Dance
Nederlands Dans Theater (Edinburgh Playhouse) Mark Morris Dance Group (Edinburgh Festival Theatre) Orfeo ed Euridice (Edinburgh Festival Theatre)
Craving creativity
Giannandrea Poesio
Afar as dance is concerned, the strength of the 50th Edinburgh Festival is a series of events that presents diverse and contrasting aspects of contemporary chore- ography. Whether intentional or not, the juxtaposition of the Mark Morris Dance Group with Jiry Kylian's Nederlands Dans Theater during the first week of dance per- formances has been an interesting feature which has given many dance-goers a lot to ponder.
It would appear that in his recent works Kylian has cast off the distinctive formulas of his earlier creations in favour of an ill- chosen post-modern choreographic approach. Gone are the breathtaking dynamic solutions to be found in works such as Sinfonietta or Symphony of Psalms, which concluded the first programme; gone also are the dense lyricism of Cathedrale Engloutie and dramatic crescendo of Svade- bka — Kylian's version of Stravinsky's Les Noces.
Bella Figure (1995), the opening work of the first programme, is interspersed with Pseudo minimalist, mostly pedestrian com- ponents. There are some beautiful moments, such as a light-hearted duet, but the overall effect is of an inconclusive piece that lacks a proper structure. Similarly, Start to Finish (1996), a work by the British born dancer/choreographer Paul Lightfoot which replaced Kylian's announced world premiere, quotes more or less directly from some well-established European post-mod- ern dance trends. Despite the abundance of choreographic and theatrical elements — such as geometrical patterns, use of the voice, everyday objects on stage, film pro- jections — Lightfoot's creation remains an empty compendium of trite formulas that neither takes off nor gets anywhere.
Traces of Kylian's new artistic mode could be detected in the second pro- gramme too, particularly in the two central works Sarabande (1990) and Falling Angels (1989) and in the opening piece, Where- abouts Unknown (1993). Yet, I found the entire evening far more enjoyable than the
previous one. In Whereabouts Unknown the choreographic translation of both the sim- plicity and the wild roughness of intention- ally unidentifiable tribal rituals becomes a metaphorical and esoteric exploration of man's inner depths, beautifully conveyed through energetic dance images.
Sarabande and Falling Angels, on the other hand, hint at a demystification of the roles of males and females in society as well as in dance, although the latter is pri- marily a choreographic investigation of the rhythmical structure of Steve Reich's Drumming Part I. Finally, Six Dances (1986), set to Mozart's Sechs Deutsche Tanze, rounded the evening off with an explosion of humour.
Despite being artistically unpredictable, Mark Morris seems to have remained faith- ful to his creative canons, namely a contin- uous search of movement possibilities blended with a well-defined and immedi- ately recognisable choreographic craft which mirrors both the man's cultural background and his multifaceted personali- ty. Like other performances of his compa- ny, therefore, the one presented in Edinburgh was anything but disappointing. The only reservations I have are for Behe- moth, a 1990 dance without any accompani- ment which gets weary after a short while, as if the choreographer had tried to supple- ment the lack of music with an overwhelm- ing and distracting abundance of steps and choreographic solutions. Pity, for it detract- ed from the almost perfect construction of the programme where the humour of Ten Su estions (1981), masterly interpreted by Morris himself, and the intensity of World Power (1995), an exceptional piece set to Lou Harrison's music played by the South Bank Gamelan Players, were the prelude to the real hit of the evening, the world premiere of Morris's I Don't Want to Love.
Constructed around seven madrigals by Monteverdi, splendidly performed by the Concerto Italiano, this ballet is a refined choreographie reading of both the text and the music. The exquisite poetry of the words finds an ideal complement in the fresh inventiveness of tha dance, punctuat- ed by pleasant, unobtrusive references to Monteverdi's time.
With these images in mind I rushed to see Morris's production — as both director and choreographer — of Gluck's Orfeo ed Euridice, expecting something similar. Lit- tle did I know that I was going to be bitter- ly disappointed. According to some report, Morris's intention was to transform Gluck's masterpiece into a 'song and dance'. I wish he had been brave enough to do so, for I would have enjoyed a good desecration. What I saw, instead, was an indecisive, provincial mishmash of sacred and profane, namely serious opera and cheap musical comedy. I am not competent to assess the singers and the orchestra. All I can say is that the dance was irritatingly superfluous and incoherent, halfway between a tenta- tive reconstruction of some ancient Greek dancing and parodic Greek ballet in Ken Russell's The Boyfriend but without its sense of humour. Not to mention the unbearable pantomime language of gesture assigned to the principal singers — why Amore becomes a vulgar female servant from the 18th-century opera buffa, God only knows. I did not expect from Mr Mor- ris the cold linearity devised by Adolphe Appia and Emile Jacques Dalcroze, nor Anthony Tudor's stylised, yet amazing, ren- dition of the dances — just to name a director and two choreographers who dealt successfully with the same opera in the past. All I expected was something more creative than this.
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