Freedom is the foundation of fiction and fantasy: a state reachable in our imaginations if nowhere else. The choreographer Jasmin Vardimon invites us into this place and in her programme notes tells us to ‘feel free to imagine’. Yet, in this overcrowded and structurally fragmented piece it can end up feeling like this freedom is ripped away and we are instead battered with clichés. Freeing this is not.
Following a strikingly beautiful opening, wherein the white looped tendrils of the set – part dream-factory, part over-active gymnasium – take on the characteristic ambiance of an enchanted forest, replete with firefly-like, glowing amoebas and a women climbing a leafy, softly undulating mass to bask in the charmed liberty surrounding her, the action soon switches to less subtle expressions of freedom. Performers swoop into the space and illustrate freedom in bold, brash brushstrokes; their arms and bodies open to embrace it as they joyfully snake through the tendrils of the set. Loud, thumping pop music fills the air to the brim and any genuine, visceral sense of freedom drains away. It is replaced by a kind of 2D, picture-book image of what it looks like to be free.
Other clichés follow: the fear which blocks the path to liberation is embodied through a shadowy, winged spectre that flies perilously close to the characters populating this world; a woman hooks herself up to the white piping of the set to forge wings, but cannot attain flight; women are shackled by men, as ropes are placed around their wrists and they are dragged around the space.
Though the audience is left in no doubt as to what freedom looks like and what it doesn’t, this is as far is it goes and so whilst aesthetically impressive – with stunning lighting design by Chahine Yavroyan – it’s rarely moving. The characters and their journeys often feel disconnected and cluttered, with a heady mix of production elements that neither serve the choreography nor the story. The latter is almost entirely eclipsed and when one of the performers repeats a line that becomes a motif, ‘I am going to tell you a story about… [insert nothing]’, I long for the subject to appear.
The technical ability of the dancers is undoubtedly strong and Vardimon’s choreography finds the best of itself in its playful moments. A man – clad in swimming trunks – picks up his female companion and in one swift movement lays her on the ground. The woman – maintaining a full body, stiff uprightness – is rubbed down before he leaps on her and she is transformed into his trusty stead. They ride the waves together in a perfectly poised and witty sequence, she radiating the elated and supple spirit of the board and he relishing every crest. When the surf is up, he flings her board-stiff body over his shoulder and off they go.
The massive round of applause the production receives is a testament to the strong body of work behind Vardimon and also to what some of the audience see. For of course, freedom – like beauty – must lie in the eye of the beholder. In my eye, I behold the door.