Cloud Gate Dance Theatre of Taiwan: Moon Water

Strange to say, but the more dance I see, the more I like dance that focuses less on performance and more on transcendence. I suppose I wouldn’t like to see, for example, a Shamanistic ritual onstage at the Playhouse Theatre, where I’d paid a substantial sum for my ticket unless it had really great aesthetics, but I’ll take some kind of soulful, interior journey made aesthetic over the impulse to perform for the sake of performing any day.  Cloud Gate Theatre’s Moon Water was the kind of show that was so finely crafted that it seemed to emerge naturally as Wordsworth’s spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings onto the stage, but that’s the irony. It was so well wrought that it appeared organic, as though even if the curtain were drawn, the dancers would still be behind it moving gracefully, languidly but with a precision that only comes of tremendous effort and attention to detail.

Moon Water was 70 minutes long, and there was not a minute or even a second during which the intention was dropped or when the energy of the dancers faltered. Although the movement was often slow, it was, at all times extremely demanding; the dancers had to be both strong and flexible, but they also all had a level of gracefulness that is rare and powerful.

The choreography of this piece draws a great deal on Tai Chi, and this was evident in the focus of the dancers as well as in the strong intent of the choreography that did not stray from its centre even slightly. The choreography was, throughout this show, extraordinarily fluid and managed to beautifully merge the litheness of ballet with the gravity of martial arts. Although this is a piece for a total of 17 dancers, there were, within the ensemble sections, solos and duets, all of which captivated with the same energy as the sections that incorporated large numbers of dancers.

All of the dancers were costumed in flowing white pants and beige tank tops for the women, while the men wore no shirts. This minimalism, along with the bare stage, decorated with only lights allowed for my attention to be drawn firmly in the direction of the evocative choreography. Part of what was so impressive about the choreography was Artistic Director, Lin Hwai-Min’s deft ability to use the slow pace of the work to create depth by fully articulating every gesture of every dancer. Not a head was tilted, or a wrist bent extraneously, but each movement was extended to its conclusion, stretching the meaning of both the bodies of the dancers and the movement itself. To successfully choreograph slowness is a tremendous feat, to do it so that there is sublime richness in the apparent minimalism is rare genius.

The combination of excellent dancing and the gorgeous choreography of Moon Water allowed for a stunning, yet meditative piece to emerge on the stage which was, toward the end of the piece, rapturously filled with water that the dancers moved through with skill, brining the choreography to a magical close, and leaving me breathless and choreographically replete.