TANZ | Battersea Arts Centre

Performed by Florentina Holzinger and company at the Battersea Arts Centre, 1st November 2022.

Witches on brooms, & bikes. The calming Madame french teacher ballet class. Hooks, endurance, the second act. Rats, planting trees, magic, nakedness, blood, holes, red slippers, swan, wolf, all this & more. Read on for a deconstruction of the flabbergasting performance that was TANZ.

Apart from a stark naked 80-something-year-old ballet teacher (played by Beatrice Cordua), we are among four striving ballerinas who obediently stand at the barre. These young ladies are pulled through a series of classical dance exercises narrated by Madame’s calming instructive tone and the 19^th century romantic ballet music. We are lulled into the comforts of the class. This by no means is going to be an ordinary training. What ensues is ‘a combination of things that don’t usually fit together to form a fully new constellation’.

Madame asks her dancers to remove clothing, layer by layer, and indeed – her dancers eventually join her in the nakedness. Madame’s initial shocking lack of clothing is soon the costume of the evening. In this first act, I find myself examining the bodies I see before me. Intrusive and judgmental thoughts cross my mind. ‘They aren’t as lean as the ‘usual’ ballet dancer.’ My eyes scrutinise the very proportions of their fruity bodies, comparing them to each other, choosing which one is ‘best’. The audience is transported into the hearts and minds of what professional dancers may often fear; ‘am I thin enough?’, ‘am I nimble enough?’. Yet here we have healthy women who stand in their nakedness unashamedly. The stress of ‘being enough’ is no longer the TANZ performer’s burden to carry but rather the audience’s. Who, as the mirror, obsess over their skill and beauty.

The imagery of witches runs through the entire piece. Our first protagonist wears nothing but pointed witchy boots, a black jacket and a witches’ hat, galloping in and amongst the dancers as if she herself is running late to the dance class. She crashes and bangs around the scene, again tripping us up and away from a ‘normal’ dance piece.

There is always something to keep the viewer’s eye engaged. Apart from the ongoing ballet class, the side-lines are fizzing with action: we see other naked dancers preparing: washing and combing their hair & putting on makeup; one wakes up from a slumber of white sheets suspended in mid-air; another sits by the wayside on a chair observing her contemporaries. In essence, there is no ‘backstage’. The scene is set. The very choreography of the piece weaves in backstage and preparatory action for the next chapter. Everything emerges right before our very eyes.

A handheld camera begins to film the dancers individually. The livestream is projected up onto screens, hung at both ends of the stage. Not only do we have a view of the stage front-on and from afar, the audience is now also given the opportunity to zoom-in and take in each dancer more personally, from a 360-degree angle.

This is where it gets whacky. Madame asks her dancers to line-up, bottoms-out to the audience, elevating their right leg into the air. She inspects their innermost intimate lady part, giving commentary whilst the live-feed camera films their facial expressions. Everything is on show. This entire sequence likens our voyeuristic content-creating social media age, where one chooses to share life’s (live) updates, little remains for the imagination. The more one chooses to share, the less it belongs to oneself.  It is so personal and crass, I feel beyond uncomfortable, squeezing my body tighter together to protect myself.

When you think it cannot get more troubling, it does. The smallest dancer attaches herself to a lever and pulley and by her hair is hoisted upwards. In a later scene, a red-haired performer is shown lying face down on an operating table. We see via the livestream how her counterpart inserts two hooks into her back, foreboding of what is to come. The company gathers around, they share a look, before Red Head is attached to the lever and pulley system and literally by the skin of her back pulled up, only to perform to the music of Swan Lake. She spins high above, given a red broom for good witchy measure. Her skin does not tear. Her back begins to turn purple from the strain. Blood seeps down her body. It draws parallels to Ron Athey’s live performance work wherein body harm acts and endurance forms the crux of his pieces. The audience does not know whether to look away or to stare on in morbid fascination. A young man is carried down the Battersea Arts Centre’s grand hall steps having passed out from this flabbergasting live performance act. My only question is ‘WHY? Why would you do this to yourself?’ It is the embodiment of the performer’s willingness to endure pain in exchange for the audience’s applause and all-encompassing fascination.There are no boundaries. These ladies go beyond.  I question whether the shock factor is deeper and more intrusive because these acts of self-harm are performed on the feminine body.

