Midsumma Festival: My Pet, My Love

Rob Gaetano’s performance displays moments of heartbreaking poignancy.

For me, a heterosexual female, to walk out after a show at Midsumma, Melbourne’s premier gay and lesbian festival, feeling  a sense of familiarity and connectedness with the material was unexpected, to say the least.

But Rob Gaetano’s solo performance My Pet, My Love at La Mama’s Courthouse theatre riffs on a universal theme, the degradation of memory, inspired by witnessing his nonna’s gradual decline in a dementia ward.

Gaetano, in giving voice to fears many of us have about the rising possibility of memory loss, especially as we are living longer as a civilisation, hit a raw nerve with me, as I watch my own grandmother, aged 95, oscillate between recognition and confusion from one visit to the next.

Scattered fragments of memories pepper the production, with the fragmentation extending to the play’s structure; snatches of verbatim delivery – quotes from Gaetano’s father recounting his son’s childhood illness – are interrupted with bursts of frantic, jagged, fitful movement.

A touching rendition of an anguished little boy obsessed with his fish is a special treat, showcasing Gaetano’s attention to detail and subtlety.

Transitions are handled adeptly and the imagery of the final scene is heartbreakingly powerful.

Put yourself in the hands of this talented performer, give this production the full hour, you won’t regret it. Gaetano knows what he’s doing.

 

My Pet, My Love is on at La Mama until January 25.

 

Swamp silhouettes brought to life

Photo Credit: Andrew Wuttke Photography

Masterful shadow puppeteer Jeff Achtem takes his audience behind the curtain in his production, Swamp Juice.

Canadian Achtem delights in sharing his artistry, reversing the silhouette-making convention, placing puppets and lights between audience and screen in this lively comedy about a curious man and his adventures in a swamp.

Scraps of material and found objects transform into creatures and swamp weeds, and, as Achtem says, “it’s the details” – look out for the non-static eyes and malleable mouths.

Achtem understands a young audience, keeping the show moving and fully utilising the space, attracting young eyes to centre-stage, to the walls, to the ceiling.

He ventures into the aisles for a dose of audience participation, but it’s the 3D finale that is a real winner, with adults and children alike flinching to dodge looming jellyfish and swamp monsters.

The show has a filmic quality, switching seamlessly from wide angle to close-up, much like editors cutting between camera angles.

Three piece band Manny Fox shares the stage with Achtem, heightening comic and dramatic scenes, even playing a section in complete darkness.

The script is largely dialogue-free, favouring grunts, squawks and repetitive phrases, which makes it accessible for all ages.

Swamp Juice is well worth keeping the grommets up past their bedtime, and is a bargain at $20 a ticket.

Colac audiences can catch the show on a regional tour around Australia when it plays at Colac Otway Performing Arts and Cultural Centre at 8pm on Wednesday June 25.

This review first appeared in the Colac Herald on June 20.

Acting chops bring The Beast to life

 Ok Melburnians, go out and buy yourselves a ticket to The Beast at MTC by Eddie Perfect, his first non-musical theatrical production. The first act takes a while to warm to, with the over-the-top hysterics of the larger than life characters and some drawn out scenes (awkward), but the “kill” scene and the second act really fire on all pistons and it comes together nicely.

Eddie Perfect has crafted an intensely modern script peppered with references to Melbourne property prices, foodie hipsters and nose-to-tail dining. Growing your own vegies and ethical eating form the cornerstone of this tale. So, too, the notion of being “authentic”. But this is simply Perfect taking aim at those who like to talk the talk, but aren’t so good at walking the walk – or rather, feel the need to broadcast their moral stance rather than just living it.

Three couples have an epiphany after a trauma experienced by the males (about which they avoid speaking), move to the countryside and decide to slaughter a calf they have selected – an organic, free-roaming one, which has lived a happy life, naturally – in order to satisfy their self-indulgent desire for a multi-course degustation, each dish sourced from a different part of the carcass. Things unravel for these couples (well, most of them) as each is forced to show their true colours when the project doesn’t go as planned (the butcher doesn’t turn up). As they sit down to dinner to enjoy the fruits of their labour, dirty secrets come out and threaten their sense of their own self-importance.

And that’s just it. The stakes aren’t all that high. But that’s beside the point. It is a thoroughly enjoyable night out at the theatre, with a skewering of a few middle-class, first-world preoccupations.

