ars longa” give her and the ensemble a small shift. May it offer them a glimmer of hope that art outlasts life and thus also this, their production. It will be available to later generations one day – in whatever way – and offer a glimpse into that current present which is so hard to bear for the Ukrainian population, but also for all the other, suffering participants.
This article was automatically translated with deepl.com
by Michaela Preiner | Aug 8, 2022 | ImPulsTanz, Tanz
Eing a one-man show is not only a great physical challenge. Being solely responsible for the choreography and the artistic concept also offers a large, critical attack surface.
For years now, Austrian Simon Mayer has been facing these challenges. And for years, he seems to have been doing everything right. This was also the case with his production “Being moved,” which premiered in Austria in 2020 at Brut. Now he succeeded with it on the stage of the Akademietheater at the Impulse Dance Festival.
What is the origin of movements, what motivates people to dance, how are breath and movement connected and how can this be made visible? What sounds very theoretical and also a bit dry, however, develops completely differently on stage. At the beginning, Mayer invites the audience to take an imaginary seat on the chairs set up in a semicircle. Over the seats are dangling microphones, speakers are placed on the floor and he himself is wired to his extremities and body.
“Being Moved” (Photo: Franzi Kreis)
Every movement he will make on stage that evening will be recorded, amplified and thus made audible for all to hear: his breathing, his hand and arm movements as he sweeps through the air in a wide arc, the tread of his bare feet on the stage floor. What one normally does not consciously perceive auditorily, here becomes an audible rhythm impulse for his performance. What begins quietly soon picks up speed. The performer shifts from a calming Zen breathing exercise to a seemingly endless, dervish-like circling around his own axis. But one no longer associates anything contemplative with the soundscape, which has increased to a loud din. When the noise suddenly stops, the stage envelops itself in fog, while Mayer undresses and takes a violin bow in hand. Stroking the bow against his own body, it acquires something fetish-like, but soon mutates into a martial arts instrument, then a saber, and finally a conductor’s baton.
Mayer’s breath becomes audible in multiples and, after he has given the audience instructions to breathe along, mixes into a many-voiced chorus of breath. Once again the sound changes to a wild rumbling, snorting and hissing, a cooing and snarling, underlaid with a frightening roar. Animal sounds mix with the human and the electronic. And Mayer’s repertoire of movements also changes towards the animalistic. To the new sound change – again with human voices and audible breathing noises – Mayer now walks backwards in a circle. As if he wanted to get back to where he started. As if he wanted to undo and forget everything that had just been experienced in the threatening scenario.
But once again he amazes with a new, choreographic idea. His movements become more jagged, again fog is blown in, again he begins to dance in a circle. With a flurry of strobes and a hard, electronic rhythm, he now embodies, with his arms seemingly fixed on his back, a man exposed to physical violence. What can now be seen is reminiscent of the torture of captured soldiers, and the recorded screams also support this association.
In this state, Simon Mayer gives the impression of being in an in-between space. His body movement contrasts with a trance in which he seems to be completely immersed. The stage, the audience, one gets the impression, is forgotten in this moment. The high energy level in which the dancer finds himself is almost physically palpable.
“Being Moved” (Photo: Franzi Kreis)
As the beat dies down and the aggressive mood gives way, he once again reaches for his violin bow and begins to slide it over his wrist and sing along. Again, his footsteps are amplified with reverb – until a black ends the performance. For a few moments his breath is still audible. Then the physically extremely demanding performance is over.
In it, Mayer offers a wealth of associations, but also an incredible number of movement elements and images with a strong resonance. He calls the mixture of choreography and composition he has developed for himself “compography” – Pascal Holper is responsible for the impressive sound design. It is not a continuous story that is told in “Being moved.” Rather a stringing together of ideas, whereby a body is set in motion. The way Simon Mayer connects this chain of ideas is artistically outstandingly solved. Although it is about different topics, he succeeds in creating an incessant flow with a swirling maelstrom and rapids that lead back into calm waters. Sound-technically on the cutting edge and choreographically perfectly tailored to himself, the production is a clear example that contemporary dance is constantly evolving and can open up new, technical, and thus also dance spaces.
This article was automatically translated with deepl.com
by Michaela Preiner | Aug 7, 2022 | ImPulsTanz, Tanz
Whoever has seen the performer Ivo Dimchev knows that entertainment is guaranteed in all his productions. But also that this – may it seem shallow at first glance – has an enormous depth. This leads to the fact that one can have a good time in his shows, only to come across many a hidden social criticism afterwards.
