Dreamers is completed at breakneck speed to a sublime soundtrack. Image: Brian Hartley
Like an empty canvas waiting become filled, a white phase lies vacant and expectant. We’ve been informed in programme that Anton Lachky is “as much a cartoonist while he is choreographer”, which feels as though a strange declaration until their brand new work, Dreamers blasts into life.
Scottish Dance Theatre
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Eight performers stand-in a-row, putting on ordinary everyday apparel. In the beginning, no body moves. Then, like a flash of lightning, Jori Kerremans breaks position and spirals all over phase. Their motions therefore fast and nimble, it is challenging keep up with him. A matter of seconds later on, Kerremans tosses their arms towards another performer – moving on a hidden baton – as well as also dancing at breakneck speed across the bright space.
It’s an intoxicating orifice, and tends to make sense of this ‘cartoonist’ guide. Lachky’s choreography is a lot like a pen flying over the web page, making quick-witted moves that captivate and, on many events, provoke bursts of laughter.
However it’s not only Lachky that knows just how to work a crowd. Performers Audrey Rogero and Francesco Ferrari are Dreamers’ comic performers. Rogero, an attractive girl in repose, contorts her face into a cross between a Monsters Inc personality and someone sucking a lemon.
Ferrari adopts a wildly expressive nonsense language he makes use of to command the rest of the team. it is all awfully silly, but in a genuinely playful, accessible method in which engages as opposed to alienates.
That is scheduled to a sublime sound recording of Bach, Vivaldi, Haydn, Chopin and Vanhal, expertly selected to complement the mood throughout. An old performer with Akram Khan, Lachky features obviously found their own sound as a choreographer (although retaining the exhilarating speed Khan is known for). And kudos to Scottish Dance Theatre’s creative director, Fleur Darkin for finding him early.
Making a welcome return, Jo Strømgren’s Winter, Again bears a repeat watching. Nine distinct characters, number of that you would deem reliable, see completely a winter together. Into the absence of fresh snow, everything is a dirty, spattered grey. The songs – Schubert’s Eine Winterreise – sounds pure of voice, but there is small purity on stage.
Firearms tend to be brandished, pets are killed and one bad girl even loses her eyes. However Strømgren has actually a lightness of touch that transforms such macabre content into effortless viewing. Yet again along with the existing powerful crop of performers, plus specific visitor performer, Joan Clevillé along with his nearly Vaudevillian sense of melodrama.