Each character is so distinctly drawn – a testament to both the script and the skill of the actors. Hamish Michael plays the supremely confident sleaze ball Simon, who runs the show and is married to the pathologically apologetic and submissive Gen (delicately played by Sheridan Harbridge) whose tics and forced laughter border on the sociopathic. The passive-aggressive and domineering Sue (Virginia Gay) bosses around severely anxious and panic-stricken hubby Rob (Tom Budge), all the while openly lusting after Simon. And finally, there’s the more “normal” and down-to-earth Marge (Kate Mulvany – in possibly her first on-stage performance with partner Hamish Michael) and her eager to please husband Baird who visibly aches with hunger to be accepted by the entourage.

Travis Cotton as Baird gets better as the play progresses, and has one of the best ‘gotcha’ moments on stage. It’s just a shame the lyrics of the Spanish song playing in the background couldn’t be heard over the premature applause as not many would be aware they match perfectly some of his own lines. A missed gag for most audience members.

Mulvany’s squawking drawl and broad vowels render Marge the social fish out of water who delivers the unadulterated truth and gives Simon his comeuppance.

Hayden Spencer makes a number of cameos, such as the uber-cool winemaker Jason, and Jan the babysitter. While his turns as Farmer Brown and the skipper were a riot, it was his animation and voicing of the leather and wood calf puppet (think War Horse, the stage production) that was very moving and a key to the kill scene.

And there are some killer lines. Most notable is Baird’s desperate attempt to discover the mystery behind his friends’ ability to nail foodie trends, venting his frustration at always being behind the eight-ball through a roll call of lettuce types and the United Nations of bread varieties. Or Sue’s simple: “Things taste better when delivered by bike”.

There is an inexplicably “shouty” feel to the first half, with each character unpredictably screaming their lines – a characterisation Perfect admitted was not in the script. But the vibrance and dynamism of the text and the set make this a delicious feast well worth watching at least once. Maybe even twice.

Season: 3^rd Oct – 9^th Nov  2013 – MTC (Sumner theatre)

2 hours, 25 minutes – (including 20-minute interval)

Listen to First Bite’s Michael Mackenzie as he chats to playwright Eddie Perfect, including audio clips from the production.

Post-script: Check out this Downfall meme on the Melbourne dining scene.

Straight a hoot and sometimes just plain awkward

The premise seems standard: Adventurous traveller Waldorf returns suddenly after a seven-year absence, spurring uni buddy Lewis to question his choices regarding settling down and starting a family, and putting the latter’s long-term relationship with Morgan to the test. Add a generous dollop of male one-upmanship and you could be forgiven for expecting a typical pissing contest. And you’d be wrong.

Sufficient ambiguity develops concerning what the two male protagonists really think – particularly about each other – and keeps the audience guessing.

With a kick-off that seems to be the hallmark of contemporary British plays of late – bucketloads of offensive language and a flurry of unfinished sentences to establish the scene and shape the characters – there were points where I nearly abandoned ship and walked. Some scenes seemed to drag unnecessarily. In retrospect you can see the mechanics of it, how the scenes built up to an inevitability – in fact most scenes had this pattern. That this was apparent speaks volumes.

The dialogue is zippy, packed with laughs, and should come with a language warning. Newly joined Red Stitch ensemble members Rosie Lockhart, Christina O’Neill and Ben Prendergast and guest actor Ryan Gibson do a sterling job bringing these characters to life, complete with believable and sustained accents.

Director Dean Bryant of youthful musical theatre duo of high regard Bryant and Frank has a lightness of touch,  even making transitions entertaining. And Bryant is responsible for the second production in Melbourne this year (that I know of) employing Robin Thicke’s Blurred Lines, this time replete with twerking.

It’s a challenging play – definitely for the audience and understandably for the male actors. Can’t imagine how rehearsals would have unfolded. There are some extremely awkward and drawn-out moments, but for the play’s chutzpah in taking the audience to some unfamiliar places, it’s well worth sticking around.

 

Red Stitch Actors Theatre

Rear 2 Chapel Street

St Kilda East

Until 28 September

 

Weather – four seasons in one sitting

On a day where the forecast of clear skies and temperature in the high 20s seemed impossible by 11 am, it seemed fitting to be attending Lucy Guerin’s latest work, Weather.

Morning bouts of torrential rain gave way to a warm afternoon without a trace of humidity – a good old-fashioned Melbourne spring day. And it left you wondering how in heck they manage to get it right, over 24 hours ahead of time.

