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Written by Jo McDonald,
Artistic Director, Move Through Life Dance Company
Devolution is far from pretty.
It is fascinating, beautiful and grotesque. All elements - the choreography,
robotic set, stark lighting, ethereal film and insect-like costumes
- work together to reveal startling parallels between the structure
of civilization with non-human structures - an insect colony or
the internal workings of a machine.
As the house lights dim, a beam of light
chances upon a wisp of smoke. Expanding, it reveals an entanglement
of superimposed bodies - dancers' bodies - that emerge, rotating
through time. Accompanied by a minimalistic soundscape, the opening
evokes emptiness, even fear. Filmmaker Gina Czarnecki uses dozens
of tiny human bodies to create dehumanized lattices and patterns.
Darrin Verhagen's score draws on the rhythm of pistons, contrasting
harsh screeches with soothing white noise.
Their heads bowed, the dancers have shed
their humanity. Faces in shadow, it is the unusual angles of their
limbs and articulation of their muscles that reveals most. Through
the juxtaposition of slow and repetitive, frenetic and vibratory,
and explosive, ballistic movement, Stewart successfully invokes
a hybrid of human/insect/machine. The machine analogy is most literally
applied when six or so dancers cluster together - poised at different
levels performing repetitive mechanical movements.
Amongst the frenzy, Daniel Jaber's naked
solo is one of the few contrasting pieces. Accompanied by tiny floor
robots that flash, twitch and chatter, the solo highlights fragile,
vulnerable humanity. The chattering robots alternate between inquisitive
and threatening, with Jaber serene amongst them all.
Having not seen ADT since Devolution
premiered at the 2006 Adelaide Festival, I was reminded
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| Devoltuion.
Photo: Chris Herzfeld |
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that the company's movement vocabulary
is distinct. The dancers displayed incredible athleticism,
power, speed and flexibility. "Dance as an impact sport"
chuckled one patron in the foyer afterwards. Their ability
to perform movements beyond the usual human range further
dehumanized them. Larissa McGowan performed a solo in full
backbend for such an extraordinary length of time she looked
more insect than human.
It is probably the collaboration
with robotic designer Louise-Philippe Demers that makes Devolution
a significant work. Despite their angular, metal bodies, the
robots appear more human, more cognisant than the dancers.
Two large, almost humanoid robots at one point move forward
to peer at the dancers, craning to shine their lights on the
entanglement of human bodies below. Their movement accompanied
by a sound that evokes memories of an old horror flick in
which a swarm of beetles steadily engulfs all in its wake.
In contrast to the
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inquisitive robots, the humans
dance as if unaware of either robots or dancers. Even when
two or more dancers move entwined they appeared as a single
organism, not two separate organisms that were aware of each
other. Like parts of a machine or a system of bodily cells
or organs that do their job - work together as a whole, but
only because they are a well designed unit. The only exception
was when the dancers had a robotic prosthesis attached - at
that time they almost seem to fight the prosthesis - raising
the question - who is in control?
After a performance that maintains
a fairly constant energy level, there is a frenetic crescendo
- movement, sound, machines and lights. A sudden silence follows.
The piece finishes as it started, with a projection - a mass
of bodies, unrecognizable. The sound is hollow, empty, hypnotic,
eerie. The image on screen shrinks, merges into a blob. The
sound fades as the image shrivels to a tiny snowflake, then
vanishes. Nothingness!
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