Frisson: a sudden, passing sensation of excitement; a
shudder of emotion; thrill – something I was not expecting when I sat down to
the Anjali Dance Company’s production of ‘Genius’. The company comprised of
performers with various learning disabilities whose goal it is to break the stereotypes
and perceptions of people with such disabilities through performance. Given the
opportunity, their creativity and talent was allowed to shine through in the
most amazing ways, and created the aforementioned ‘frisson’. Their unique and,
often times, haunting use of sound, staging, and bodily interaction in ‘Genius’
created a professional performance that gave me chills.
In the brief first half, the six performers, all pale-faced,
dressed in black, and gloved in blood, performed an amusing rendition of the
big screen’s Nosferatu. Each would enter a small section of the stage,
surrounded by iridescent tinsel curtains, to an eerily rising note, and perform
their simple sketch (often involving bloodsucking) before exiting as the sound
cut out. The repetition of the sketches felt very much like film takes, the
pattern only broken when part of the curtain was accidentally pulled down,
creating a break in the wall of indistinct silhouettes that stood on the other
side.
For the second half, however, a contemporary rendition of
the life of Beethoven was performed. This utilised stage lighting, voiceover,
and the music of Mozart (and, of course, Beethoven himself) for dramatic
effect. Since none of the performers ever spoke, all their emotion had to be
conveyed through body language, thus the music became their conductor:
reaching, holding one another, falling, and crawling across the floor. Scenes
of performance and death featured heavily, the one slowly bleeding into the
other, so that a celebratory effusion of white roses became a delicate cascade
of red petals onto a fallen body. It was such poetry in motion that I felt
myself tearing up a little. The grandeur of Beethoven’s music which made me
realise just how perfect this story was for the stage – as well as why the
protagonist of Anthony Burgess’s A
Clockwork Orange got such a kick out of the music. I had those beautifully
intense and melancholic compositions to thank for several moments of frisson.
Of course, this whole thing would not have been possible
without the co-ordinated efforts of the six performers. True to the company’s
aim, they danced with a grace and dedication which belied any previously held
beliefs one might have had about those with Down’s syndrome, autism, or other
learning disability. They exuded an energy which never seemed to fail, a
personality which engaged with their characters and struck a balance between
humour and solemnity which kept the pacing fresh. Knowing this was a life
story, it undoubtedly had to end. However, the final laying to rest of Ludwig
van Beethoven, clutching a small bouquet of white flowers, was no less desired
than the fact that it signalled the end of the show.
I wish Anjali Dance Company all the best with their future
performances!