It seems Guerin was also fascinated by meteorologists’ ability to predict weather events; a subsequent visit at the BOM to watch these people in action had Guerin endeavouring to capture meteorological phenomena on stage, through whatever means available. While creating the swirling air of tornadoes – her heart’s desire – eluded her, and thankfully the more obvious memes such as wind machines, confetti canons, giant fans and snow-makers were rejected, the performers succeeded in conjuring the elements and the passage of time.

Through a combination of dance and performance art, a playful exploration of the forces of nature ensued; the notion of the human body both becoming the elements and being subjected to them.

Harriet Ritchie and Lee Serle moving in repetitive spirals denoted the eddying wind, picking up pace and sending flying all that came into their trajectory.

What initially resembled a toned-down cheerleading routine – all bent elbows, joined arms and moving in line formation – came to be seen as isobars crossing a region, waving arms indicating the relevant wind direction.

 Alistair Macindoe’s embodiment of the wind, providing the sound effects himself, on an icily lit stage, was mesmeric and sublime. Equally evocative was Lilian Steiner and Kirstie McCracken’s depiction of raindrops on tin roofs. The trust such performers must have in their dance partners was no more obvious than in a sequence where Steiner relinquished her floppy body to Macindoe to prod and swing and manipulate, much like being buffeted by the wind, pointing to the essential truth that despite our technological gains, we are still at the mercy of the elements and weather patterns.

The ubiquitous plastic bag was the hero of the set design by Robert Cousins. Gathered in bunches overhead, they represented a cloud-laden sky and hovering they captured the movement of air; underfoot, they became autumn leaves, snowflakes, piles of snow, but also provided a slippery surface for childish play. But they were also a sombre reminder of the destruction they cause to the ecosystem at large, as demonstrated by a cheeky sequence tinged with menace between Macindoe and Serle that was at times difficult to watch, specifically where one was suffocating the other with the aid of said plastic bag. Blessedly, the scene ended with what could be described as a foetus on the cusp of entering the world – made all the poignant by the presence of a heavily pregnant Harriet Ritchie among the performers.

This, admittedly, was a bit distracting at times. For while one did marvel at the dancer’s ability to manoeuvre her body (one did wonder where the baby went when she bent completely forward while sitting) at this late stage in her pregnancy where maintaining her centre of balance is usually no mean feat for the average woman in the same condition, one couldn’t help feeling anxious for her safety. What if she slipped? But, of course, there was nothing to fear, as Ritchie’s choreography had been obviously toned down in comparison to the others on stage with her – she played a more calm or still point in the piece.

 Guerin’s coveted tornadoes appeared when pairs of dancers spiralled across the stage, or when all six of them cleared a space amidst the strewn plastic bags just by running in a slowly widening circle, make-shift pompoms swishing the air.

Imperceptible changes in lighting through subtle but constant transitions until daybreak arrived, or the full midday sun was reached, contributed to the piece’s structure and momentum; we, the audience, could sense the moments of crescendo, and the signals that we were in the twilight of the performance before the light gradually faded, giving us enough time to say our silent goodbyes to the performers. Equally, this lighting design evoked the passing of the seasons – the height of the summer sun, the lowered autumnal glow, the icy – the angle of the lighting mirroring what happens in nature, as the earth spins on its axis on its orbit around the sun.

The hypnotic, percussive electronic soundscape by Oren Ambarchi was striking and drove the production. The whirring of the Leslie cabinets flanking the space, up on the circle level filled the gaps between musical numbers.

A beautiful touch was the simple costuming: delicate and exquisite teal and grey crochet jumpers by Shio Otani.

It’s a shame this elegant and sophisticated work is only on in Melbourne until 21 October.

Weather is part of the Melbourne Festival. It is on at the Malthouse from 17 October to 21 October and runs for 1 hour, no interval.

 

Director: Lucy Guerin

Choreography: Lucy Guerin and the dancers

Dancers:  Alisdair Macindoe, Talitha Maslin, Kirstie McCracken, Harriet Ritchie, Lee Serle, Lilian Steiner.

Composer: Oren Ambarchi

Set Designer: Robert Cousins

Lighting Designer: Benjamin Cisterne

Costume Designer: Shio Otani

The sensorial feast that is Bangarra Dance Theatre’s Terrain

 Inspired by the phases of drought to deluge of Lake Eyre, this piece makes your heart sing.

From the first flickers of light illuminating an initially stark performance space, the senses are bombarded and the audience entranced.

