In this live experience of immersive exploration through movement, sound, and video, Supercell Dance Festival‘s Jupiter Orbiting lives up to its excellent reviews. In this exhibition of personal identity through science fiction and visceral choreography, performer Joshua Pether delivers a disturbing and dark performance without uttering a single word. Through his portrayal and performance of three separate identities, Pether is able to navigate through psychological and physical traumas his character is victim to.
The source material for Kelly’s latest work comes from historical and living memories of events that took place on his traditional Bundjalung homelands. In the 1950s, the Tweed Shire Council met intense resistance and petitioning, led by local Elder Aunty Margaret Kay, against plans to build a shopping centre on a historic Bundjalung ceremonial site. The gathering place was a site for ceremony, where the wall between the physical and spiritual worlds is at its thinnest. It was where ancestral knowledge was passed from generation to generation through lore and songlines.
‘Are you having a lend, Mr P?’ Shock and awe camp from an earlier age: First Nations Emerging Critic Jacob Boehme on Phillip Adams’ Glory.
High camp greets us at the entrance of Temperance Hall. A pair of mascot-sized shocking hot-pink poodles adorn the doorway. Neighbourhood kids and local cyclists have been stopped in their tracks by the spectacle and are now snapping pics and taking selfies on their phones. Inside is much the same. The theatre is drenched in hot pink: pink lighting (bluebottle, Ben Cobham and Andrew Livingston) and pink set design (Phillip Adams and bluebottle).
Charming and heartbreaking: Robert Reid on Biladurang, Joel Bray’s performance about the cultural damage of colonisation.
Joel Bray’s Biladurang is charming, welcoming and heartbreaking. It makes for a deceptively warm and friendly show, with a gently bitter taste of colonisation.
We’re met in the foyer of the Sofitel and taken up in groups to the 44th floor by an elevator. I can’t help but check the elevator’s capacity against our numbers – it can take 22, there are 11 of us. It still feels crowded. We gather outside the lifts high up in the hotel and wait for the rest of the audience.
The work uses a contemporary dance style without gender prescription: male and female dancers performed movements traditionally assigned to men in Indigenous dance – hands and fingers shaped into kangaroo ears, forearms and hands forming emu-like necks – and both travelled with the light, up-flicking steps more frequently the movement vocabulary of women.
It begins with isolation, with six dancers standing on stage, each alone, each staring at the audience. Each body cocooned in stillness. It’s not relaxed: there is a kind of rigor mortis in their stances, an almost palpable feeling of life arrested.
Behind the six dancers – Amrita Hepi, Stanley Nalo, Krilin Nguyen, Yoan Ouchot, Dalisa Pigram and Miranda Wheen – is a screen that looks like a giant iPhone or iPad, which right now is showing a pattern of green leaves, like those generic wallpapers of the natural world that we gaze at nostalgically as the actual natural world burns around us. The back wall of Nicolas Molé’s set is an abstract pattern of angles, soft greys and browns.
The Meat Market’s substantial spaces hosted two shows for Dance Massive this week that addressed major issues of our times: our connection to land and country and the recognition of First Nations people in society and law. Both were collaborative endeavours, Le Dernier Appel / The Last Cry commissioned by organisations from New Caledonia, Australia and France, and Same But Different from a more informal alliance of Australian First Nations dancer-choreographers.
Comparing ourselves to US artists is probably about as useful as maintaining an obsession with Europe. It is precisely our remote geographic location and complex multi-racial history – including a 65,000-year-old dance lineage – that allows us to evolve artforms with independence and abandon. Live performance can be among the most exquisite rituals in which we can participate. We are pack animals. We need our mob. We seek to understand our place in the communities we belong to. We strive to connect. The balance between heart and intellect is always tricky to navigate – in life, let alone on stage. However, if we exist only in the cerebral, we risk alienating an audience that wants to make that connection.
This year’s festival is also notable for having the largest amount of First Nations work in its history. Alongside work by Joel Bray, Karul Projects and Marrugeku, the impressive DubaiKungkaMiyalk brings together a strong line-up of four contemporary choreographers, Mariaa Randall, Henrietta Baird, Carly Sheppard and Ngioka Bunda-Heath, curated by Randall, who is fresh from a well-received show at New York’s Performance Space.
Montreal non-profit launches toolkit on how to be an Indigenous ally
What does it mean to be a good ally to Indigenous Peoples?
It's something the Montreal Urban Aboriginal Community Strategy Network is hoping to clarify with its recently launched Indigenous ally toolkit.
The toolkit provides an overview on terminology, dos and don'ts, with examples of why the term "Canada's Indigenous Peoples," asking "why don't you just get over it?" or saying "you must be an alcoholic" is problematic.