Peel away the cyborg dance party: what’s this show really about?

DANCE | ASIA TOPA
U>N>I>T>E>D ★★★
Sidney Myer Music Bowl, until March 2

Chunky Move continues its long-term project under artistic director Antony Hamilton of experimenting with what might be called a cyborg-dance-party aesthetic in which humans dance like machines and machines dance like nothing on earth.

U>N>I>T>E>D is being staged as part of Asia TOPA.Credit: Gianna Rizzo

This latest project is a sprawling collaboration with contributions from Balinese noisemakers Gabber Modus Operandi and fashion label Future Loundry. But the emphasis is on the wearable machines created by Creature Technology Co, which shape the choreography.

These exosuits are costumes, but they are also toys – complete with flashing lights and smoke machines – suspended on an overhead glider that runs the length of the stage The ensemble of six uses these to create profiles suggesting techno-monsters and mechanised warriors.

The best thing about this show is its humour. Unlike previous Chunky Move experiments with a similar aesthetic, such as Token Armies (2019) and Yung Lung (2022), there clear moments of levity. There are bumbling centipedes and dancers that are awkwardly restrained.

The company itself describes U>N>I>T>E>D as “gettable” and “future historic”. And it is gettable in the sense that you can buy your own piece of it, with designer T-shirts on sale outside. You can also submit to the spectacle, the barrage of effects and its rhythmic shifts.

The best thing about U>N>I>T>E>D is its humour.Credit: Gianna Rizzo

But I don’t get it. Why should we surrender to this machine mysticism, even ironically? This weirdly militaristic exhibition, complete with a booming Sardaukar anthem? It seems purposeless, a game with showbag toys, leading only to a sense of emptiness.

And U>N>I>T>E>D does play on science-fiction army-boy fantasies. There’s the stylised camouflage, the combat vests and utility belts and, of course, all those deadly seeming appendages that are brandished like weapons. And it’s all presented as a fashion gala.

The final solo, performed by Jayden Wall, a whirling showpiece full of athletic stunts and images of collapse, does at least give us the chance to imagine throwing off the machine and escaping from a future that is historic only in the sense that it repeats past militarisms.

But, of course, that future is coming whether we like it not. It’s only fair to observe that the opening night audience leapt to their feet in apparent ecstasy, but it all left me as cold as a prosthetic claw.
Reviewed by Andrew Fuhrmann

DANCE | ASIA TOPA
Gapu Ŋupan (Chasing the Rainbow) ★★★★
Playhouse, Arts Centre Melbourne, until March 1.

The title of this intriguing cross-cultural multimedia encounter suggests a mood of hopefulness, as if looking forward to a future in which First Nations peoples are acknowledged and respected globally for their environmental stewardship and conservation.

Gapu Ŋupan is a collaboration between representatives from the Yolŋu of north-east Arnhem Land and the Paiwan and Amis of southern and eastern Taiwan.Credit: Michael Pham

It’s a collaboration, led by co-artistic directors Seredau Tariyaljan and Rachel Wallis, between representatives from the Yolŋu of north-east Arnhem Land and the Paiwan and Amis of southern and eastern Taiwan.

A particularly poignant motif is that of twining threads or tangled lines.Credit: Michael Pham

These cultures are initially showcased separately. Traditional dances commence with two Yolŋu women performing to the rhythms of clapsticks, yidaki and chanted song. This is followed by a traditional Paiwanese dance, accompanied by the double-barrel nose flute.

A narrative of journey and encounter begins to emerge. The choreography introduces a danced meeting between two Paiwanese men and the Yolŋu women. It’s all very spacious and unforced, with figures hinting at widening circles of travel and interaction.

Supporting the live performance are video projections depicting landscapes and seascapes. These projections onto curved backcloths, reminiscent of lapping waves, soften the space while also suggesting revealed passages for new engagements.

The projections also include hand-drawn symbols that are inscribed over the landscapes, the trees and rocks. These artistic and cultural elements catch our attention, preventing the eye from gliding too easily over the scenic images.

A particularly poignant motif is that of twining threads or tangled lines, which might signify the framework of this collaboration. While performers maintain their distinct cultural identities, they increasingly share the same space, weaving together while remaining apart.

Even at the preview showing, which this review is based on, the performances were very impressive, with notable contributions from Banula Marika and Paiwan songwoman Seredau Tariyaljan.

While the themes and larger intentions of Gapu Ngupan might seem as evanescent as the rainbow, this is nonetheless a gently uplifting collaboration, which is also an expression of solidarity through artistic expression.
Reviewed by Andrew Fuhrmann

MUSIC
Mahler’s Resurrection Symphony ★★★★
Melbourne Symphony Orchestra, Hamer Hall, February 27

An audacious work, cast in five movements and lasting nearly 90 minutes, Mahler’s Symphony No. 2 in C minor (“Resurrection”), amasses colossal forces and dares its listeners to believe that because there will be an afterlife they do not live in vain.

Jaime Martín conducts the MSO in Mahler’s Resurrection Symphony.Credit: Laura Manariti

Daring to believe, the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra delivered a finely detailed account buttressed with compelling conviction under the baton of chief conductor Jaime Martín. Displaying the versatility demanded of them, players and singers effectively realised Mahler’s colourful, emotional vision.

Quiet brass chorales gave way to blazing fanfares and the initial gruff, guttural utterances of the lower strings contrasted with the charm of the second-movement dance idiom. The sizeable percussion battery delivered a confronting evocation of the bone-rattling dead in the finale, while the multi-hued chorus’s hushed statement of resurrection burgeoned into rapturous praise of the life to come.

