Fri 13 Feb: Ruth Polden, Rose Ryan and Nick Pile, Paul Davidson and Noah Meteau

Ruth Polden, Rose Ryan and Nick Pile Boundaries Pushed

Paul Davidson Same Shirt, Different Day

Noah Meteau Still blind, let me see

The puff of a cigarette, the clicking of a typewriter, and the flickering of a candle punctuate this slinky and sinuous work choreographed by Noah Meteau. Based on the Wong Kar-Wai film, In the Mood for Love, Still Blind,let me see possesses a deeply cinematic quality. Throughout the work, the audience is treated to a series of tableaus that are paired with dynamic phrase work in the foreground. While the work is quite filmic, it sacrifices a compelling narrative structure in favour of a mesmerising aesthetic.

Comedically gestural, Same Shirt, Different Day attempts to explore the grind of a corporate job. This trio of dancers, all clad in the same white button-down shirt and black tie, “fall asleep” on the job and dream of a world away from the shackles of their office chairs and MacBooks. Projections of a forest, the ocean, and even a pub propose alternative landscapes outside of the office for the dancers to explore. They frolic through fields, surf waves, and jam out to techno music in this other reality. While the commentary isn’t exactly the most nuanced, the earnestness of the performers is palpable throughout the work.

A trio of dancers, dressed in all white, step into the spotlight as they gently rediscover their own bodies in a minimalistic and yet deeply evocative opening to the final work of the evening, Boundaries Pushed. The energy of the work escalates until the three dancers are seamlessly moving across the stage, weaving around each other, and celebrating the joy of moving together. Performed and choreographed by Ruth Polden, Rose Ryan, and Nick Pile, Boundaries Pushed sets out to challenge preconceptions about over-60s dancers. Yet, what emerges is a tender, joyous, and vulnerable work that highlights the deep connection between the three dancers.

Morgan Holder

I’ve never seen Wong Kar-wai’s In the Mood for Love, but I’m reliably informed it has enjoyed a resurgence in popularity among young indie film enthusiasts. Choreographer Noah Meteau is evidently one of them, his quartet Still Blind, Let Me See taking inspiration from the 2000 cult classic. Its moody, cinematic scenes of sharp-suited businessmen and their wives lighting cigarettes and taking illicit telephone calls beneath the glow of dim pendant lights are undeniable eye candy, yet this visual allure takes precedence over movement-based storytelling. Aside from an impassioned kiss—lips separated by a sheet of paper—between the two female performers, there are few climactic moments, the theme of forbidden love barely piercing through the aesthetic haze.

There’s no mistaking the meaning behind Paul Davidson’sSame Shirt, Different Day, which meditates on “the 9 to 5 trap most of us operate in.” Dressed in office wear and seated behind laptops, three performers pantomime to children's TV show-esque accompaniment, signalling their frustration, boredom, and desk-chair-induced neck pain with an impressively committed array of caricatured expressions. After they fall asleep, projections of lapping seas and lush forests appear, triggering the cast to relax into yogic breathing and luscious swimming motions. That is until they’re all siloed into separate “home office” spotlights that they dramatically attempt to break free from. It’s all incredibly literal, leaving little room for surprise or interpretation.

Ruth Poden, Rose Ryan, and Nick Pile somewhat do themselves a disservice with their programme note for Boundaries Pushed. By focusing solely on the fact that they are all over 60 and framing the work as a political statement about older bodies on stage, they almost prime the audience to lower their expectations. That shouldn’t be the case: the three of them are captivating as they dart across the stage, sliding in and out of the floor, colliding like gaseous particles, and sweeping one another up into soaring lifts. Themes of ageing surface—at one point, they caress, pinch, and trace their bodies as if coming to terms with their changing forms—yet once in full flow, any notions of age dissolve. What remains are three engaging, sensitive performers: not “mature dancers,” but dancers, full stop.

Emily May