Painfully DARK

Published on November 21, 2007

Dark

After 10 minutes, the audience at Patravadi Theatre's Studio 1 had become accustomed to almost total darkness. Then, a faint grey face appeared on stage, signalling the beginning of "Quick Silver", a solo performance by acclaimed butoh master Ko Murobushi.

To those not familiar with this post-modern dance form - sometimes described as the dance of darkness - last Thursday and Friday's shows barely conformed to the general perception of what butoh is all about. First conceived in the late 1950s, this Japanese performance art is related to dark, spontaneous and deep feelings as well as to the transformation of the body into other forms or substances.

Murobushi's face was covered by a transparent piece of cloth while the rest of his body was dressed in a loose black suit. He treated the audience to a series of subtle hand movements that became increasingly energetic. The movements extended from the hands to the shoulders and then to the arms and were accompanied by occasional soft and unintelligible utterances.

Murobushi appeared to be struggling, as if he were uncomfortable in his artificial garment and mask and these were constraining his ability to fully express himself. Eventually, he seated himself on a chair, which, thanks to the cloak of darkness, seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.

At one point, apart from emitting small, slightly desperate noises, he mumbled the simple, basic questions - "Who are you?" and "Who am I?"

With the stage still in semi-darkness, Murobushi started removing his mask and clothing to reveal his face and his compact yet extremely muscular body, naked save for the slightest of thongs. He was painted entirely from head to toe in metallic silver, his lithe body becoming a single, largely reflective surface. Although at this point, the reference to "silver" in the title of the performance could be clearly understood, the "quick" seemed rather ironic. True, the pace of the performance had picked up, but Murobushi's movements were still far from being fast.

He lay on the floor, curling into a semi-foetal position with both legs slightly raised. Convulsing his body, Murobushi rolled himself into a circle and grimly dragged himself slowly across the stage. Although he didn't look young, he certainly seemed newly hatched, and managed to appear both mercurial and stable. He stretched and contorted his torso and limbs, walked on all fours, and turned over like a frail, pained creature.

After shedding his clothing like useless and unwanted skin, he resembled a baby exploring its capacity for movement.

And the exploration did not stop there. The "baby" grew and Murobushi then tried to move vertically. But each time it seemed he would succeed in standing up, he collapsed, landing with an appalling thud.

The audience was reminded of a child learning to walk but, at the same time, acutely aware that this was an adult trying to stand.

The sound of his body crashing into the ground was so loud that this reviewer could not help feeling his pain. But perhaps this is what Murobushi intended - to make the audience realise how painful it is to live or to return to nature after being brought up to follow social codes of conduct and constraint.

Humans today live manufactured lives. We struggle and strive for materialistic greatness.

We often forget what life really is, what we live for and who we really are. We feel unhappy yet few of us can tolerate the struggle of returning to a more natural state.

All these insightful messages became clear at the end of his 45-minute performance when Murobushi forcefully moved to a small mound of white sand down stage left.

He scooped handfuls of the sand and threw them into the air. Simultaneously, the soothing sound of water splashing over pebbles could be heard, a relief after a hitherto silent performance. Using his head as well as his hands, Murobushi stared to make loud animal-like sounds that grew in intensity. The gentle sound of the water changed into the thunderous crashing of the ocean as Murobushi stood up and repeatedly fell to the ground, creating thuds that grew louder and louder in time with the sound of waves.

He tottered right back to the wall and stripped off the black cloth that had been used as the background screen, revealing a huge mirror. Murobushi then ran offstage, leaving a sea of bewildered faces staring at themselves in the looking glass the moment the house lights were switched on.

The message was clear: the time had come for us to look at ourselves and at our own lives. No doubt we all did that - after we got home. For the time being, it was better to rise to our feet and give the butoh master a standing ovation.

Tomorrow and Friday Patravadi Theatre hosts Japanese contemporary dance company Monochrome Circus's "Monster" and "Kizahashi-Edge". Tickets are Bt500 (students Bt200). Visit Patravaditheatre.com or call (02) 412 7287-8.

The writer can be contacted at min_ballet@hotmail.com.

Jasmine Baker

 Special to The Nation