Terrain is a celebration of nature, an ode to the elements and a rejoicing in the forces that shape the landscape. The components of choreography, costume, musical score, set design and lighting are multi-layered in and of themselves, and then meld organically into a harmonious whole.

The first three phases – Red Brick, Shields and Reborn – transition seamlessly, blending easily from one to the other, without so much as an opportunity to applaud the dancers.

The later phases of Spinifex, Salt, Landform, Reflect and Deluge are more distinctly heralded by a black-out and a change of scenery via a new backdrop, while Scar abruptly signals a diversion in tone and mood with its more techno-beat feel.

Texture and earthiness are writ large in the evocative backdrops and exquisitely composed costumes: the chamois-like quality of the hole-ridden Spinifex ‘skirts’; the twigs sculpted into hair; the shimmery green and blue hues of the ‘waters’ in Deluge; the white powdery dust emanating from limbs in Red Brick; the smattering of body paint throughout.

Bold lighting, from the striking whiteness of a fully-lit stage to dancers emerging from the surrounding darkness into the warm, golden hues of spotlights, adds a necessary dimension to the sensorial delights and enhances the narrative arc.

Essentially, it is a visceral work and at its core it is about the bodies in movement, their fluidity reminding us that this landscape is in a constant state of flux, shaped by the seasons and the elements. As the dancers swirl and writhe, crouch and crawl over each other, they embody the nature that inhabits and forms this sacred site.

 While the sensorial richness is utterly satisfying, at 65 minutes, it is hardly enough – I wanted more.

Artistic Director – Stephen Page

Choreographer – Frances Rings

Dancers – Elma Kris, Yolande Brown, Deborah Brown, Jhuny-Boy Borja, Waangenga Blanco, Tara Gower, Leonard Mickelo, Daniel Riley McKinley, Jasmin Sheppard, Ella Havelka, Tara Robertson, Travis De Vries, Kaine Sultan-Babij, Luke Currie-Richardson

Composer – David Page

Costume Designer –  Jennifer Irwin

Set Designer – Jacob Nash

Lighting Designer – Karen Norris

National Tour:

Melbourne 29 June – 7 July

Sydney 18 July – 18 August

Wollongong 24 – 25 August

Adelaide 29 August – 1 September

Canberra 13 – 15 September

Brisbane 3 – 7 October

The Golden Dragon – smoke and mirrors but not enough substance

The Golden Dragon

By Roland Schimmelpfennig

Translated by David Tushingham

MTC – Lawler Studio Season

‘ . . . men are played by women, women by men, young characters by old actors and old characters by young actors. The results are poetic, brutal, mysterious and touching.’

 

Appearing on promo cards for The Golden Dragon, the above blurb is a prime example of over-reach with regards to this play – part of MTC Lawler Studio Season.

Rather than poetic, the play’s text is highly repetitive – unnecessarily so. Direct speech is pre-announced to the audience without adding a skerrick to the narrative. It’s an affectation and the play is riddled with them: performers switching from first to third person between utterances; sign-posting pauses with “long pause” or “short pause” in asides to the audience; a fictitious Confucian-esque parable of the ant and the grasshopper. But it is the constant recycling of  these and other “quirky” details that grows wearying. 

program image from The Golden Dragon

Rapid-fire shouting of menu items by number, name and ingredients throughout the piece serves to remind us we’re in the busy hive of a “Chinese-Thai-Vietnamese restaurant” kitchen. That this occurs at random moments initially punctuates the rhythm of the piece, but over time becomes ridiculous.Use of the running-commentary style of exposition helps cover narrative ground expeditiously. The short, sharp, dynamic scenes assure a speedy pace, jumping between the intersecting lives of those inhabiting the eatery and the dwellings above, with the five actors playing up to four characters each. But one could care less about their banal carryings-on.

Many of the details presented are mind-numbingly pointless.  Essentially, the tale is one of the illegal immigrant experience: their suffering, their loss of rights and privileges, the sacrifices they make, the abuse that can be visited upon them. The overwhelming message is if you don’t have the right papers, you don’t count. It’s as if you never existed.

It’s a shame it takes 65 minutes – and I felt every one of them ticking over – of excruciatingly tedious and largely irrelevant interactions to get to this powerful yet subtly made point, which may be the poetry intimated in the publicity material.

 It is also unclear precisely the value of having men play women and vice versa, apart from novelty – which, too, wears thin.