As we push into the second act, the witch gathers force. She is now hooded and long-nosed, causing the entire enchanted forest to fall into disarray: bodies splatter, the big bad wolf is put on a spit, the dancer’s bodies are dowsed in fake blood. The appearance of a rat prop between the bloodied legs of Madame leaves an especially bitter taste in my mouth.

We are taken on a wild ride that is made up of moments of pure brilliance such as the motorbikes suspended in the air impressively danced and writhed upon by the company, as well as radical acts appearing as plain banal. Florentina Holzinger, the lead choreographer as well as performer of this company, expects total commitment and trust from her dancers. Indeed, she does not believe in boundaries and examines the female form in this series of performance experiments.

MAN TO MAN | Park Theatre

German National Identity in Crisis, Man to Man at the Park Theatre by Manfred Karge.

Speaking as a German I can honestly say it is impossible to shake off feelings of shame when remembering our disgusting behaviour in the past. I live with an innate feeling of guilt for causing the First World War. And the Second. And the concentration camps. And the deaths. And the fact that Racial Cleansing even became a ‘thing’ connected to German history. The facts are unavoidable and we, as a Nation, remind ourselves daily of the past. It is literally etched into our cities and towns, and thus, into our National mentality. At pretty much every corner, you will find anything from a museum to a memorial to metal plaques in pedestrian zones (in remembrance of persecuted Jews), etc. in order to remind us of our crimes.

With the past Sunday marking 25 years to date after the Berlin Wall fell and today being Remembrance Day, I still feel like I have to apologise and make amends for my Country’s dark past, and this coming from a child born well after the Wall had already fallen.

The play ‘MAN TO MAN’ by Manfred Karge very successfully deals with this issue. It is a one-woman monologue tracing the story of Ella Gericke whose husband dies of cancer in the Weimar Republic in the 1930s. In order to fend for herself in the desperate times of the Depression, Ella calls for desperate measures. She takes on the necessary steps to become her deceased husband Max Gericke and takes over his job as a crane operator. In the decades to come, Germany is in a crisis of ever-changing national identity. ‘MAN TO MAN’, very cleverly, personifies Germany’s identity crisis in the form of protagonist Ella (/Max) Gericke. She must firstly cope with becoming a man, secondly be her own husband (the man of the house), and thirdly she must navigate a world of upheaval in which shape-shifting means bare survival: She is an SA prison guard during WWII, a farmer after the war, a factory worker in the German Democratic Republic and finally an unemployed (or retired) drunk in the new reunited Germany. Max describes herself as “topsy-turvey and back-to-front”, likewise Germany went through a significant series of identity changes in the matter of 50 years which leaves feelings of confusion, disorientation, eternally casting ourselves as the Bad Guy. Just like Max Gericke can neither be fully man nor woman, Germany is unsure as to who it is allowed to be.

In the Park Theatre’s production of ‘MAN TO MAN, translated by Anthony Vivis and directed by Tilly Branson, we are seated intimately around Eleanor Field’s set, designed with minute attention for detail: Max Gericke’s dishevelled GDR living room is littered with bits and bobs of mismatched furniture and Schnapps bottles. We watch her slug beer from the bottle eerily supported by John Chambers’ sound design; mashed up snippets of German television voices. Actress Tricia Kelly brilliantly masters the working-class physicality and male stature of the time, her powerful voice and imagination take us into her world of confused androgyny and identity. I find myself listening to her words in English but hear them in German. Powerful.

Most beautiful of all is how the narrative thread of Snow White is woven into the final moments of performance, a testament to Tilly Branson’s acute sense for direction. Snow White is a reoccurring image in the play; Max describes her husband as the dwarf to her Snow White when his body shrivels, overtaken by the cancer. Max pulls out a long red piece of cloth when she finds herself bewildered and drawn to the beautiful canteen lady Püppchen. Finally, a black pile of earth is thrown at the audience’s feet to represent the grave of Max’s deceased husband. When Max eventually comes to reunite with the grave she had to leave behind all those years ago on the other side of the Wall, she is told that the grave has been removed and is now occupied by someone else. Max mourns painfully for lost years and a lost life at the former grave site of her husband. She repeats the words: “White as snow, red as blood and black as ebony.” I recognise the familiar words of the Grimm folk tale read to me by my Grandma as a child. “Mirror, mirror on the wall,” Max continues, “Who is the fairest of them all?” She asks, looking at her weathered face in horror and all of a sudden I connect all the dots. I understand the facts. I understand my beloved Germany’s pain, struggle and hope for redemption.

