Lucinda through Philip’s looking glass… Review by Christopher Walker

Are you a modern dance fanatic? Someone who likes to be challenged?

Well I have just the piece for you, writes Christopher Walker.

Lucinda Childs’ Dance is the ultimate challenge in minimalist, modern, or should I say post-modern dance pieces.

Set to some of the most repetitive, hypnotic, music Philip Glass has produced, and let’s be honest he’s produced rather a lot, it strips away all narrative from the stage, and all individuality from the dancers. They become mere syphers.

It says a lot about the time it was written in, and about the suppression of individuality which the post-modernists aspired to. It’s now a classic, and firebrand Childs is 81.

There have been quite a few revivals of 1970s works in London theatres, so it was only time for this trend to reach the dance world.

Lucinda Childs is a New York dancer turned choreographer. She specializes in what she terms “conceptual dance.”

This often consists of repetitive movements in search of “spatial exploration.”

Hers are not easily accessible works. One of her early pieces Street Dance had to be accompanied by an explanatory monologue.

We are given no such help with Dance, a product of her collaboration with the contemporary composer Philip Glass. If you like his music, you’ll love this. And vice versa.

Indeed, Childs said she always begins with the music and her choreography is deeply wedded to it in this piece.

She has analysed its construction and created what at times appears to be a mirror image, at others, the complete opposite.

The dancing is woven into the music. The dancers reflect the repetitive movements of the pianist’s hands across the keyboard. Lucinda through Philip’s looking glass.

Dance is composed of three ensemble sections, each with four couples, and two solo sets. The two structures are similar but not a true reflection.

In white costumes that recall the 1970s, the dancers move across the stage in pairs, disappearing into the wings just in time for another pair to appear.

They all repeat the same skipping and turning movements in geometric patterns. The choice of pairs makes the patterns more obvious to the viewer (we need some help).

This geometry is further enhanced by Sol LeWitt’s filmed version of the same piece which is superimposed over the live action. Sometimes behind it, sometimes above it, sometimes in front. Sometimes close up, sometimes far way. You get the idea.

This technique recalls Fred Astaire’s early experimentation with similar concepts in the 1930s, such as in Swing Time.

It also gives the curious viewer the opportunity to explore the repetitive movements from every angle possible. Often at the same time. All quite haunting.

When a soloist appears, it feels like a special treat. But that is short-lived, as they merely repeat the same movements of the other dancers. They, we, are all trapped in the same grid.

Where is individuality? It seems to no longer exist. The dancers appear to have no freedom of expression. And to be identical, one to the other.

Is Childs channelling the sublimation of individuality characteristic of societies such as the Soviet Union and Mao’s China? Both going strong in 1979. It’s hard to say.

By this point you might feel like that explanatory monologue would be a good idea.

And you’d be right. But hopefully this description whets the appetite of the more experimental, and gives them enough to understand something of what’s going on. Somehow, it is hypnotically charming.

Website: https://www.sadlerswells.com