The Comedy of Change, Rambert Dance Company

At the premiere of The Comedy of Change two interests of mine converged, the Ballet Rambert and the work of Kader Attia, who worked on the production design. I was excited and had little idea of what to expect. Created to tie in with the 150th anniversary of the publication of Darwin’s On the Origin of Species, however, I was apprehensive that The Comedy of Change would turn out to be a pantomime of evolution. Instead, I witnessed a sleek production worthy of Rambert dance company’s tradition of mesmerising, poetic and inspired creations.

As the curtains rose in the Plymouth theatre the audience was faced with a sight of peaceful but disquieting beauty. Under diffuse lighting a small number of chrysalis like forms seemed to be swimming on a sea of liquid as viscous as petroleum. Their white translucent shapes reflected in the shiny black surface covering the stage. As the dancers unfurled their bodies from within the fabric cocoons they had been enclosed in to the rhythm of Julian Anderson’s striking yet convoluted music, they revealed stark costumes of black and white. Black behind, white in front. The dancers at turns thus concealed and revealed against the black backdrop.
Conceal/reveal is but one of the Darwinian theories used as inspiration for all elements of the production - the others being same/different and past/future. What The Comedy of Change was able to put across is that these opposites, which logic purports to make mutually exclusive, are in fact tightly correlated. The mating dances of birds proved to be another inspiration reads the programme notes, and the choreographer Mark Baldwin speaking during a post-performance talk, admitted to be so taken with certain species’ complex dances of seduction to have used them movement for movement. The Comedy of Change reflects Diaghilev’s triangular principle of creation, a triumvirate of music, choreography and art. However, whilst Diaghilev’s creations for the Ballet Russe demonstrated a harmonious dialogue between the three disciplines, the various elements of The Comedy of Change formed a disappointingly discordant whole.
Kader Attia’s ‘chrysalides’ were unceremoniously pushed to the back of the stage and soon disappeared behind a second black backdrop dropped soon in the performance. In the opening moments, however, organic and soft forms offered a striking contrast to the harsh shapes of the dancers moving across the stage, falling in and out of precise formations. A contrast that did not endure and the performance, I feel, was weaker for it. Later, two male dancers wrap a third in aluminium foil creating an empty fossil-like shape of the kneeling dancer, a recurrent image of Kader Attia’s work. The foil caused a hardly perceptible rustle, unexplained, until the audience’s attention locked onto the flimsy structure. The dancers then exit. On the blackened stage the aluminium structure caught the light in a spellbinding halo tinted with red. Standing alone backstage centre, it seemingly projected a velvety light across the stage. The meeting of choreography and set, nevertheless, was awkward. The choreography unfortunately echoed in no way the shape of the idol-like form sharing the stage with the dancers. The dissonance created made it complicated for the viewer to concentrate either on the dance, or on the lighting, music or art, and certainly did not allow for all to be appreciated in one fail holistic sweep.
The closing sequence, however, seemed to indicate the possibility for magic encapsulated in the triumvirate Marc Balwin, Julian Anderson, Kader Attia. Two dancers mummified in full white body suits surround the sculpture in a tight halo of light coming from above. The scene framed by the floury forms of the dancers, light bouncing off the aluminium figure. As the last note disappears in the time of 6 beats, the three dancers suddenly collapse the sculpture with an easy rapid movement. A sequence that seems to have finished before it even started. As the light goes out the image is again imprinted upon the retina, an impossible and poetic mark.
for tour dates see www.rambert.org.uk