T.r.a.s.h. in The Netherlands
Anticipation is an odd creature, especially when it is fuelled by the press.
Opinions take root in your mind, tarnishing all that you see. With this unsettling affliction I attended a performance of T.R.A.S.H; a dance group which has been described by the national press as ‘punk’, ‘aggressive’ and ‘violent’; characterizations which left a deep impression on me.
Before the performance commenced I sat in the café of the theatre and contemplated the performance flyer: To File for Chapter 11… chaotic… explosive … confusion… instinct… frenetic. I braced myself for a heavy evening.
A little over an hour later I was standing in the cold Amsterdam air, both exhilarated and pummelled by what I had witnessed. Here was a modern appraisal of the human condition, blemished only somewhat by its ceaseless physical intensity.
The press was merely reacting to the surface of T.R.A.S.H.
To File for Chapter 11 is a work that contains a plurality of meanings. At its very core lies the realization that the identity of mankind is divided, that the ‘I’ we all speak of is a fractured mirror. The violence or aggression that so many claim to witness in the dances of T.R.A.S.H is merely the physical expression of a mind frustrated by its own lack of a stable identity. God is dead here: supplications are choked, consciousness is enraged. The body, represents the final impaired frontier.
Each dancer engages with the cacophony of voices within him, posturing, confessing, muttering, screaming, trying to grasp something concrete which might afford peace. Kristel van Issum, who largely choreographed the piece is acutely aware that modern life has made us all prone to a unique form of schizophrenia. In this context the dancers continually fall to the floor with a manic determination; a form of self injury perhaps, which underscores the inescapable presence of the body which jails a disturbed mind.
The rational is exiled here; this is the realm of nightmarish dualism, the mind waging war on the body and vice versa. All is primal form: alienated human beings struggling with shards of memory, trauma and co-existence; life unsettles them.
Human association is fractured. The six dancers -four of them male- hurl the females with indifference, the latter expressing emotions ranging from apathy to arousal. Any fragile instance of attachment is immediately extinguished by a brutish series of motions.
It is fascinating to consider the title in light of all that one witnesses on stage: ‘Chapter 11’ refers to the bankruptcy code of the U.S.A. Bankruptcy; but of what, of whom? Tantalizing questions indeed. Have we ourselves become impoverished or has our capacity to identify with others become ruined? Each may decide for himself. One thing is certain, the idea of destitution resonates throughout the work; words become incomprehensible, movement becomes irregular and spasmodic, emotions snarl like rabid dogs. This entire spectacle is framed by a beautiful soprano voice accompanied by a solo cello creating a startling juxtaposition to the frenzied activity we see on stage. It is this musical backdrop that lends the dance its uneasy timelessness, as if we had been transported to a Victorian asylum, the distinguished voyeuristic guests of the local governor.
Here is mankind committed to a veritable Hades, stripped of compassion, doomed to engage in a perpetual conflict with a spiritual vacuum, a dysfunctional mind and an unruly body. One cannot help but gaze in fear and admiration at a performance that does not fail to move you.
Mischa Kroes 03.01.2007 |
