James Wilton Dance: Leviathan at The House, Plymouth University

I am unsure what drew me to want to watch Leviathan. Most likely it was the title, or the promise of a progressive rock soundtrack by an artist called Lunatic Soul, or maybe I just fancied another dramatic slice of entertainment. Whatever the case, Leviathan delivered on all counts. Choreographed by James Wilton, the cast of 6 performers re-enacted scenes inspired by Herman Melville’s Moby Dick through the medium of capoeira-esque dancing, while simultaneously examining the relationship between man and nature. It was a performance with a narrative of blind obsession and conflict, a desire to conquer the unconquerable. The five men portraying Ahab and his crew (or man and civilisation) danced in a symbiotic fashion, at times animalistic or violent in their moves, struggling against one another, lifting and throwing effortlessly. In one scene, they began to form a magnetic chain, hypnotically weaving and leaping around each other, yet not once did they break contact for more than a few seconds or become tangled, even with all five men linked together. Their only prop was a large quantity of rope which was used to excellent effect, pulled across the floor, wound round the dancers, and lifted in intricate patterns in an attempt to catch the whale. The singular woman of the company (Sarah Jane Taylor) played the part of the whale (or nature), her movements lithe and fluid, yet also contorted and spasmodic, never rising far from the floor. After a certain point, the crew dancers became whale dancers, no longer fighting but moving in sync with one another, helping to emphasize the scale of the whale, and tease Ahab with their elusiveness in scenes reminiscent of a tormenting nightmare. Their movements were always more gentle than the crew’s until the finale when they became more violent, chasing Ahab back again and again. All the while, the music built and dissipated with the energy of the story, a mix of pulsating tribal electronica, indie-style rock, and unsettling sound effects such as what I felt sounded like the hollow cries of a dying whale, or the ominous beat of its heart. It all contributed to building tension and enhancing an already taut atmosphere – made so by the bare stage and minimal lighting. Even the weather went towards setting the mood: a raging rain-storm at night. Returning home, I definitely felt the force of Nature at work as the roads were turned to rivers and Niagara might as well have been falling from the sky. 

Ocean's Changeling

I have been fortunate to attend a talk by the local Plymouth poet Caroline Carver twice now and both times, she posed writing exercises which produced, for me, some splendid results. This second is by far my favourite.

Didn't make much sense

until I was deeper in it than before;

until it had me deeper in it.

What could I do to escape?

It pulled so I pulled back,

it drew me in and I didn't like that.

Stop and think for just a heartbeat.

The fish tickle and tease,

tempt me deeper.

Can I really take that leap

or do I fight it again?

Big Blue throbs in his bones

the hollow rib rumble that vibrates

all the water around me

and his breath pushes the tide

in then out,

I am pulled

in then out

to the vacuum of his lungs.

I am hungry now,

starving, even,

but not for food,

no, air is my food

and I think I shall never

taste it again.

The depth keeps increasing,

the pulse slapping me awake,

then the pressure

anesthetizing.

Deeper my fish tail takes me

and now things do not see

they breathe the deep

and eat the dead

and they want me for their own.

With haunting teeth,

light asphyxiated,

life then no more,

I am no more

and yet better than before.

The surface isn't me

and I forsake it for good.

They call me sea serpent

siren of suicide,

but I starve, sink, sing

and suck at the guts

of the ocean floor.