Following on the heels of Broadway Across America’s touring productions of Mary Poppins and Billy Elliot comes a wild, raunchy trip back to a time when…
For choreographer Sharon Eyal, walking is the new dancing. Corps de Walk, performed here by the Norwegian National Company of Contemporary Dance, Carte Blanche, redefines the mundane act with sharp, rigid lunges and robotic arms. Dancers wear flesh coloured body stockings and ice-blue contact lenses, marching in unison like an army of goose stepping zombies.
In a work of eight successive solos, José Navas explores the effects of time, memory, and dance upon his body: through each, the vulnerability of the soloist is revealed and heightened. As the title suggests, we the audience move through a series of Navas vignettes: detailed studies from which we can but guess their subjects and significance. Beauty rests in the shared intimacy of the space, and in the concentration of the dancer’s efforts.
Jean-François Laporte has scarcely put down his tools in the last decade and a half as he refines the sounds he’s making. The instrument inventor and composer uses PVC tubes and balloons, plastic tie wraps and compressed air in search of the limits to the noises that can be made from one object striking another. “I just go by the sound,” Laporte said. “It’s an intuitive process. I see what a sound tells me and go from there.”
After months of anticipation and a week of hysterical weeping from the neighbours, we left to attend the opening of Opera da Camera’s first full production, Mozart’s The Marriage of Figaro, at the Rialto on Friday. This is not a good theatre for opera, its acoustics are as successful as Greek government and significantly less loud, but its size worked to our advantage and the evening’s wrong notes faded into a glow of joy at close range.
Welcome back to Barbara Kingsolver country. You know, the Appalachia of the mind and soul. Dellarobia Turnbow is climbing a mountain – literally – to escape…
There is an anarchic animalism to Harold Rhéume’s Fluide. Clothed in punk garb, Le Fils d’Adrien Danse exude the dexterous pack mentality of wolves and the languid cool of a vampire cult. When its seven members move in wave-like formations they are a smooth unit, almost pourable. Yet placid combinations break apart when one dancer resists, the group disbanding and reforming, willing the dissenter back into line by cutting off paths of motion.
Award-winning author Alexander MacLeod will be one of two mentors in the inaugural Mentorship Exchange Program between the Quebec Writers’ Federation (QWF) and the Writers’ Federation of Nova Scotia.The 2010 Giller Prize nominee will be coaching up-and-coming Quebec writer Josée Lafrenière, while Montreal Gazette literary critic and author Ian McGillis will go to Halifax to work with Nova Scotia writer Jessica Chisholm.
Jesse Klein seems such a nice fellow in person. Upbeat, endowed with a sharp wit and always ready with a tangential anecdote, he doesn’t seem too glum in casual conversation. But like many in the Canadian film milieu, when Klein sits down to write, things enter into a harsher dimension. Since 2011, when he made his first feature, a confident debut film called Shadowboxing, Klein showed a clear ability to lay the human condition bare.
Slavoj Zizek says one thing was perfectly clear as he was appearing in his latest film, The Pervert’s Guide to Ideology. “I’m no actor,” he concedes, laughing. “Director Sophie [Fiennes] would ask me to do something, and then ask me to do it again for another take. That was traumatic for me. I would invent things as we were shooting, then half forget what I said.”
There are few gifted artists that have taken their chosen medium to its ultimate heights—Mozart, Kubrick, Hemingway. For comic-books, Grant Morrison is such an artist. Throughout…
Trois Paysages, as choreographer Karine Ledoyen notes, is not meant to pack a punch. Instead it should flow naturally, like a river; its dancers blown about like leaves in the wind. Poetics were absent Wednesday night at Agora, however, and the work felt disjointed and stagnant.
It’s hard to know where to begin to describe this performance. Is it dance? Performance art? Pure unadulterated play? Sophisticated sadomasochism? One word applies above all else: hilarious. Still Standing You, a collaborative work choreographed (and performed) by Pieter Ampe and Guilherme Garrido, defies description — but it doesn’t matter, because you’re too busy busting a gut laughing to worry about anything as trivial as genre.
Michael Haneke’s films are stark and merciless. In La Pianiste, a woman lives in an emotional prison, sharing a life, an apartment and even a bed with her elderly mother. Love, when it comes, is torture. In Caché, a man’s comfortable family life crumbles under the threat of scrutiny. As intimate as both those films are, they don’t come close to the stripped down relentlessness of Amour. Grow old along with me, the best is yet to be. And then you die.
Playing now at the Centaur, Innocence Lost is brilliantly directed by Roy Surette. In the tradition of The Laramie Project, it is the tale of an entire community in which the frightful rape and murder of a twelve year old girl is pinned on an innocent fourteen year old boy.