Bartabas : Golgota
Choreography : Bartabas (equestrian) and Andrés Marín
Music : Tomás Luis de Victoria
Andrés Marín, dancer
Cécil Gallois, counter-tenor
Adrien Mabire, cornet
Marc Wolff, lute/theorbo
To be honest, I'm not sure where to begin with this one, and the best way for anyone reading this to get an idea of the show I saw tonight might well be to take a look at YouTube, though the results will mostly be in French. Because how do you describe, never mind review, a broodingly slow meld of equestrianism, modern dance, flamenco, early music and (apart from the music) near-silent theatre?
For those who don't recognise the name, Bartabas is the stage name of the French horse trainer Clément Marty, who created the Cirque Zingaro back in the mid-80s in order to perform what, at the time, was called "equestrian cabaret". Zingaro could be considered, after a fashion, the equestrian equivalent of Cirque du Soleil, in their adventurous combination of equine acrobatics, theatre, music and dance. However, in more recent years, Bartabas has also staged more intimate, individual shows, under his own name rather than that of the troupe, and Golgota is the latest of such, in collaboration with the contemporary flamenco dancer Andrés Marín.
As the show's title suggests, it abounds with intense religious imagery, from flagellants to penitents, swinging censers and solemn processionals. One aspect is the impression of dialogue between man and horse, but my impression was mostly of a series of reflections on the historical relations of the Spaniards to their church, at its darkest and most oppressive. For the first thing that struck me was that, faced with a stage heavily carpeted with black sand, how was a flamenco dancer going to express himself deprived of the essential percussive element of his art? Marín displayed an impressive degree of ingenuity, on the whole, but his figure repeatedly came across as frustrated, not to say tortured, and even more so when the movement was set to Victoria's still and serene motets, elegantly performed (live, which was particularly welcome) by Cécil Gallois.
As for the horses (you only ever see one at a time, though there are four in the show) they seem above it all, beautiful, stately, alien observers, impartial, maybe faintly amused, if such a thing is possible. I certainly wouldn't know if the yawning (or what looked like it) seen in the opening number was accidental, or trained behaviour, not without seeing the show repeatedly. However, the last image lingers; a horse rolls playfully in the sand for a moment before the back lights rise to reveal a cross, from the rear, a body suspended from it, and at its foot, a mourner squatting, at which point the horse gets up and walks over to the mourner to nudge gently at him in apparent sympathy.
One malcontent in Vaison-la-Romaine's Antique Theatre, midway through the show, called out "Remboursez!" ("Give us our money back!"), which found a few echoes of sympathy in the audience. I don't know if he was expecting more dancing, or more horsemanship, and there were clearly those present disconcerted by the moody atmosphere and very deliberate pacing of the show. It does have its longueurs, but also its moments of genuine inspiration.
[Next : 2nd August]
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