WHERE ARE THE SHOWS: Review: Wolves & Selves
When I see a dance show, I always maintain that the most important thing is that I leave with something to ponder. An image, an impression, a moment that made me say “huh.” I don’t need to “get” every scene of the piece, I don’t need a complete through line (although that certainly helps). I just need something to gnaw on for a while after I leave. Wolves & Selves was one of these shows. It’s full of images, impressions, and memorable little gems of information, even if the overall thrust of the piece is not always clear.
Created by Andréa de Keijzer and Erin Robinsong, the show begins before it begins. As we enter the venue of Bain St. Michel (an old pool in the Mile End that has been drained and converted into a venue), we are given two things: A program and a balloon. The back side of the program has a large number, under which is written a single word. We are instructed that when our number appears during the performance, we are to say our word. The balloons are tied around our wrists, and the effect is quite beautiful: each audience member enters the performance space with their single balloon floating along beside them.
Photo credit: Derek Barnes
The stage is set with a pile of numbered cards and a cluster of white balloons. The piece begins in earnest with Robinsong onstage alone, wearing a sparkly shirt and strange cone-shaped shoulder pads, slowly twisting from side to side. She is joined almost immediately by de Keijzer, in matching costume, and they make a slow pass of long lunges around the stage before exiting the side of the pool as the lights dim. Simultaneously, the pile of numbered papers suddenly comes to life and we realize that they are connected by an invisible thread, which eventually pulls them offstage. This initial tableau is perhaps a bit unclear and too fast, but no matter; we are still absorbing the newness of the space, our balloons and the dancers.
They re-enter from the back of the stage, wearing rubber animal masks: a pig for de Keijzer and a horse for Robinsong. But the masks are backwards, so we see the faces of the masks but the backs of the dancers. The two begin to take exaggerated “power poses”: hands on hips, flexing of biceps, etc. Eventually they turn their masks around and face us, and with a change in music, begin dancing the Charleston. It’s light and funny, but it’s also bizarre because of a voiceover that asks questions like “Did you know that a man once buried his savings on an island? When he dug it up, the money was growing mold. Did you know that banks don’t accept money with mold on it?” This is one of those “huh” moments in the piece; there is more here than meets the eye, perhaps.
Photo credit: Derek Barnes
After this, the masks come off and the performers move into a beautiful, weighted duet where de Keijzer is often supporting Robinsong. They dance well together, and we feel the fullness and directness of their movements. Eventually they end up seated downstage centre, where they are lit by a flood light. They perform increasingly frantic arm gestures in this seated position. Meanwhile, stage manager Frédéric Wiper walks onstage with a large make-shift spear and pops several of the balloons in the set piece. As he leaves, de Keijzer stands up and says, “So this is my question: Why does money pierce our hearts so deeply?” The lights go black, and we are left wondering.
Later in the piece, Robinsong brings on a stack of numbered papers. We all know what is coming. She begins to show one card at a time, in the manner of flash cards, and audience members recite their words: “We’ll” (which I initially interpret as “wheel”). “Who.” “For.” “Knows” etc. Eventually, the flashcards are in such an order that the audience slowly dictates a short phrase that suddenly invokes another “huh” moment. Suddenly we hear It’s Now or Never, performed by Elvis Presley, and Robinsong begins gathering the papers. The solo becomes more aggressive and soon she is ripping and gnawing on them. De Keijzer brings the sheets over to Wiper, who inserts them into a paper shredder. The dancers perform a reprise of some of the movements from the earlier weight-sharing duet to a soundtrack of static, piano notes and the sound of the shredder.
Photo credit: Derek Barnes
The mood shifts as de Keijzer tells us that there is a helium shortage and that this might be one of the last helium dances ever, so to listen carefully. She leads us through a series of gestures with our balloons, with Robinsong demonstrating. This ends with the inevitable popping of the balloons (safety pins are provided). This section gets a number of laughs, because of the performers’ deadpan expressions and de Keijzer’s sing-song instructions. As the balloons pop, de Keijzer takes on an exaggerated expression of surprise, with her fingers in the corners of her mouth to exaggerate her facial expression. Lit from below by the flood light, she takes the mood from hilarious to grotesque in moments, and suddenly she is screaming and ripping all her clothes off. She lies down nude at stage left as Robinsong begins to play a beautiful and plaintive note on a stringed instrument. De Keijzer makes a slow pass across the stage, sliding on her back, making small arm gestures. She then smears some sort of liquid on her front and lies down on her belly in front of Robinsong, who is seated upstage right. De Keijzer reaches her arms and legs out and takes on a snarling expression, which immediately evokes an image of a bear skin rug, especially as Robinsong places her feet on de Keijzer’s back.
Robinsong begins reading a set of cards with inscriptions such as “Happy Birthday to my favourite nephew.” A poignant moment occurs when she opens one card, hesitates, and then puts it aside without reading it. Eventually de Keijzer stands up, and her front is covered in tufts of brown fur. We realize that the liquid she applied to herself earlier is some sort of adhesive, and the image of her nudity (self) and the fur (wolf) is clear as the lights fade.
Photo credit: Derek Barnes
Wolves & Selves is filled with images, some beautiful, some grotesque, and some that pass us by without sticking. These images have stayed with me and have certainly provided some food for a hungry wolf/self.
Wolves & Selves @ Bain St-Michel (5300 rue St. Dominique)
Sun. June 17 @ 15h30
Mon. June 18 @ 18h00
Wed. June 20 @ 20h30
Thur. June 21 @ 23h45
Sun. June 24 @ 18h00