“In Hell with Jesus” is his latest work, in which he is on stage with 6 other performers. In doing so, he does something that requires a great deal of courage. He presents himself as an ageing male show diva with explicit homoerotic tendencies. The setting shows him casting for his upcoming show with the flowery title “In Hell with Jesus”. Both the men and women applying have to answer various questions and each sing two songs of Dimchev’s own choosing. From the beginning he plays with the self-made position of power in a great way and manages to entertain the audience in the best way with a crazy catalogue of questions.
“In Hell with Jesus” (Photo : Krasimir Stoichkov)
His outfit with golden extended eyelashes – complemented by short shorts and a checked shirt, already shows his untouchable, fashionable accuracy – ‘ironic off’. The painted tattoos are also visually echoed in his ensemble. A small notebook helps him when he can no longer think of the ad hoc questions to ask. The answers he receives are meticulously written down there and sometimes he also wants to know from the audience how they would have decided and asks them to vote with a show of hands.
You have to rack your brains as to whether you would rather have sex with Putin or the Dalai Lama, whether you would rather be rich in Russia or famous in China, or whether you would rather be raped by a soldier or the prime minister. Nothing, but absolutely nothing, that Dimchev says is politically correct. Every single sentence goes beyond socially accepted boundaries. But he has a humorous soothing pill ready for every uproarious statement. In his long catalogue of questions, there are few examples that do not have something to do with sex. But anyone who has been to one of his shows knows that this is something like his USP on stage.
When interviewing his casts, he also lets them know each time how many have applied for the respective role before them. Once there are 135, then 545 and with a groan he has to realise that he is still far from the end of the hearings. With brute subtlety he exposes the obvious power relations in show business. He shows what the applicants stoop to, but doesn’t forget to take a selfie with them for Instagram.
“In hell with Jesus” (Foto: Krasimir Stoichkov)
“In hell with Jesus” (Foto: Krasimir Stoichkov)
“In hell with Jesus” (Foto: Krasimir Stoichkov)
“In hell with Jesus” (Foto: Krasimir Stoichkov)
“In hell with Jesus” (Foto: Krasimir Stoichkov)
“In hell with Jesus” (Foto: Krasimir Stoichkov)
“In hell with Jesus” (Foto: Krasimir Stoichkov)
“In hell with Jesus” (Foto: Krasimir Stoichkov)
But he has the most fun when he interprets one of his songs with the contestants. Love that has passed is one of his main topics, sex practices another. He always accompanies himself with a small keyboard – this time with guitar sound and always, always you can tell in these moments that he is doing what he loves best: singing. Apart from his successful moderation, it is mainly these moments that are touching and finally culminate in his halal song and a vodka drinking song and carry the audience away.
The members of his ensemble, Maria Tepavicharova, Lora Nedialkova, Yordanka Pavlova, Teodor Koychinov, Steven Achikor and Roburt Iliev are characterised by high musicality and good voices. Their professionally played mixture of devout behaviour and the attempt not to completely give up their own personalities creates a connection with the audience, who sympathise and are glad not to have to take part in this crazy casting themselves. When the performer, musician, dancer and choreographer, who comes from Bulgaria, calls one or the other back to him from the stage long after the respective casting, he casually and flippantly wipes away the idea of witnessing a casting that is actually taking place. The reference to the play within the play thus succeeds in an exemplary manner.
Ivo Dimchev captivates “In Hell with Jesus” with the caricaturing of certain mechanisms of show business, but also with the openly displayed human inadequacy that must inevitably accompany it. What is usually glossed over and hidden, dusted with glitter and streamlined, is mercilessly exposed here. Nevertheless, the packaging is so humorous and intelligent that one cannot help but be thoroughly entertained. Dimchev never fails to convince in each of his shows. Admirable.
This article has been automatically translated by deepl.com.
by Michaela Preiner | Aug 6, 2022 | ImPulsTanz, Tanz
The fusion of different art movements can currently be observed nowhere as well as in contemporary dance. The Afro-American Trajal Harrell, who has been a guest several times at Impulstanz, made a guest appearance this time with his dance company, the “Schauspielhaus Zürich Dance Ensemble” at the Volkstheater at this year’s festival. His cross-border choreographies are a fine example of performative art that is not satisfied with dance alone.
“The Köln Concert” is the title of the evening and refers to the music used in it – Keith Jarrett’s live recording of his improvisation concert at the Cologne Opera in 1975. Unexpectedly, sales of the recording, which was made under adverse circumstances, developed phenomenally and today “The Köln Concert” can boast the title of the best-selling solo jazz record in the world.
“The Köln Concert” (Photo: Reto Schmid)
Trajal Harrell has been called to Zurich in 2019 to add his own dance company to the Schauspielhaus. The dancer and choreographer is known for repeatedly incorporating elements of vogueing into his work. This is also readily accompanied by a fashion presentation, albeit – as in this production – in a satirised manner.
