Concept and Artistic Direction
by Marie-Josee Chartier
A DanceWorks Presentation
at the Enwave Theatre
November 29-December 1, 2007

   Though performed by the duo of Marie-Josee Chartier and Dan Wild, this 60-minute diptych in two tableaux is an ambitious multi-disciplinary work that is inspired by Betty Goodwin’s paintings of water and swimmers. So, it has a strong environmental ambience—vividly created by Julie Fox’s rough-textured three-sided box set and Jeremy Mimnagh’s intriguing videography (in collaboration with filmmaker Peter Mettler)—and the connotations of the term bas-reliefs are suggested by coloured video images of nude swimmers who seem to be floating out of a two-dimensional painted background of water, with subtle lighting by Lucie Bazzo that forms a colour wash or generates intriguing shadows. A diving-board on which the woman walks, sits, or rests, sometimes dangling a hand in imaginary water becomes a continuing reference to Goodwin even as it marks a physical division between the woman and the man who is seen under the board. Bas-reliefs seems to be about a male-female dynamic in which personality has a shadow side and in which power shifts from gender to gender.

   In the first part (to Gaetan Leboeuf’s music played on cello by Raphael Dube), Wild performs with a white mask as a metaphor, perhaps, of a second mysterious self, while Ms. Chartier, in a hooded, reversible sheepskin cape (all costumes are by Julie Fox), slowly drops into his hands to begin what turns into an erotic coupling. But things are never left simple. There is an advance-retreat dynamic as she approaches him—sometimes as stealthily as an animal—and he retreats to one wall. When she tries to touch him, he slaps her hand away and then drags her roughly across the floor, sometimes draping her across his shoulders or balancing her erect figure on one shoulder, and then, in a climactic moment of mime, giving birth to her between his legs. At times, Wild in his mask appears to be blind, hinting, perhaps, of a hermaphroditic character, as well as of a duality of man and beast. Wild is a powerful dancer, and he often has spasmodic outbursts of his power, but it is not at all clear what the dance, rife with symbolism, really means. At one moment, Ms. Chartier disappears offstage but can be heard emitting strange birdlike squeaks and squawks. For his part, Wild could be Hamlet contemplating death (his white mask serves as a skull); at another, he could be the woman’s executioner as she goes into a crucifixion pose. Whatever the meaning, the dance is fascinating.

   The second part (to Alexandre MacSween’s music, embellished by text written and spoken by Dan Wild) begins interestingly but eventually disintegrates into something amorphously mysterious. Now it is the woman’s turn to be more active than passive and the rhythms are more insistent, just as the lighting becomes more iridescent, with different colours changing the sense of texture. However, once again, I felt in the dark about what the piece was trying to suggest. Wild’s narration seemed to promise a story about a relationship, but then ended without a palpable motive. Instead, I was left to content myself with the beautiful stage pictures, many created by the videography. What needs to be done, I think, is a clarification of metaphor. I was interested, often fascinated, sometimes thrilled, but ultimately bewildered by a sense of incoherence.    

Photos by: Jeremy Mimnagh



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