‘MAN TO MAN’ in Park90 is on at the Park Theatre until the 30th of November.

SCENES FROM A MARRIAGE | St James Theatre

11th September 2013.

Ingmar Bergman’s miniseries, originally broadcast in 1973 in Sweden, was adapted for the stage this September, directed by Trevor Nunn at St. James’s Theatre.

The play opens with Marianne (Olivia Williams) and Johan (Mark Bazeley) being interviewed by a journalist about the last 10 years of their marriage. We are drawn in by their animated chatter about their quirky journey as a couple; beginning as University pals and after many years and a failed marriage each, turning into lovers. Next we see them at home, hosting a dinner party with their friends (played excellently by the striking Aislinn Sands and Shane Attwooll). The night comes to a heated halt when Katarina and Peter generate an argument and announce their imminent divorce. The atmosphere between them is full of deep loathing and despise for each other, which works in stark contrast to Marianne and Johan’s loving comradery and openness. Nunn very cleverly manages to set the two couples in complete opposition yet simultaneously injects the scene with a sense of foreboding for Marianne and Johan’s relationship.

The stand-out scene for me came much later in the play. It happened after the failed pregnancy, after the affair(s) and after Marianne and Johan had decided to split up. Just when I believed it couldn’t get much worse, I was presented with the encounter in Johan’s office which knocked the breath straight out of me. Marianne entered with the divorce papers that needed to be signed. The two shared a composed exchange when suddenly the temperature in the room flipped.  Marianne and Johan took on almost primal instinct. The characters were stripped of words and replaced them with a literal battle, a rite of passage to tear away from the other. They fight, they bite, they caress. Their repulsion and desire for one another is tangled all into one physical mess. The play may have been titled Scenes from a Marriage. This scene however was the Scene of Divorce. It ended with breathy panting, resignation and signatures. It was a complete surprise and a brave and daring twist to the previous style and form of the play.

At times, scene changes could have been made slicker. A kind of chunkiness was left by moving around the different furniture as well as the projection giving the number of scene we were about to see, which broke the illusion of the fourth wall-style play. However, the home videos of Marianne and Johan with their daughters gave a nice touch to the production. It became evident that the outside world would have only gotten to see this ‘picture perfect’ family life while we were voyeurs to how the caging term of ‘marriage’ manifested itself on these two individuals. The gut-wrenching ending showed that no matter how often and hurtfully Marianne and Johan had wronged one another, they were dependent on each other.  Though the ending was bleak, Nunn’s production points us towards the relevant (and scary) question at whether pure monogamy is even attainable in 2013 in a world where everything is freely available to Generation Y.

TOURNIQUET | Summer Hall, Edinburgh Festival Fringe

Performed by Abattoir Fermé at Summerhall, Edinburgh Festival Fringe on 24th August 2013.

The narrative begins in darkness, as the heavy wooden contraption is rotated. The stamping of the actor likens that of a tied farmyard animal on a crop field. Simultaneously the darkened figure in the bath stirs, producing a rippling effect in the bath tub. An unsettling atmosphere is created as the light, achingly slowly, illuminates the scene. The feeling of having entered the world of a thriller penetrates throughout in Abattoir Fermé’s Tourniquet.

While the two females are active agents in the opening, the male figure is the most threatening, standing rooted to the spot. All come to a stop and stare at the audience, inviting us to gaze at their fully naked bodies. They handle their unclothed physique as if it were a costume. The performers begin to dress themselves, meticulously and layer by layer. By making a mundane task seem alluring, the audience is immediately drawn in and both actor and spectator are hypnotized, entering the surreal ghost-like world.

A vicious circle
Abattoir Fermé tend to construct habitual scenes and subvert them. We meet a dumb waiter who is eager to refill the glasses of his guests: an androgynous female dressed smartly in a suit and a graceful woman. The scene questions to what extent the behavior of a man and woman have been socially constructed in order to appeal to the opposite sex. The ‘man’ is standoffish and ignores the numerous attempts of the female’s beckoning for attention, while she aims to gain his affection by objectifying herself. With each new tearing of her dress or finally exposing a blank breast, she lowers herself to a subservient position. Unconventionally though, the roles of Adam and Eve are played by two Eves.

