Michael Clark Company, Mmm..., Barbican Theatre

Physicality:   beautiful and balletically formalist

Visual:  stylish, kitschy and minimalist

Acoustic:  eclectic, dashing and nostalgic

Dramaturgy:  audacious and cynically funny

Presentation:  abstract and salubriously saucy

                                                                                         (From my summary note after the show)

Michael Clark’s Mmm… is the second piece of his Stravinsky Project trilogy, reworked from the original 1992 version.  This two-part piece offers plenty of elements for a popular and wider appeal beyond the threshold of dance. 

 

However, the bodies of 12 slender but vigorous performers, including Clark himself, are those of dancers who have years of classical ballet discipline behind them.  Their long-limbed, straight physiques are enhanced by the ample use of stretching movements showing off their flexibility and extensions executed with calm control.

 

In the first “hard rock and mellow pop” section (music by Wire, Public Image Ltd, Stephen Sondheim and Sex Pistols), their figures are made to look even more elongated by tight fitted unitards and matching black head caps looking like those for swimming (original costumes by Leigh Bowery, reworked by Stevie Stewart and Clark).  On the stage floor, geometrical multiple square patterns are painted in black and white (set design by Clark and Steven Scott).  The lighting is brisk and bright for most of the time, in pleasing shades of emerald green, peachy pink and mandarin orange (by Charles Atlas).  In such pristine environments, the dancers repeat automaton-like movements, looking uninvolved and objective, often front faced to the audience with their arms fixed in the O shaped en bas position.  Then, the poker faced coolness is disturbed by protesting slogans (“bored” and “angry” projected on the back screen), abrupt humour (Clark, in a surgeon’s white coat, crossing the stage brandishing a hammer) and an awesome parade of naked bodies! 

 

The second half, is the awaited “The Rite of Spring” section, danced to Stravinsky’s famous (or infamous) cacophonous tunes played in a version for two pianos (played by Philip Moore and Andrew West).  Here, the abstract becomes a little more narrative (although subtly), while the anonymity and detachment turns into more individual subjectivity.  The performers enter and exit through the eight revolving doors hollowed in a backdrop panel.  The dancers look like insects or birds, with small skin-coloured caps, eyes rimmed in thick and frightening blue shades (reminding one of kabuki actors) and sparkling mirror chips stuck between their eyes.  In Clark’s version of the “dance to death” drama, the theme that this idiosyncratic music suggests - the ritual solemnity, primitive energy and cruel death of the chosen one - is punctuated with absurdity, by appearances of the white amoeba-like hobgoblin causing ripples of laughter and three elders in ridiculous geometric costumes that make them look like they are stuck in cylinders.  As the selection of the sacrificial maiden and the subsequent chaos progress, the movements become more varied and frenzied, involving acrobatic lifting, hoisting, somersaults, writhing, wiggling and convulsion.  In Clark’s interpretation, the chosen maiden is a cyborg or a plastic toy doll stripped off all her fashionable wardrobe, but for her large white underpants, moving in robotic awkwardness.  In the climax, unlike many other versions inspired by the same score, she doesn’t die in ecstasy.  She just stands there blankly gazing at the audience with her arms powerlessly drawn to her sides. 

 

Fourteen years after the premier, Clark’s chimerical approach, utilising nudity and comical snippets, may not send shock waves among the audience any longer.  Still, it’s an exhilarating, multifaceted entertainment with impressive physical representations. 

 

Spectators’ verdict:  fantastically eccentric and highly enjoyable!