Harrell refers to Keith Jarrett as “his composer”, someone he knew immediately on first hearing that he wanted to dance to and work with this music. Interestingly, he doesn’t leave the evening to him alone, but prefaces it with four songs by Joni Mitchell. If Harrell speaks of Jarrett as “his” composer, he also dubs Mitchell as “his” singer. Combining the music of both in one piece was therefore an obvious choice for him. And so he realised the idea of using Mitchell as an “opening act”.
“The Köln Concert” (Photo: Reto Schmid)
Even before the audience has completely taken their seats, Harrell stands at the right edge of the stage, a flowered summer dress hanging over his black outfit. From the very first moment he makes it clear: there will be no gender attributions of the conventional kind on this evening. And the choreographer skilfully follows through with this concept. As the first song plays, he begins to dance with slow, soft, repetitive movements, standing on the spot. One by one, the dancers come on stage and sit down on one of seven piano stools. Harrell himself also takes a seat. As if they wanted to get into the right mood for what was to come, they warm up by sitting on the stools, arms swinging and legs moving up and down. What immediately attracts attention are the different costumes, which are really put in the spotlight at the beginning of Keith Jarrett’s interpretation. For this, the ensemble struts towards the audience one after the other, as if on catwalks. Each and every one of them stops at the front edge of the stage, poses with standing and playing leg and gracefully walks off again on tiptoe – as if in high-heeled shoes.
This scene will be repeated later and clearly shows two aspects. Firstly, the dancers present themselves as a homogeneous troupe. As a community that follows an overall choreography. On the other hand, however, they are left with so much individuality that they can also be perceived as independent personalities. “Look who I am” – this unspoken announcement spills imaginatively over the edge of the stage – “look how beautiful my body is and what I’m wearing here!” The costumes are by Trajal Harrell, as are the choice of music and the setting. Some of the avant-garde fashion on display here appears as if it has not been properly donned. Dresses are sometimes just held in front of the body, tops seem to be just thrown over and are worn once over the shoulder, then again as an open skirt. “What you see here may look like a fashion show, but it is not” – again, an unspoken, rather subversive statement imposes itself. After the weird fashion defilee is over, the ensemble comes on stage a second time, one after the other. Now they wear individual black dresses with sophisticated, softly flowing cuts. These are cleverly executed so that the dancers’ bodies remain clearly visible. The different skin colours, the different physiques, all this can be consciously perceived and is also deliberately staged. The great diversity of the group is striking.
“The Köln Concert” (Foto: Reto Schmid)
“The Köln Concert” (Foto: Reto Schmid)
“The Köln Concert” (Foto: Reto Schmid)
“The Köln Concert” (Foto: Reto Schmid)
Each and everyone now gets a solo, while the rest sits transfixed on the piano stools. But the dancers never touch each other, lifting figures or contact improvisation seem to be foreign words. Harrell’s choreography, in which there is not a single physical contact between the dancing and posing people, refers to the time when Corona rules simply forbade such contact. Again and again, those who are not dancing sadly lower their heads in their seats. Others stare into the distance or expressionlessly into the audience.
Strongly remembered is Songhay Toldon, who dances a seemingly drunken faun. Whenever he stops for a moment, he presents himself as an admonishing saint with a corresponding hand gesture, his index finger extended upwards. Nojan Bodas Mair acts with veritable drag queen leanings and moves his lips as if he were singing along to Jarrett’s music playback. He immerses himself in every sequence with such exuberant facial expressions, swinging arms and graceful steps that his high energy level fills the entire room to the last row. His shiny white skin makes him look like an ancient statue whenever he poses motionless. Harrell staggers incessantly during his solo, as if he might fall at any moment, and accompanies Jarrett’s never-ending cascade of trills with his hand movements.
that you think you can visualise every single note. Titilayo Adebayo’s body is caught in the vibrations that pass through her as her long dreadlocks swirl in space, while Ondrej Vidlar moves with graceful swaying hips, lasciviously lifting his dress. The androgynous appearance of Maria Ferreira Silva and the striking divergence between model attitude and powerful, masculine appearance of Thibault Lac make it clear how broad the possibilities of expression are that are used here to one and the same music.
“The Köln Concert” by Trajal Harrell is also interesting in terms of audience acceptance. After all, many of those who watch this dance performance received a special jazz connection through Keith Jarrett when they were young. This may well have served as a calculation for full houses, but nevertheless does not show the slightest skin gout. Harrell’s choreography is neither smarmy nor chumming up. Rather, it expands Jarrett’s composition with interesting levels of experience that allow for a new perspective.
This article was translated automatically with deepl.com
