Photo: Marteen Vanden Abeele
The enchantment at any price. This is what will waive the final Stuart and her performers.
Who knows the works of Meg Stuart knows to expect a rich, dense and bushy. Until Our Hearts Stop is no exception to the rule. Leaves us dismayed, to put our perceptions upside down and, yes, we return to the brain. Is this not how is an act of magic ? But instead of opting for the tangent rather easy to the illusion stage, it is through a quest of the intoxication and the ecstasy that we guide the new individuals in the scene, dancers-performers, as musicians, interchanging their roles on occasion, and braving some of the taboos and conventions of the show.
The stage has like a studio in the middle of which a large square linoleum slick is pasted on a carpet of purple. The colors and curtains in velvet, hanging from the ceiling remind us of the outset the traditional atmosphere of the shows of illusionists. The performers, sitting at the foot of a wooden staircase in the back of the stage, seem to be manipulating what is to come. Top departure. They take up position in and outside the like surface, embedding each other, coming to take support on a flank, a back, a chest to stand up, lie down, or sit. Little by little, form aggregates, and human pyramids. Solid first, then more and more sluggish when everyone hastens vigorously to climb the pyramid. There is a kind of part of twister air ; an image enhanced by their sweaters are colorful.
Games childish rules unsearchable strung together before our eyes, in the form of a long, hard struggle on the ground, up to put his feet on the lips of the oral cavity such as the vaginal of the other ; with or without clothing — sometimes to half défroqués – chahutages where pleasure and violence mingle and where tenderness would absolve the cruelty. The horde is sniffe of the feet to the head up the behind – it was necessary to dare ! And it slams vigorously to the buttocks. It slaps the skin to become red. It pinched her nipples and tapotte the hair on the vagina – without ever falling into pornography. It plays the game of one-upmanship and pranks schoolboy and strange small, whimsical grotesque force — this is not without triggering both the hilarity and discomfort. Reason takes the edge in the face of what appears to us, a priori, without neither head nor tail. A first disorientation occurs, brilliantly led, in a section that is reminiscent of 7 Pleasures of Mette Ingvartsen seen at the FTA last year. The orgy of scent as a bonus.
Sweep the enchantment
As soon as a game is moved and is carried out until the end, he is quickly swept. Between the sequences, choreographed — a kind of rites, of séances and magic numbers to the sauce kitsch -it trembles to a man with a head of clay hitting silently on the ground ; the microphone is stolen and the keys of the piano trampled by two punkettes naked in a fury ; a group of girls in bra drawn in the audience screaming in a slide ; the clay is balanced between the hands of the spectators. we sang “happy birthday” all in the heart to a stranger… nuggets of performance that may not be too premeditated and do not occur in this present moment and jubilant. The conventions of the show exploding, but there’s nothing very surprising for a well-informed public as that of the ETS. Although it is not in the lace, Stuart, however, takes a pair of tweezers – very fortunately – the consent is the key in approaching each person requested.
The black humor worn by the actor Kristof Van Boven in a monologue, a foot of nose to the horizon of expectation, manages to in people loosen up some, going to spoof the “egocentric assholes ” — species mostly encountered during the festivals, he said, and rising with a subtle irony in the history of the Plant C.
The enchantment at any price. This is what will waive the final Stuart and its performers, through a series of possible endings that extend the sauce, to adopt the route of a lining is assumed to be through caricatures of the number of magic falling deliberately flat. In return, the states of grace are only touched with the finger. Because if they allow themselves to be consumed by drunkenness to watch the performers and the musicians blowing as well, in their quest for the absolute — jalousant sometimes this freedom — the ecstasy it remains only a promise suspended in flight. This just happened under our eyes, dumbfounded — sometimes leaving us laughing, perplexed, provoked, shocked, disturbed, and dreamers — it is no less a fertile ground for reflection, only possible once everything is well settled.
Until Our Hearts Stop
Meg Stuart (Damaged Goods and the Münchner Kammerspiele) with Neil Callaghan, Jared Gradinger, Leyla Postalcioglu, Maria F. Scaroni, Claire Vivianne Sobottke and Kristof Van Boven. Live music performed by Samuel Halscheidt, Marc Lohr and Stefan Rusconi. Presented in the framework of the ETS, may 25 and 26, at the Usine C.