The Chronicles

I purposely did not read the show description before heading to this Rising show. There is something in me that believes that a performance piece should deliver itself to the audience. Ideally the piece should land in me, the empty vessel. My feeling body should receive the work. Hopefully the show will unfold its poetry in front of me without prior knowledge.

The Chronicles begins with a twitching foetal figure alone onstage. I become curious. The choreographer decides to not linger here for long. The figure is now easefully on its feet. Was that a birth? Afterwards I check the show notes which reference the ‘womb’. I missed the poetry, I missed the drama of the womb. This is a recurring experience of this show, the poetry doesn’t run deep.

The ensemble enters for a dynamic, constantly moving, active, pulsating score of movement. Some of my curiosity returns. The dancers are highly skilled. Watching this many bodies onstage seems promising. The choreographer seemed to have decided to hang in intensity. But the intensity doesn’t build towards an event, it doesn’t lead into or call the next chapter.

Throughout the show I find myself wanting something to cling to. There's a lot of movement and yet I don't feel much. In an effort to understand, I start wondering if I am uninitiated. Perhaps I am not literate enough in this form to appreciate it. How much abstract movement can I observe before I need a lifeline? If I don't see a story and I don't see character journeys then I want to be flung headfirst into the emotional landscape. I need something to hang onto. What am I not picking up?

I keep watching. I start wondering if I am seeing the creative process on stage. There is the echo of devising tasks. The dancers line up, the one at the front strikes a pose, the one behind fills the negative space of the other. I interpret this as a classic, familiar movement task. This goes on for too long without developing a deeper poetic inquiry.

I keep noticing myself thinking ‘Oh this is the part where they…’. So much is signposted. Another solo. It seems to last as long as the previous solo. Another duo. Now everyone gets a turn as a duo. The movement qualities remain the same across the piece. I yearn for extremities to be teased out and striking rhythmical choices.

The show reaches the ‘skirt dancing part’. Once the show reaches ‘the messy part’ I am quite finished. There’s no doubt that this show features very talented dancers but I can’t see the ensemble shining bright. Was the development process too short? The children’s choir is very sweet to see, but it is clumsily integrated into the show. The only text in the show is sung by the extremely talented Oliver Mann, a slowed down, operatic rendition of “Forever Young”. The sentiment doesn’t land with me.

The show has bones, but not quite flesh or skin yet. Perhaps a dramaturgical or writing presence was missing from the development. Humans have been celebrating and worshiping; been fascinated by the cycles of life for a very long time. There are immense, tender, violent rituals in our history. This work skates over the drama of such a brilliant archetypal theme.

Kimberley Twiner

Photographer: Daniel Boud