© Henrik Stenberg Danish Dance Theatre 'Passion' reviews 'Passion' in reviews recent Danish Dance Theatre reviews more Gunild Pak Symes reviews

What was astounding was ARS Nova, the internationally renown choral group specializing in music of the Renaissance, who sang compositions by Arvo Pärt, Howard Skempton, Sven-David Sandström and Henry Purcell with voices that seemed to descend from the heavens. Truly magnificent in their masterful performance and rapturous resonance filling the entire auditorium with huge multi-tonal sounds as well as delicate chords, the 12 artists of ARS Nova were the highlight of the evening shining as beacons in the night while framing dark electronic pieces by Pan Sonic, which offered haunting, vacuous atmospheres punctuated by insect-like sounds.

While the dancing was often lost to the power of the chorus, the dancers of Danish Dance Theatre were, simply put, outstanding. Soloists portraying various characters reminiscent of those found in the 15th century paintings of Hieronymus Bosch, delivered spell-binding performances of technically challenging choreography by Rushton. Kenneth Carlson, the embodiment of hatred itself, threw his boneless body into fits of rage and complex patterns of spasms compelled by some aberrant inner dialog that seemed to disturb every cell of his being, while half-naked waifs, Hillary Briggs—the sacrificial lamb—and Stina Mårtensson—the ever-suffering cripple, were what hatred chewed and spit out; they portrayed victimization with grace and complexity while searing in the mind what hatred could do to the innocent.
 

Laura Lohi in Passion by Tim Rushton and Michael Kvium
© Henrik Stenberg

Other standout performances came from the hilariously possessed, gurning, white-faced, cone-headed odd-couple, Adam Schütt and Dan Langeborg, and the pliable, irresistible Luca Marazia as the unsatiable force of lust and desire. As the taunting temptress in the sultry red dress, Laura Lohi was mesmerizing, handling herself and her onlookers sensually with merciless guile and greedy self-obsession. Super-woman, Marylise Tanvet-Schmidt dancing the role of the Guard, was finesse personified in gesture, sublime expression and muscular control, though it was not quite clear why she was there.

Rushton, originally from Great Britain, educated at the Royal Ballet and former dancer with the Royal Danish Ballet, must be admired for how he takes risks in his choreography, pushing vocabulary and choreographic craft to extremes, bending theatrical convention or outright maneuvering against them. While convention says to build to a climax and final resolution, Passion starts with a grand entrance, and several intermediate climaxes later, dissolves into ambiguity in the end. Ending with the tiny lone figure of the cripple played by Mårtensen on stage in a red pool of water is a risk when one starts the evening with a big bang. Somehow we find ourselves perplexed at the bottom of a well.

Passion is a psycho-sexual investigation. And what often happens when indulgence is the subject of choreography is that the choreography itself then becomes indulgent. Spending most of the time watching the remixing of contortions, spasms and convulsions in a nearly continuous string on stage for over an hour, one finds a need for relief from the torture, some resolution, some change away from the constant and disturbing spastic distortions of the bodies on stage. Using anything too often or too much, it loses its power and meaning. The pace of the dancing was quite even—sticking to slow adagio movement, punctured by fast blasts of contortions and convulsive flickering and a few ensemble passages here and there. While certainly consistent in style throughout, the choreography and theatrical strength of the production suffered from overuse of one particular set of movement qualities that did little to further the development or visual poetry of the subject matter over time.

Overall, the composition of Passion was strong, as Rushton certainly has a grasp of the craft. But there were a few awkward transitions and movement sequences given away by the performers obviously waiting for a cue or a set change. Some sections of the production—such as the third depicting lust—sorely needed to be edited and shortened, having said what it needed to say in the first three minutes. Likewise, the reintroduction of the main characters in the last two sections seemed contrived due to a lack of clarity—their relationships and reason for returning to the stage were not clear. One cannot help but wait for something different to be said, or meaning to be made either kinesthetically or theatrically, in each moment, and a master choreographer will know just when the aesthetic eye will tire and when something surprising or different must happen to the movement vocabulary or to the action onstage.
 

Stine Mårtensson in Passion by Tim Rushton and Michael Kvium
© Henrik Stenberg

One highly successful element of the collaboration was the skillful and clever integration of the set and costume design by the celebrated Danish visual artist, Michael Kvium. The visual impact of the production was powerful with its blending of texture, atmosphere, intense color and the sheer lack of it. The choreography was well-served by the bold set and lighting effects, and transitions between sections were enhanced by simple, yet ingenious use of color, shapes, shadows and light, as well as the integration of the 12-member choral group as a living element of the scene.

While it is a critical virtue to pursue and support, new art is hard, and one cannot expect a masterpiece every time. Even with some of Denmark’s most accomplished artists from visual art, theater, music and dance working together on the project, Passion turned out to be a bit tough to digest, either because it was a case of too many good chefs in the kitchen—each vying for perfection—or the case of a concept that probably looked terrific on paper, but fell short of its full potential when it hit the stage.

Despite the obstacles, the production is a must-see if only to challenge one’s wits and see if one can stomach the gristle; art isn’t always pretty. There is a sort of beauty one can find in the grotesque. Passion is what it says, and no one can deny its obvious impact. Upon leaving the theater, one spectator exclaimed, “Oh, man, I need a drink.”