There were no stand-out performances, no sparkling lines; the actors seemed to be simply going through the motions. The lighting was at times self-conscious, possibly because a significant amount of it relied on the actors positioning light sources; again another quirk of the production.

The set, perhaps, was the hero of the production – a facsimile shipping-container peeling open to reveal a pop-up restaurant.  But it’s not worth the ticket price simply to check it out. Save yourself the bother: give this one a miss.

 

Directed by Daniel Clarke

Starring: Roger Oakley, Dana Miltins, Rodney Alif, Ash Flanders, Jan Friedl

This play is on at the MTC Lawler Studio until 7 July 2012

Chamber Made Opera’s Another Lament – intimacy en masse

Program image for ‘Another Lament’

I didn’t really know what to expect from this collaboration between Chamber Made Opera and Rawcus based on improvisations of composer Henry Purcell’s music. As part of the Malthouse’s  Opera XS, it was certain to turn a conventional musical  rendition on its head. But quite how this was to be executed, I was keen to find out.

Popping my CMO cherry on this performance, I had no benchmark, no point of reference.

Upon entering the comparatively cosy confines of the Beckett theatre, with its warm tones and wood panelling, the audience delighted in the option presented: some of the regular seating had been replaced with sofas replete with scatter cushions.

As we settled in my companion explained that the production had originally been devised for showings at a family’s private residence and the set designer had recreated faithfully the three relevant sections of the house:  a lounge viewed through a wide hallway, which opens onto the salon where we, the audience, sit. So far, so normal.

What followed were 50 minutes of utter incongruity. Macabre scenes were juxtaposed with the ridiculous. Curious characters wandered frequently across the space without warning, some defiantly, others shivering and doubled over. Knives suddenly appeared, cups and saucers were brought out then packed away, unused.

Dead bodies piled up and were dragged away with no small degree of satisfaction. Cobbling together a rather loose narrative, the events seemed to depict serial poisonings resulting in a haunted house. Other lamentations were ostensibly dealing with unrequited love.

The unpredictability meant that you were in its thrall for the entire duration, not knowing what to think, where to look.

The star performer was obviously Danish double bass player and singer Ida Duelund Hansen, and for a great portion of the show the Rawcus members’ movements were an unwanted distraction. But rather than gimmickry, these interactions served as emotional markers and enhanced the transition of moods between the various musical pieces. Rather than remain statically in place for the entire performance, Duelund Hansen dragged the instrument to various positions on the set, again throwing convention to the wind.

There are elements that are not fully exploited – nowhere better illustrated than by the upright piano on stage, where actors sat, but never played. The unorthodox treatment and manipulation of the miked-up double bass didn’t quite live up to its potential. Rather than being a counterpoint to the drama, the sparing spoken words were jarring.

But there were moments of shared mirth, such as the inadvertent death by double bass.

It is, however, the music that is king. Duelund Hansen’s ethereal vocal stylings were reminiscent of Sarah Blasko’s – only more surprising, with the wandering melodies taking unexpected turns. The lyrics were minimal and repetitive, and it became all about the voice and the emotion.

Although there is a deceptive simplicity to her work, Duelund Hansen is a marvel: I was transported.  And when I landed again, I felt serene.

Opera XS runs until 11 June, 2012.

Another Lament runs until 1o June, but is sold out. Punters can still try their luck on a waiting list (03 9685 5111).

Stretching with KAGE dancers – not a bad way to start the day

So, I nearly didn’t turn up to my rendez-vous this morning. Not because I was hung-over (I wasn’t). Not because I couldn’t find the place (I nearly couldn’t). But because I felt, well, a little out-of-place. Out of my comfort zone. And yes, somewhat intimidated. I mean, who did I think I was, rocking up to KAGE Physical Theatre’s rehearsal space, hoping to get in on the action? Sure, it was a warm-up session open to the public. But these are dance professionals, using their bodies to express abstract concepts while pushing their muscles to the limit, and doing so nigh on eight hours a day. How did I think I’d even be able to keep up with these finely-tuned organisms? Well, I was curious to see if I could. And heck – it’s only warm-up. Surely they’d go easy on us.

I needn’t have fretted. Instructor Luke Hockley’s gentle manner and encouraging approach made me feel welcome from the outset. We were to go at our own pace, push ourselves only as far as we wanted.

