Sylvie Guillem: "6000 Miles Away" -
Adelaide Festival -
Adelaide Festival Theatre, 1 March -
I have to confess to trawling my Thesaurus for superlatives to describe this show. Three works by three of the world’s most eminent contemporary choreographers, performed by the miraculously ageless Sylvie Guillem along with three other superb dancers. Dance doesn’t get much better than this.
Having said that, Jiri Kylian’s 27’52”, which opens the program, is the least compelling work, although it is exquisitely danced by Vaclav Kunes and Natasa Novotna, both formerly of Netherlands Dance Theatre but now co-directors of their own Prague-based company, 420People. The work was created for NDT in 2002, and its title apparently refers to its length. An extended duet, the piece features Kylian’s trademark movement vocabulary of lyricism punctured by quirky flicks and gestures. The male dancer is bare-chested from the outset, wearing only black trousers, and the woman soon sheds her top also. There is a hint of some kind of context or narrative from the French and German voice over, and the burial of both dancers under the Tarkett at the end, but it’s too obscure to draw any conclusions from.
But if this work by Kylian seems uncharacteristically inconsequential, that may be because what follows is a masterpiece. William Forsythe’s Rearray is a duet for Guillem and La Scala star Massimo Murru that is a master class in form and beauty. It references his ground-breaking In the Middle Somewhat Elevated, made on the young Guillem roughly twenty-five years ago, in its opening movement, which has Guillem rotating her knee in and out whilst sweeping an arm overhead. But whereas In the Middle is upbeat, sexy and cool, Rearray is austere and elegant. David Morrow’s score features a spare arrangement for piano and violin; Forsythe’s costumes consist of muted dark pants and tops, and the lighting by Forsythe and Rachel Shipp is similarly dim and minimalist. In thirteen segments—solos and duets, some interactive, some in which the dancers dance alongside each other rather than together—Forsythe deconstructs the classical vocabulary. Pirouettes are reversed and skewed, arabesques collapse and twist off-centre, enchainments are broken down into constituent parts: throughout, the dancing of Guillem and Murru, who are uncannily alike physically, both being long limbed, loose jointed and lean, is superb.
Mats Ek’s Bye could not be more different in style and mood. Set to Beethoven’s almost jazzy last Piano Sonata, Op. 111, the "Arietta", it’s a solo for Guillem that allows her to display her comedic gifts to the full. Dressed in a rather daggy ensemble of yellow skirt, cardigan and socks with lace up shoes, Guillem clambers out from behind a screen and embarks on an exploration of her inner child: dancing jerkily, jumping for joy, skipping and throwing herself about. Various people (and a dog) appear as projections on the screen and watch her, seemingly reminding her of the mundane world from which she has escaped for her moment of freedom. In the end she rejoins their world and walks away from us. It’s a simple work, but extraordinarily moving.
At forty-eight, Guillem is still technically supreme, but more importantly she still exhibits that urgency to communicate on a human level that is the mark of all great artists. Her unaffected joy at the standing ovation she received showed us a person unspoiled by all the accolades she’s earned over her long career. To return to the question of superlatives, I think I’ll settle for sublime: as a friend who saw the show said to me afterwards, watching artistry of this calibre is a kind of religious experience.
- Maggie Tonkin