A Twitter Commentary for O Vertigo

There was a lot of screaming.

Tonight I went to see O Vertigo - a DanceHouse presentation of their very famous piece called La Chambre Blanche (The White Room).  Founded in 1984, O Vertigo is devoted to new dance creation and performing the repertoire of works conceived by its founder Ginette Laurin.  The company has toured extensively from its home base of Montreal.

 

TWITTER COMMENTARY FOR YOU:

Yay! The Dancehouse publicist said I can sit in the balcony and do a Twitter review for Plank! So exciting!

Ah yes - official permission obtained! I will be the only person in the theatre with my cellphone on! Watch out dance fans - here we go!

Stage has a foreboding looking room... Despite the title of La Chambre Blanche, it looks more grey than white.

Hope that 84% iPhone power gets me through the show... Clapping begins for the intro by Jim Smith & Barb Clausen.

They are promoting the new 2011-2012 season - there are four DanceHouse shows planned. You can check them out online at your leisure.
 
I hear the dancers walk in, the black descents and whispers begin.
 
Sounds of water running and a woman enters.
 
A man approaches - he appears to hit her repeatedly.
 
Then she falls into his arms... She screams and the room lights up to show others also in white underwear.
 
I realize yet again that dancers' bodies look different than most people.
 
Why the black shoes with white underwear?
 
The white room is a cross between a vampiric mansion and a British prison.
 
Suddenly they've found black clothing. They slowly slowly pull on the cloth. Percussion grows louder.
 
Nonsense sounds are emanating from the dancers' throats - their desperation is frantic.
 
77% on iPhone
 
I can't tell what they want. If anything.
 
The music slows and the muttering quiets. In dim light, 2 dancers seek for grace. Others laugh quietly.
 
Tittering and gasping. They watch and a 2nd man joins the first to twirl one woman round and round.
 
Lights come up in the room. The sound of a cell closing. I notice all the female dancers are now wearing white ballet shoes - magic.
 
The movement is sharp and all about the breath. Though they speak no words, even the sounds seem French not English.
 
The room is stunning - I am creeped out by the sheer strength of the walls closing closing in
 
A woman is talking to the wall - begging really. Another lifted up; they look like caged crazies. I am not sure anyone should let them out.
 
Three try to help one climb out... They fail. It stinks of failure and attempts attempts attempts.
 
Fade to black - a light in the exit to the room. Then the dancers re-enter in bunny masks. Huh.
 
Upside down dancers doing handstands and wearing bunny ear masks are funny.
 
A duet of two. Others enter slowly and look away. A woman screams:
 
Four women move in the space - they seem assured. Like four Helena Bonham-Carters.
 
I wonder if this has an intermission - seems like it should not. Three men onstage - but none look like Johnny Depp. Pity.
 
 
The music pounds and pings - the dancers run side to side to side. They encounter walls at every turn.
 
Still not sure what the bunny ear masks were about.
 
One woman centre stage - no sound, then loud loud breathing. She holds herself so still, then slowly raises her arms. Release of breath.
 
Sorry for delay. Usher told me to turn off, said "You're lighting up like a Xmas tree.".
 
Turned iPhone off as told. Lost my rhythm. Sulked.
 
Pulled out paper and pencil. Can't see what I'm writing.
 
Now the dancers look like zombie lovers. Very Catalyst Theatre Frankenstein-esque.
 
Can't read anything I wrote on next page until the end - why don't the men scream?
 
I wonder if someone complained. Could the light from my phone have bothered the dancers? They seem oblivious of anything beyond the stage.
 
Have to go the usher is clearing me out of the theatre.
 
Overall - an interesting experience - clearly need refinement of my getting permission techniques.
 
Show on tomorrow at 8pm at playhouse if you wanna see for yourself. No twittering tho.

 

By Allyson McGrane