Jarkko Lehmus Diary

Quiet Nights And Graceful Headbutts

It might only be a couple of weeks since the last entry, but it seems like an eternity ago. It's the time-bending, mind-mangling effect of festival time in Edinburgh. Someone should do a study of the effects that spending a week in Edinburgh in August has on a human brain.

My Festival Experience actually started two weeks before the last entry when I popped over to the east coast for a weekend of debauchery with some choice Edinburgers on the excuse of catching a show called Fuerzabruta, "brute force" in Spanish. An obvious choice, really. All I knew was that there was some of the creative minds of De La Guarda behind it and that you might get wet. excellent choice, sir: people running through walls, wet Argentinian ladies sliding about in a perspex pool just inches off your face and a DJ with spotlights, wind machines and a mist cannon... They'll probably be touring the world for a while so if you see them pitching their tents nearby, buy a ticket for a late show on Saturday night, put on you rubber outfit, neck a handful of mushrooms and get involved.

The very next weekend my very good friend Josie B, Miss Camera Shy 2007, flew into town, so I had to show her the delights of Edinburgh at this very special time of the year. I went for the relatively safe choice of Zoonation's Into The Hoods. I say relatively because the last time I saw the show I fell head over heels for one of the lovely ladies of the show and burned oodles of kerosene wooing her here, there and everywhere. A very rare phenomenon called by the name "relationship" ensued. Ancient history now... Anyhow... At least I knew that the show was going to be excellent, but before we got that far we had a few hours to kill. Nothing to do but to open the Fringe guide flick a few pages and stumble across a true connoisseur's choice - Debbie Does Dallas: The Porn Musical. Nice.

When our company's time for the limelight finally came I did a runner from the theatre as often as I could get away during our hectic technical schedule to show my face at Dance Base to get my contemporary dance fix. I collapsed a couple of veins and had an adrenaline shot after the OD. It really wasn't all to my liking and not particularly entertaining, but neither is looking at an unmade bed, a cow's head in a jar or a few funny lines on a canvas, but what I saw got me thinking about my preferences in dance, art and life in general. All in all a very positive outcome. Special thanks for Eeva Muilu for her solo and the slightly tipsy arty chat peppered with some names from my misspent youth.

Back at the Playhouse tensions were running high with a handful of anxious choreographers and a big bunch of excited dancers trying to put on as good a show as we could on a very strict schedule. The jitters of the first night. Tired minds and bodies buzzing with adrenaline just aching for the curtain to rise on Stephen Petronio's Ride The Beast.

Me and Paul facilitating the high-flying Mr Blyde. Photo by Andy Ross©

It's funny how things change when the performance time finally arrives: moves that you have repeated endless hours in the studio change just that little bit, you emphasise different aspects of the piece, your timing is slightly different and your connections with other dancers change because everybody else is going through their own miniature metamorphosis from rehearsing the piece to performing it. Once the curtain goes up the actual piece goes by in a flash of slashing fringe and flying sweat and the relief hits you like a big red bus when the crowd goes wild in the end of it all.

Mark demonstrating the correct way to fling that fringe. Photo by Andy Ross©

All this talk about a dancer being a choreographer's tool and all the training we put in to perfect our instrument, the intricate processes of creating a new work, the tedium of repetition and the frustrations of trying to find a common language with a new rehearsal director all fades away in a flash.

Getting paid for being a self-centered performance junkie is not an entirely bad existence. It might be lonely, but that is by choice. I take this opportunity to thank all my crazy friends for bearing with me despite the regular intervals I burrow my head up my own arse.

I'd also like to extend a well overdue thank you to all those people that showed their support during my darker times last spring and also to everyone who contacted me about my quest for creating a dancers' physical support structure within the company.

Now where were we? In the middle of the show? Right... I'd saved the other two pieces for the theatre. My last contact with Trisha Brown's For MG: The Movie was during the casting process, so when I sat down in the auditorium on Sunday afternoon after the second leg of The Beast I didn't really know what to expect. most of the people chosen for the piece were very balletic and had had a fairly hard time adapting to a totally different process of learning a piece and into a movement language completely alien to them. If they'd had a hard time, so had the audience. After the rush of Mr Petronio MG seemed like a particularly nasty comedown. It is possibly one of the hardest pieces I've ever seen, both to perform and to watch. A brilliant work of art, but definitely not entertainment. No sweat, fringes and rock music here. No sir. Just an intricate meditation on the nature of performance or possibly on the journey from birth to death, depending on who you listen to. A fascinating piece and a very brave choice of programming especially in the light of Trisha Brown's own company performing the next weekend...

