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Decouflé is as relatively unknown in the UK as he is famous in his native France; with roots as a mime artist and contemporary dancer he has pursued a diverse career, finding time (he is only just touching 43) to create his own dance company (DCA, credited with the production for this show), choreograph for such companies as Lyon Opera Ballet (indeed this Solo creation was shown at the Lyon Opera earlier this year), create circus productions and even the opening ceremony for 1992 Winter Olympic Games, held in the Savoie region of France.

With this production, according to the brief but often-preposterous programme notes, Decouflé wanted to use his body to produce “a visual symphony from just one person.” He would do this by incorporating his own corporeal form into a more intangible environment heavily dependent on cameras and projection screens in addition to the traditional assistance of lighting and sound. In fact these elements (the music was a mixture of taped and one-man trombonist-cum-band Joachim Latarjet) were entirely in keeping with their traditional use in a theatre - it is in Decouflé‘s attempt to integrate his actual physical self into the unreal visual element of theatre that is the raison d’être.

The piece started (15 minutes late) with the audience presented with a small suspended projection screen center stage showing a monochromatic film of flickering vague shadows. It quickly became apparent that this was actually the silhouette of two hands moving quickly and randomly. The ‘camera’ was pulling back all the time, and sharpening in focus, revealing the attached arms and, eventually, upper torso of a man. Finally the penny dropped and it became clear that this had been Decouflé all along, standing on stage behind the screen, silhouetted by a bright spotlight. We could now see his upper body in silhouette on the screen, still weaving and wiggling, while his lower body was visible below the screen, now moving together, now moving to a different pattern. Two halves of the same man, linked enough to even be able to interact with itself, but in entirely different forms, one real and one virtually so.

 


Philippe Decouflé in Solo
© Laurence Garret


So, the principal of examining the meaning of ‘self’ established, Decouflé immediately turned his attention to the other aspect of this work – himself. Taking a seat at a desk he started to show us some family pictures, by way of a small camera and the main screen at the back, the small one having now retracted. A running commentary in his thick accent deliberately established his credentials as lovable and quirky, starting with a quiz as to which one of the school class photo was him, then introducing us to his parents, children, wife and old friends, flatly cutting across the warmth to inform us these last were now deceased. It was intermittently gently amusing, although some in the audience inexplicably seemed to find it snortingly hilarious. Clearly he had fans, or else they were very easily won over. Another programme note promised us a chance to “leap into the shadowy waters of his memory” but nothing in this vein, outside of this small picture tour played for laughs, materialised. The rest of the performance largely veered away from personal revelation and concentrated instead on the revealing of different aspects to man in general.

The show was made up of a string of set-pieces, lasting around 5 minutes each, punctuated with a short film clip played on the main screen to allow Decouflé time to change or set up equipment for the next piece. The set pieces included a finger dance, quite literally, in the vein of old children’s TV programme Fingerbobs, culminating with his fore- and middle-fingers attempting a jete, only to land involuntarily in the splits. Another had more hand puppets, making seemingly randomly movements, played into a camera so close it distorted the angle and the colours. Neither of these was interesting in the least and were mostly filler.

More interesting were the longer and larger scale pieces. The large backscreen would be split vertically by virtue, or so it seemed at first, of different lighting, into two rough halves (later, a third scene would be played out above these two) and Decouflé would move around the stage, initially alone. However, camera trickery would soon kick in and a mirror image of Decouflé would appear in the opposite half of the screen. He could then play with this dual image – literally his own twin and the most perfect partner one could ask for – to various effects such as one could experience when placing such a scene inside a child’s kaleidoscope. These scenes were more realistic and interesting than they may sound; partly due to the realistic imaging used on the virtual Decouflé and partly due to the way he would stay near the screen on his side and intense front-lighting would create a deep shadow behind him, matching the effect opposite. This effect was probably the main idea in the show and was returned to at various times and in various ways, often in a quite a low-key way.

The second standout section was, as Decouflé himself introduced it, a tribute to Busby Berkeley, the dance director and choreographer so prolific in 1930’s Hollywood and on Broadway. His use of large numbers of dancers in symmetrical shapes, often shot from above, was the inspiration for Decouflé’s one-man homage – slightly ironic since Berkeley usually used only one camera but up to 150 dancers. Decouflé lay on the ground just behind a thick stripe on the floor. Some kind of lens effect then broadcasted this image onto the screen behind, the stripe now simulating a stage floor, and multiplied the image many times, each one seemingly further back and eventually shrinking into the infinite distance. Each image was delayed by a split second and so when Decouflé moved he had his chorus line repeating and magnifying his movements. Fortunately Decouflé had recognised the humorous side of this effect and proceeded to play light-heartedly with it, including wrapping his many selves into an infinite coil and having the camera sway from side to side giving his chorus line the chance to appear as if on a very rough deck indeed.

Throughout the show there was nothing resembling dance, at least not until the very last section, and that was a low-paced rambling affair. Decouflé’s images were his show and he would only use mime and rhythmic movement throughout. Dance Umbrella branched out beyond dance with this show – a strange idea on the face of it but perhaps I am not post-modern enough to understand such programming.

Overall a pleasant enough 55 minutes, and some interesting ideas were raised about identity, ego and perception, but there were just too many hyperbolic promises left unfulfilled, too much redolent of a film student or a street entertainer, and one left wishing for a bit more bang for one’s bucks. One question was raised for which one has to find one's own answer - we had spent nearly an hour watching, for the most part, various screens. Watching a man writhe on the floor was not the idea - the audience were supposed to be focused on the Busby Berkeley chorus on screen. So what would happen if one removed the single live performer altogether and just watched the resultant images on TV at home - what would be the difference?