dANTE OR dIE: La Fille à la Mode ¦ Photo: Ludo des Cognets

dANTE OR dIE: La Fille à la Mode

dANTE OR dIE: La Fille à la Mode ¦ Photo: Ludo des Cognets

Exploring the absurdity of the fashion culture ‘IT girl’, dance-theatre company dANTE OR dIE brought their promenade piece La Fille à la Mode to the National Theatre this weekend as part of Watch This Space festival.

La Fille à la Mode begins with a mysterious woman wielding an accordion who begins to play and, like the Pied Piper of Hamelin, to lure you around the theatre. What follows are a series of sketches where the entirely female ensemble scatter themselves around the building– over stairs, in gaps, behind windows, in cars – re-enacting fashion poses and executing enchanting dance routines. It quickly becomes clear they are a mockery of how peculiar and destructive this world can be, dancing as if enthralled by a vodka bottle or stretched over a ledge replicating absurd sexual experiences.

Much of La Fille à la Mode is intimate, using the smallest spaces of the National Theatre, cramming everyone in a lift or into a small corridor. At times it can be frustrating, trying to catch a glimpse of performances without inadvertently ruining another’s experience, yet the enclosed spaces provide some of the more memorable moments, notably the serenading of the men in the audience – entirely in French and with a ukulele.

More surprisingly, the closeness you experience is offset by a clear boundary placed between you and performers as you are made to slip into an overtly voyeuristic role. Handed a drink and seated, you are drawn in and reinvented to become one of the predatory men that the women sing of, as you watch three women seductively dance on the bar. It’s a fantastic moment, showing how effortless it can be to slip into this world.

On the whole, La Fille à la Mode manages to create a very balanced show. It’s not too solemn, not too comic; intimate yet not too invasive or embarrassing. It also ends with a fantastic, haunting routine, the performers donning black veils over their faces, moving in silence.

www.danteordie.com