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Produced
by
Cloud Gate Dance Theatre of Taiwan,
Barbican Theatre
Choreography
Lin Hwai-min
Music Composed
by
Arvo Pdrt
Live Chinese
flute performed by
Hwang Sheng-kae
Set Design
Austin M.C. Wang
Lighting Design
Chang Tsan-tao
Costume Design
Chen Wan-li
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The Barbican
1 - 5 December 2004 |
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From
the initial strains of an
unearthly Chinese flute, played
by a solitary wanderer on
a stage forested with bamboo
trees,
Bamboo
Dream
promises to be a mystical
work of exquisite beauty.
Using an intoxicating array
of styles, choreographer Lin
Hwai-min has created a piece
which seamlessly marries the
grace of classical ballet
with the drama of traditional
Asian gesture and the self-discipline
of martial arts. The dancers
are uniformly comfortable
with this diversity of approach,
a diversity which, in many
other performers, would lead
to contradictory impulses
and dislocated or incoherent
movement. Instead, the Cloud
Gate Dance Theatre of Taiwan
weaves these eastern and western
styles together with great
fluidity and little effort,
betraying their demanding
training in tai chi, meditation,
Peking Opera, modern dance,
martial arts, calligraphy
and classical ballet.
Drawing on Asian myths and
folklore, Bamboo
Dream
is, as its name suggests,
a sequence of imaginings which
take place against the constant
backdrop of a bamboo grove,
with its connotations of integrity,
elegance and scholarship in
ancient Chinese culture (the
bamboo grove was traditionally
a meeting place where lovers
would meet and scholars would
gather to drink wine and compose
poetry). The work is loosely
structured around the changing
of the seasons ? Spring Breeze,
Summer Heat, Autumn Path ?
a typically Asian device which
worked beautifully in the
recent painterly film Hero
and does so here to similar
effect. Austin Wangs evocative
set design, Chang Tsan-taos
arresting lighting and Chen
Wan-lis costumes work in great
harmony with one another,
presenting a striking, minimalist
Asian aesthetic which, at
the same time, successfully
communicates the passing of
time and its associated ideas
of love and livelihood lost.
But it is the dancers themselves
who really control the dynamic
of the piece and whose energy,
expression and artistry is
so captivating. Dressed initially
in white kimono-style costumes
with long, billowing sleeves,
they whirl around the stage
like restless zephyrs to screeching,
discordant violins. This furtive
but graceful choreography
soon segues into the highly
stylised and staccato gestures
of the traditional Peking
Opera, the dancers wide-eyed
and audibly gasping as they
stamp, leap, rock and collapse,
as though manoeuvred by erratic
puppeteers. At this point,
the spirit of the piece is
almost bacchanalian, with
the semi-naked dancers occasionally
recalling the bas-relief style
of Nijinskys LApres Midi Dun
Faune.
The highlight for this reviewer,
however, was the breathtaking
pas de deux in Autumn Path
in which tension and release,
both physical and emotional,
were masterfully handled by
the stunning Lin Tzu-chun
and her able partner Sung
Chao-chiun. In a remarkable
display of versatility and
technical brilliance, Lin
Tzu-chun would adopt an arabesque
before contorting her foot
in a hideous perversion of
the classical line (any good
ballet teacher would call
it a sickle) and morph into
an equally beautiful Asian
pose, an eastern bird of prey.
Put an imaginary cage around
that bird and you have the
tense dynamic of the pas de
deux, with a desperate Lin
Tzu-chun trying to escape
her domineering partner in
urgent lunges, fearful leaps
and some sublime partner work.
It is in choreography such
as this, dictated entirely
by balances and counterbalances,
that Lin Hwai-mins early training
under Martha Graham and Merce
Cunningham is most apparent.
The final season, Snow, warrants
special attention for its
introduction of contemporary
visual conceits and a sort
of postmodern knowing that
pokes gentle fun at the earnestness
and reverence for tradition
which have characterised the
other seasons. As the bell
tolls, a group of concubines
(or handmaids, dressed, as
they are, in Margaret Atwood
red) glide on to the stage
as the snow begins to fall.
Each is accompanied by a subservient
male who directs a fan up
at them admiringly, sending
their loose, dark hair and
long, red dresses into gusty
fits of pique. The girls play
to the fans like rouged-up
Marilyns and the effect of
their rippling dresses and
Medusa hair as they bob along
in perfect synchronicity is
awe-inspiring. At the height
of this fantasy, when the
audience is at its most enraptured,
Bamboo Dream becomes suddenly,
shyly, self-aware. The fans
are cut short, breaking the
spell; the startled dancer
is forced to carry her own
fan offstage, oblivious stagehands
begin to sweep up the snow,
the set is dismantled, and
a music technician nudges
the Chinese flautist offstage.
In one humorous instant, what
was hitherto poetic becomes
prosaic and the Cloud Gate
Dance Theatre of Taiwan proves
that it doesnt take this contemporary
dance lark too seriously.
Nina Miall
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