The revenge of the jobbie suit. Photo by Andy Ross©

After the slow-moving kaleidoscope Ashley's Fearful Symmetries met the crowd's instant approval. Flashy, snazzy and sexy with a huge modernistic set and a full orchestra backing it all up. Symmetries is the biggest and the most critically acclaimed piece Ashley ever created for the Royal Ballet and has been the looming ace in his sleeve just waiting for the right time to be pulled out. For us to be doing it as well as we did does say something about the state of the company. I always get surprised watching the dancers out there on stage and wonder how on earth I fit in, but apparently I do, for I did learn the lead man's part. Crazy that... It's just a shame that all that hard work that went on on stage didn't really touch the audience that much. I know much energy the dancers were putting out, but somehow the Playhouse has a very dampening quality to it. Maybe because of it's huge 3000 seater auditorium or maybe because it was originally designed as a cinema for audience to watch but not to really experience the action.

The calmer shades of a symmetry. Photo by Andy Ross©

Straight out of our own show I rushed to the warmth of Festival Theatre to watch The Royal Ballet of Flanders doing William Forsythe's Impressing the Czar. A very different and much more immediate experience in a totally different space. Curious from a performer's perspective. The organised madness of the four-part full-evening work was astounding with some serious dancing in the form of In The Middle Somewhat Elevated dropped... err... in the middle. What Cathryn Bennetts has done with a company previously devoid of any kind of reputation in just two years in quite amazing. It turns out that what I saw was the second cast. I'll be working in the ballet class just that bit harder... Big up to Ms Bennetts and the foxy ladies of Flanders!

With the experience of our company dancing Trisha Brown's work under my belt I wanted to educate myself by going to see her own company on the last weekend of the Festival. I got to Edinburgh a bit early, but hadn't booked any other shows. Having the choice of some 2500 performances in three-hundred-something venues, keeping in mind that I was about to be washed over by a tide of American post-modern dance, I did what every arts lover would: went to the cinema to watch Rush Hour 3 with the full knowledge that it's a rubbish film. So in reality I just wanted to ogle Neomie Lenoir. That got me into just the right mood to sit through a full evening of Ms Brown's work. To be absolutely honest, I didn't care much for the actual performance. lovely movement qualities and amazingly complex choreography, but it all seemed a bit even to me. I was much more interested in the process that had created the pieces. I often wonder how the world looks like from inside of someone else's head. To cloud my own I hunted down a few friends and had a quiet night in with some vodka, very badly played Texas Hold 'Em and some car hugging. Just what you don't need to prepare yourself to an early morning street dance workshop, a lunch date with an ex and a garden party full of arty types. Clever boy I am not.

The end of the Festival also heralded the end of the dancing career of one of our finest: Ruth had decided to quit dancing go back home. I only had fleeting contacts with her, but she and her sterling work ethic will be sorely missed by all. She was with us only for two years, never said boo to anyone, only spoke Spanish and spent most of her time on her own sweet Planet La-La. Bless her. Ruth, I hope you find happiness and love in your life.

Ruth and Sophie in some rocking that Balanchine look. Photo by Andy Ross©

Now that the Festival has been put to bed we're back at the office. So what's next on the agenda? An open day in Tramway in a week's time should work some way towards demystifying the rituals involved in putting up a show. a couple of weeks later were in Aberdeen for three shows. That's our grand Autumn Tour since the refurbishment of Eden Court Theatre in Inverness is well behind schedule. (Makes you think how long will it take for us to actually get to move to our new premises.) While the company is putting the Aberdeen pieces Ashley is already cracking on Sleeping Beauty and I, since I'm not performing in Aberdeen, am trying to push through our pay negotiations, catching up on things fallen by the wayside earlier, punishing myself in the studio, playing with anybody whose willing to humour me, planning some mischief for the weekends and wondering if Russel Kane has ever been headbutted by a ballet dancer.

As a final statement I can tell you that it doesn't matter whether you're in a break dancing club, having some posh drinks with the Lord Provost and some dashing ballet folk or even if you've ended up in a dark burlesque club you're never alone when you're wearing a kilt.

On that note I'll make my escape. To Oslo.

Posted by Jarkko at August 31, 2007 03:00 AM