Dance People, EIF Dance review - 'part-dance, part-activist-art'
Inviting the audience to explore power and division through dance results in a fractured show, writes Lucy Ribchester, but there’s something raw and moving about the connections it makes to current events
Dance People
Old College Quad
★★★☆☆
It’s not unheard of for performers to greet audiences on their way out of the theatre, but rarely does a show begin with dancers stepping forward to shake your hand and introduce themselves. The cast of Dance People walk among us as we mill at the edge of the Old College Quad, asking our names, gently explaining that we might be invited to take part but everything is optional. Inside the quad, behind a red ribbon, a DJ on a high scaffold begins to blare questions: ‘Are you here alone? Are we individuals? Citizens?’ We are asked to cut the ribbon, and into the quad we flow.
The boundaries between performer and audience are porous in this piece by Lebanese-French company Maqamat, led by choreographers Omar Rajeh and Mia Habis. It’s part-dance, part-activist-art and thoroughly immersive (although the promenade staging doesn’t always scream accessibility). Sometimes we are shepherded into a circle to watch the dancers, sometimes we mill around. We are handed red envelopes that contain extracts from letters of historical resistance, and later fragrant cups of herbal tea.
The quad initially feels like a marketplace, a site of convivial gathering. A dance party unfolds and we politely watch at first, obedient to our role as audience members, before being invited to join in for a euphoric rave. This elation is far from the climax though, and Rajeh and Habis, in their quest to explore division and power, pull us through moods of defiance, contemplation and intimidation. It’s a fractured piece, not always intelligible. But there is something particularly raw and moving, given the current genocide taking place in Gaza, in hearing Ziad El Ahmadie’s majestic oud playing and seeing Arabic poetry projected onto the quad walls. When Rajeh picks up a crumpled roll of paper and holds it like a shrouded child the image is devastating and unforgettable.
LUCY RIBCHESTER
until 10 August
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