Small spotlit solos from acting associate concertmaster Tair Khisambeev, principal flute Prudence Davis and principal oboe Johannes Grosso also enhanced the symphony’s kaleidoscopic timbral palette.

Scottish mezzo-soprano Catriona Morison brought touching emotion and her warm, burnished tone to the fourth movement’s glimpse of primordial light. Making her MSO debut, Australian soprano Eleanor Lyons added to the final exultant mood.

Mahler’s Symphony No. 2 in C minor is an audatious work. Credit: Laura Manariti

Distant premonitions of the afterlife from an off-stage band underlined the value of experiencing the symphony live.

This was not a perfect performance. The lack of a pipe organ in Hamer Hall robbed the final pages of a crowning glory, the pacing of the central scherzo seemed at times to lack momentum and occasionally balances between instruments and soloists could have been improved. These issues all paled away in the final sonic explosion that resoundingly filled Hamer Hall.

Rising for a standing ovation, the audience affirmed Mahler’s daring dream. Could there be any better antidote to worldly nihilism?
Reviewed by Tony Way

THEATRE | ASIA TOPA
Goldfish ★★★★★
Arts House, until March 1

It is a time of crisis, and it has been for some time. The threat of natural disaster looms as global warming increases – reports have estimated that the oldest and thickest ice in the Arctic has declined by 95 per cent over the past 30 years. We see the encroaching danger of climate disaster through strange weather patterns, and as sea levels rise.

Goldfish blends physical theatre with ingenious puppetry.Credit: Gregory Lorenzutti

The question remains: can art respond to ecological crisis? One answer might come through Terrapin, a Tasmanian puppet company that has been shining a spotlight on significant questions for more than 40 years. Previous shows have explored power and greed, the search for belonging, and environmental conservation.

Now, Terrapin returns with Goldfish, an unconventional new show co-created with Japan’s Aichi Prefectural Art Theater. Goldfish opens with shadow puppetry, and performer Mayu Iwasaki begins by telling an energetic story of a mountain town that is soon enveloped by a flood, something which Iwasaki narrates with verve.

Not long after, however, the show is abruptly interrupted by two disaster recovery workers (played by Marcus McKenzie and Rino Daidoji) who insist that there is a real flood happening in the world outside the theatre. As fact and fiction suddenly blur, a new story emerges. This time, as McKenzie and Daidoji busy themselves around her, Iwasaki uses the materials of disaster recovery (a tarpaulin, ladder, rope, emergency food stores) to continue her story.

Goldfish is not just a show for children.Credit: Gregory Lorenzutti

Often filled with pleasant surprises, the storytelling in Goldfish is multifaceted, blending physical theatre with ingenious puppetry. Iwasaki’s storytelling is particularly noteworthy, her superb narration taking centre stage amidst the minimal set design. The trio’s movements are fluid and evocative, creating an immersive experience that pulls in even the most detached sceptic.

While there are many moments of tenderness and playfulness through slapstick humour, there is also a shadow of loss and despair that pervades the show, a delicate balance deployed to great effect. And the puppetry is masterful: simple materials and everyday objects are used to breathe life into the inanimate, and where inventive uses of reflected light and shadow create an awe-inducing atmosphere.

Despite its playfulness however – and this is Terrapin’s unique strength, as a puppet company that is well-known for its intergenerational shows – Goldfish is not just a show for children. It’s a reminder that even in the aftermath of destruction, there’s still hope – and sometimes, it comes in the most unexpected forms.
Reviewed by Cher Tan

PERFORMANCE ART | ASIA TOPA
Unpacked No. 2: Political ★★★
Dancehouse, until February 28

Melati Suryodarmo frames this ruminative performance lecture with a familiar device: the unpacking of bags after a voyage. Surrounded by luggage and apparently wearied by the journey of her life, she hauls forth the paraphernalia of past performances.

Indonesian performance artist Melati Suryodarmo.Credit: Jason Lim

Suryodarmo, an Indonesian performance artist who achieved mainstream recognition when a video of her Butter Dance went viral in 2012, traces her path from dreaming child to globe-trotting artist, lingering on the political contexts she encountered along the way.

She was born in 1969 – at the beginning of the Suharto era – in the small central Javanese city of Surakarta. Her parents, she tells us, threw her placenta in the river and this is why she yearned to travel.

In the late 1980s, while attending university, she joined small theatre troupes. Street theatre was at that time a crucial form of dissent in the face of rampant corruption and human rights abuses, as well as tightening controls over the press and freedom of expression.

Later, Suryodarmo relocated to Braunschweig in Lower Saxony. Here, she explains, she struggled with the tradition of critical analysis that is so integral to art making in Germany, but she found her own way.

While narrating this bildungsroman of a young artist abroad, she demonstrates fragments of a half-dozen or so works. These are sketched performances – travel-sized versions – without the durational intensity of the actual works.

It’s a relaxed performance, full of anecdotal digressions and generalised reflections on happiness, pain and our shared humanity. Things get lost in the clutter created by the unpacking of so many props, but it’s all part of the restrained and somewhat melancholy mood.

Suryodarmo will be performing her famous Exergie – Butter Dance on Friday, but this lecture provides a fuller picture of her career, one that is as introspective as it is retrospective.
Reviewed by Andrew Fuhrmann

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