“The thought and discipline that goes into making a show like Tanz is on conspicuous display throughout”
Audience members for Tanz are warned ahead of time of “the explicit nudity, self-harming body acts, blood and needles, strobe (lighting) and loud music”, and these are warnings that should be taken seriously. If anything, they understate what you are about to see in this extraordinary work by choreographer Florentina Holzinger and her all female company of dancers and circus performers. That said, Tanz is all about pushing limitations and boundaries. If that’s what interests you about live performance, then don’t miss this show. Tanz is a remarkable work by a ground breaking artist who has serious things to say about power relationships between bodies, and ourselves. About what bodies can endure, and, for that matter, what audiences can endure as well. All performances are relaxed at the Battersea Arts Centre for this show, so by all means take advantage of the opportunity if you need it.
Holzinger came late to the world of dance, and soon realized that she had not begun her training early enough to achieve the physical training needed to succeed as a classical ballet dancer. There’s a reason dancers typically embark on their training as children, as they are aiming for a particular “look” to the body, as well as flexibility. The realization of the uncompromising, even tyrannical demands upon the body in dance, is one of the central insights that informs Holzinger’s work. That, and a deeply ironic look at how we represent ourselves through our bodies in life, and in art. She turns those realizations into a series of ever more outrageous, taboo breaking, parodies of dance, all dressed up as circus acts. Though perhaps undressed would be a better description, since nudity is a key component of all this insight. Holzinger turns the gaze of everyone present on the power dynamics between teacher and student, choreographer (traditionally overwhelmingly male), and dancer (mostly female), performer and audience. In Tanz (the German word for dance), everything that we might have held sacred about our bodies and how to use them, is held up for ruthless dissection on stage. I am not speaking metaphorically here.
In Tanz, the audience is made to see bodies as vulnerable, but paradoxically, invulnerable. There are moments when a stunt appears to go wrong—such as a motorcycle accident on stage—but these moments are anomalies. We see that dance is inherently destructive, beginning with the rehearsal process. Holzinger and her company force us to acknowledge the real cost of the pursuit of the performer’s art. How better to show this than through a series of ever more boundary breaking circus acts? Acts involving motorcycles, broomsticks, and hair-raising stunts of being raised by your hair, and suspended on hooks, to name just a few. Enduring pain is the point, and the company dares us to look away each time they find new ways to explore the limits of what the human body can withstand. But again, all this endurance is not just for show. Holzinger explodes the myth that dance is just beautiful bodies performing on stage for the audience’s pleasure. That pleasure comes at a price, and she and her company reflect, in a very ironic way, the price of that pleasure.
The thought and discipline that goes into making a show like Tanz is on conspicuous display throughout. There are no wings to hide the machinery, and a curtain is seldom used. We see the discipline in the movements of the performers. Many, but not all, have classical dance backgrounds. Florentina Holzinger, Renée Copraij, Lucifire, Lydia Darling, Annina Machaz, Netti Nüganen, Suzn Pasyon, Veronica Thompson, Claire Philippart, Sophie Duncan and Frida Franceschini bring a truly diverse collection of looks and talents to the company. There’s an equally disciplined approach to the complicated mechanics involving trapeze wires and harnesses to ensure the performers’ safety, if not their comfort. The music, sound effects and lighting effects all contribute to the intense and heightened experience that is Tanz.
It is safe to say that during Tanz, you will, at some point, find out what your boundaries are. It might not be an enjoyable experience, but it will send you home with much to think about. It has the power to change the way you see the world, and your place in it. And if Tanz does fail to connect as an intense experience— well, that’s just one more way for the audience to sit and think about what we’re actually doing—and supporting—when we sit in our seats, enjoying a show.
“Munro gives the actors plenty to chew on, and with actors like Henshall, Morison and Vernel, it’s a pleasure to watch and listen”
Mary is another play in the series of dramas about Scottish history by Rona Munro. They focus on the Stuart dynasty of the kings of Scotland, and begin with James I. These earlier plays, known collectively as The James Plays, were seen both on tour in Scotland, and at the English National Theatre in 2014, to well deserved acclaim. They provide the backstory for Mary, the current play in the series, but all the plays are meant to seen as stand alone dramas as well. This production of Mary, directed by Roxana Silbert, has a strong cast in Douglas Henshall as the Catholic Sir James Melville, Rona Morison as Agnes, a fiercely Knoxian brand of Protestant, and Brian Vernel as a politically naive guard named Thompson. Mary Stuart herself makes a couple of brief, but memorable appearances (a poised debut by newcomer Meg Watson). The austere lines of the set and costume designs (Ashley Martin-Davis), and the vivid lighting (Matt Haskins) are an appropriate contrast to the catastrophic events that lie at the heart of the reimagined events of Rona Munro’s play.
Mary is of course, about Mary, Queen of Scots, that well known, tragic figure of any number of romantic novels and movies about the Scottish queen and her rival, Elizabeth I of England. Munro’s version of Mary’s story doesn’t focus on the rivalry between queens, as Schiller’s does. In Munro’s hands, Mary Stuart’s story is altogether a much grittier, and more violent drama. It’s about the tragedy of a woman caught up in a vicious power struggle between warring factions at the Scottish court. The battle is literally fought on Mary’s body. Interestingly, Munro chooses to tell this story not through Mary’s voice, but through the voices of some minor characters at her court.
Munro’s drama opens the way it means to go on — on a scene of violence. A man lies on stage, bloody from a stab wound. Melville, the Queen’s devoted supporter, is trying to get him and his blood, out of the way before Mary sees him. Because “she’s been frightened enough already.” But Thompson wants the Queen to see what “he” has done to him. Melville calls in a servant, Agnes, to clean him up. It turns out that “he” is James Bothwell, suspected assassin of the Queen’s husband, Henry Darnley. Bothwell is in the middle of a rampage. Over the course of a few months, he will leave no one in Scotland untouched by his rapaciousness for blood and power. One of Bothwell’s most potent weapons is sexual assault. And as Mary proceeds, Melville is forced to confront his complicity in standing by while Bothwell rapes his Queen. He is also forced to make an impossible choice between his loyalty to Mary, and his loyalty to his country. In these tumultuous times, there is no distinction between the “body politic” and the Queen’s actual body. In seizing the Queen, Bothwell has seized power. It doesn’t seem to matter whether people believe Mary was raped or was a willing partner with Bothwell. Everything comes crashing down.
As a play, Mary works its magic with a mix of punchy and oddly modern dialogue, and genuinely heartfelt moments between the well-defined characters. Munro gives the actors plenty to chew on, and with actors like Henshall, Morison and Vernel, it’s a pleasure to watch and listen. The distinctive rhythms of the Scottish dialect heighten the emotions as these three struggle for power. But for all the drama of Melville’s anguished conscience, Mary ends on a cliffhanger. It feels like part of a series, and not a true standalone drama. Mary is really the Sir James Melville story. Maybe Munro will find time to write another play about Mary, Queen of Scots.
Mary may feel like a bit of an anomaly in The James Plays saga, but it fills in some essential details. If you’re a fan of the series, then you’ll want to see this play. So don’t miss Mary at the Hampstead, and start looking ahead to the next play in Rona Munro’s exceptional series about Scottish history, told from a Scottish perspective.
