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"ALL THE WAY OUT THERE..." BY METTE INGVARTSEN & GUILLEM DE MONT PALOL AT PERFORMATIK, BRUSSELS
By Pieter T’Jonck
The stage for All the way out there..., a performance by Mette Ingvartsen and Guillem de Mont Palol is dominated by a huge silver film screen. You hardly notice the black rectangular box on the right of the stage, nor the small mound of flaky, gold-colored metal slivers on the left. Soon, the spectators’ gaze is completely absorbed by the film that is projected. It shows images of a barren, desert-like rocky landscape, very much like the one you know from western movies. The effect is heightened considerably by the bright colors of the image. The heaven is stark blue, turning to a shimmering white at the horizon. The sun is burning mercilessly. The rocks have a deep yellowish color, here and there turning to deep ochre.
This image is more Technicolor than Technicolor ever was. As conspicuously western-style is the camera position: the film is shot with a wide-angle lens that enhances the overwhelming effect of the fantastic shapes the rocks have as well as it belittles the human presence in it. The landscape propels the dramatic effect, not the humans in it. Two persons pop up in this grandiose scenery. They are on their own, even if for one moment there is the suggestion that they are looking for each other when the man is putting his hands to his mouth to amplify the sound of his voice. The odd thing however is: you don’t hear his scream, as if he had lost his voice. The only sound is the sound of the landscape that becomes evident in the scraping of shoes over the gravelly soil. These solitary wanderers do meet however in the end. But not in the way one might expect: there is no sign of relief, nor a shootout or any other possible option the western genre offers. They just come across one another, and casually start following each other, disappearing out of the image frame to reappear on stage.
One other thing might strike one as a bit odd in the movie: the performers look sunburnt, the color of their skin turning almost pink. As the image is so saturated with color, you are tempted to think this is but an effect of the Technicolor image. When the performers enter the stage however, you discover that their skin is actually painted pink, which imparts them a freakish look they did not have at all in the movie. The medium totally affects (the meaning of) the message, indeed. From now on, they start acting according to their freakish look. Without any warning, they start screaming, yelling, hissing and screeching like two maniacs. They wave their arms about, wriggle their bodies and jump around like wild donkeys, not even respecting the border between audience and stage. Before you know, Ingvartsen is at a few steps from your seat, yelling and gesticulating like mad. Neither of them looks sorrowful or depressed however. If they seem possessed by spirits, these spirits are of a friendly nature. It is as if they were overtaken by joy or exhilaration so intense that it cannot be contained and is spreading all over their limbs and bodies.
The irony is hard to miss
Now and then, these two ecstatic creatures come to a sudden stop only to pick up their frenzied action more fully again, now discovering the objects on the stage. Ingvartsen is crawling over the floor, strewing the golden petals over her head, as if she had suddenly struck upon a gold vein. Mont de Palol is dancing and jumping on the black box in the meantime. The irony of this scene is hard to miss: it is as if the suggestion that we were watching a western before suddenly begets its theatrical translation. The golddiggers of the Wild West turning crazy when they are lucky. But this craziness is far beyond any convention of the western movies. It is almost beyond anything human. It is craziness as a pursuit in itself, independent of any storyline or logic. As pure compositional material.
That is the way the action eventually also ends. Exhausted by their silly feats, the performers slowly come to a stop, and sit down, watching the silver screen at the back of the stage. That is where they appear again. This time, there is no mistake possible. Having learned from the reality on stage, we immediately recognize their pink skin for what it is: a layer of paint transforming them from regular men into weird specimens of possibly human origin. However, the film image, if still showing a rocky landscape in extremely strong colors, is radically different now. You get a close-up of two faces, and none of the former sweeping landscapes. But more important: the image is disturbed. It is faltering and stuttering, as if one was watching a rapid succession of pictures rather than a movie.
This stuttering effect is however completely in sync with the yelling and screeching of the performers. But these sounds have not been left unaffected either. They have been cunningly edited into a stammering, wordless rap act, a kind of techno ska. The transition of the scenic material to the screen again succeeds in what the stage can only suggest: movement and sound becoming pure compositional stuff, getting beyond any conventional logic. It takes but a small effort to see these images functioning in a techno dance hall. It might be a worldwide hit. But for now, it certainly was an immensely exhilarating experience.
(2011-03-04)
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