Endurance of the body is tested through the intake of liquid. The scene’s edge lies in the waiter’s eagerness to refill the wine glasses, his passive acceptance of male as dominant and female as subservient reflects our passivity as a collective. More wine makes it OK.

The female performer leaves her companion and hops onto the wooden beam, dons a hat and allows her back to dance, she is a 30s cabaret dancer. The iconography of the National Socialist flag is introduced which is placed under her like a tablecloth, giving the piece its first echo of fanaticism.

The audience becomes accustomed to the grinding rhythmic noise of the soundtrack, it lends itself as the ‘fourth character’ but also sets the ambiance of the world we are in.

Jesus I said C’Mon!
The next moment I am completely annihilated by is when the body of the female, perfectly balanced over the bath with her pelvis facing upwards, is defeated. The figure of the male surgeon in white lab coat and yellow rubber gloves thrusts a handful of flour onto her pelvic area, she releases a gasp and her body collapses into the water. She is enveloped by the plastic. Like in a morgue, the body is sheathed and wrapped up. The two surgeon characters lose interest in the corpse and navigate towards the screens. The Jesus-worship slogans are so overpowering and magnetic; the entire room is drawn in. A further phase of fanaticism has been injected into the piece.

Female Anti-Christ
Suddenly out of the water the being comes back to life, a jolt goes through me when the plastic bag fetus re-awakens from the dead. The rising of Jesus is implied. The two other figures maneuver the wooden pole out of the ground and lean it vertically. With the most agile and fascinating manner, the creature wrapped in plastic carries herself out of the water and balances onto the vertical piece of wood. We are provoked into thinking of a hanging woman as Jesus Christ. The image is reminiscent of the pillory pole, used historically as a form of punishment to publicly humiliate and torture wrong-doers.

As the piece draws to a close, I can no longer justify that Tourniquet is all about subverting habitual scenes because the characters have become so alien and unfamiliar to me, I don’t recognise the connotations anymore- male/female,  master/servant, alive/dead – none of it has a meaning anymore. I feel deeply disturbed and grateful. Never have I been so disgusted and enamored by a piece of theatre than this. Brave work with an ingenious amount of layered images to create a shockingly beautiful show.

ABOVE ME THE WIDE BLUE SKY | Warwick Arts Centre

Fevered Sleep

“Our deep–rooted, deeply felt, easily overlooked and profoundly important connection to the land, the sky, the sea, the weather, and the other living things around us.”  –David Harradine, Artistic Director

We are given an hour before the show to step into the performance space to explore the sonic landscape. The humming noise generated by projectors interwoven with travelling images of the sky on overhead screens and the placement of tall lamps within the tiled floor surface create a futuristic but nevertheless nature-inspired environment. Absolute tranquility. The performer comes, as if out of nowhere, with her dog Leuca on a leash. The presence of the dog immediately draws in the audience. In the first part of the installation Laura Cubitt spends time familiarising the dog and herself with the space and proceeds to set a revolving stool in the middle of the tiled landscape. She spins around on it picking out different points in the distance and describes details of landscapes she sees before her. What begins as a random listing of phrases about nature takes on a driven narrative. The inclusion of animals, people and first-time experiences taints the monologue with emotion. She herself can no longer remain on her seat but encompasses the entire space. What was most moving however was when the monologue began to backtrack: we see all the same things but this time in the past sense. A shudder rouses me as I start to associate the loss of crisp green leaves, the sweet cow’s breath or the dark starless sky with man’s destructive forces. The tall lamps, akin to wind mills in an open field, flicker violently and the blue sky projectors change into cloudy thundering skies. An eerie effect ensues and it is clear that this place has been irreparably damaged.

By the end of the performance I feel agitated, I need to leave. The altered performance ecosystem had a significant effect on my mood.  The success of this performance installation lies in its ability to reinstate the sheer force that nature, weather and physical landscapes have upon us. In a world of tweets likes emails texts whatsapps, it is so easy to forget the world of bird song, trees and snowy fields which are our roots.