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I had gone to the piece with few expectations, perhaps desiring an artistic insight into the cultural and social history of the 1960’s and 1970’s. Being a baby and young child during this era, my stereotypical viewpoints and perspectives might well be challenged. Bell-bottom trousers, naked torsos, and long tresses of hair abounded, the ‘flower power’ symbolic gestures and psychedelic costume colours were also prevalent. These light-hearted design aspects were clear reference points to the piece’s historical and cultural context, but there was often an undercurrent sense of morbidity to the piece. In fact, certain images became extremely disturbing; dancers in wheelchairs manoeuvring limbs pulled from mannequins - to name but a few. Wasted youth; here were the tragic amputee victims from the Vietnam War. My utopian ideals of this time period instantly dispersed. There was an allusion to the ‘revolution’ that was taking place. This was clearly a dance through which political views were portrayed. The dancers voiced their strident claims and requests through verbal and non-verbal language. It was certainly refreshing to see traditionally silent dancers armed with such powerful voices.

This company was unquestionably very young, and somewhat inexperienced. All too often I was aware of the dancers’ nervousness when sidelong glances were cast towards one another to verify timing. It made me fully appreciate the high quality of performance in the majority of dance works that I have viewed in Switzerland. Saporta’s dancers were brimming with energy and light, but rather lacking in the technical perfection required of truly professional performers. Despite this, it was refreshing to realise that a francophone choreographer was attempting to present a piece with such intrinsic postmodern values. The fragmentation was evident throughout, the ‘rules’ of proscenium stage performance were also defied (indeed the audience did not initially realise that the piece had begun, since the house lights were still on and performers entered from the audience). Moreover, a layering of images was presented. We saw dancers filming dancers, who themselves were visible on television screens positioned downstage. In this way, a sense of infinity was established. A projection of the dancers’ faces and bodies onto gauze screens that hung behind them was another staging aspect utilised. This gave the impression of ‘seeing double.’ We - the audience - took on the role of voyeurs; a confusing and uncomfortable predicament at times.

Slogans were banded; “Faites l’amour, pas la guerre” (make love not war), and I am reminded of John Lennon’s musical contributions during this particular era. Women’s emancipation, equal opportunities, sexual revolution, the Vietnam War…. all these social issues and conditions were intimated in the piece. Perhaps this was Saporta’s tragic mistake; she tried to tackle too much in a dance piece that was bound in time (lasting approximately two hours) and space (the Octogone’s stage was relatively small). Big ideas for a small stage, coupled with an audience who did not seem quite ready for this kind of performance. The whole was certainly disappointing, leaving me with a profound sense of frustration that Saporta’s colossal aims were never realised.