It was an introduction for me to experiential anatomy and the Alexander technique, just some of the tools Hockley has in his bag of tricks. He talked about being present, not disappearing into the movement or into one’s head. This was mainly, I think, a tip for the performers amongst us, reminding them that they needed to engage with the audience when on stage, not to focus too much on themselves or the movement. It also provided an insight into the professional dancer’s world.

After this hour-long warm-up, the KAGE dancers would endure close to eight hours of rehearsal. It is their job, after all.

We finished off the stretching and holding of poses with a few handstands and cartwheels. Waiting my turn, I took in the props around the perimeter of the hall: an old wooden dinghy, some ducks, car tyres, a massive metal tree. It piqued my interest as to how these objects would be integrated into their up-coming show, ‘Look Right Through Me’.

Post Script: Was on a high for the rest of the day (result  of endorphins from the exercise, I guess). But had sore glutes the next day. A friend who had come along as well and who had been the week before said she was less sore this time, but wondered if she had worked as hard.

I like my dance Chunky

Chunky Move & SIGNAL – Next Move: It Sounds Silly

“There’s a watermelon seed growing in my belly”

Blurted from the speakers over Flinders Walk, this appeal to nostalgia delivered by a youthful voice confirmed we were on the right track. The blinding stage lights and milling crowds indicated the ground left to cover.
I know how unlikely it sounds, but watching a collaborative dance performance between four young professionals and a gaggle of teen amateurs can actually be . . . well, worth it.

As could be expected, an initial awkwardness meant that the movements are less than convincing. The performers look so young and inexperienced, skirting ’round the edges of the space with half-hearted gestures, while the professional dancers – young up-and-comers themselves – take centre-stage and show them how it’s done. The latter hurl themselves at mattresses scattered on the ground before twirling these around and doing it all again, recalling the acrobatics of street dancers, but somehow lacking their daring.

The show picks up some pace and form when the performers begin to share with us tales about their childhood, what they used to say and think, admitting their fears. The highlight for me is the dancerly re-enactment of childhood remembering, eliciting ripples of recognition from the crowd.

Their ages and names are revealed as they take turns sharing a childhood fear. These range, like their ages (from 13 to 24), from confrontingly serious (the potential untimely death of a parent; not being able to have children) to the understandably insignificant (being scolded for painting nails in the train).

On paper, the location seems ill-advised: a slab of concrete wedged between the clackety train tracks and the Yarra River, alfresco on an unpredictable city’s winter night.

But, you know, it worked. Next Move was blessed Not a drop in the sky, or more importantly for the dancers, on the ground. The carriages passing by lent grittiness to the soundscape, otherwise designed by Alisdair Macindoe, a dancer with Chunky.

That we were mainly standing – only the first five rows remained in their unraked chairs – the audience was freer to move and react. We drew closer to the performers, to get a better view; unconfined by seats and walls and roof, the performance takes on characteristics of busking, encouraging (at least in me) a more raucous response. I laughed (and snorted) louder than I would have in a traditional theatre or studio, feeling that my eruptions would be absorbed by the environment. It seemed somehow wilder, anything goes, conventions are stripped.

Hard to gauge how many spectators simply wandered into the event on their way to the station or out for a bite to eat.
Use of projections on various surfaces; video screened on SIGNAL windows round out the staging, giving it an occasional rock concert flavour.

And the performers were clearly having a ball, relishing in wriggles and bum juts that you give up doing after the age of about 5, when you start to become self-conscious about how you look to others.

Some more intimate moments of intense hugging and petting among the older performers seemed somewhat out of place in what ostensibly was the representation of children’s games. At first, it seemed a chaotic mess, as if the kids had rebelled and decided to drop the chorie, but then it dawned on me: that’s what a primary school playground looked like – lots of running around, strange nonsensical movements and fluidity between friendship groups, where the children are the only ones who understood the rules, and even then . . .

My more dance-literate companions were not as taken by the show. Where I saw it as a joyful outing for Melbourne’s future dancers, making opportune use of an amenable site, these other audience members found it pedestrian. They’d seen it all before, it wasn’t as fresh.

One of said companions appreciated the nod to various styles, seeing it as a progression through many techniques gone before.

“They’d absorbed different influences and explored these different voices, trying them on for size, sharing”.
Companion number two felt it didn’t go far enough, didn’t do more to tease out the themes stirred up, didn’t explore the physical possibilities further.

But I, instead, saw it as a first outing for many of our future performers.

Venue: SIGNAL, Flinders Walk

Free event

Last shows 6.30pm and 8pm Saturday 20 August 2011