First a dubious concept, then an undoubtable dancer

Redoubled
Singapore Dance Theatre http://www.singaporedancetheatre.com/
16 Oct 2008, Esplanade Theatre Studio
da:ns festival, Singapore

Dramaturgs like to wax intellectual about their role, but perhaps their biggest contribution to dance is preventing choreographers making clunking great errors of judgment when venturing into territory unknown. Jeffrey Tan, choreographer of Sometimes I Think I Remember, could have done with a good dramaturg.

From Jeffrey Tan's 'Sometimes I Think I Remember'. Image from Singapore Dance Theatre.

Tan’s work was a series of solos by a male protagonist, interspersed by chorus sections by the other dancers. Its non-dance elements – original video projection and text given in voice-over – came across as over-determined and sophomoric. There were also lots of overused tropes – man in a stretchy outfit pressing his face through the fabric towards the audience, man killing himself against a backdrop of shadowy figures chanting “Don’t do that!”, man lying in a spotlight in twitching agonised dreaming — that were presented without any essential development or innovation. Despite the obvious technical ability of the dancers, the work came across as adolescent.

There was one redemptive moment, however. Towards the beginning of the piece, four female dancers perform a section in synchronization. All flying hair and gorgeous extensions, the whirl of movement is elegant and hypnotic. Clearly Jeffrey Tan has a mature ability to manipulate movement, but needs guidance when working with other elements.

Kuek Swee Boon’s work, Pellucid, was notable for the extraordinary performance by SDT company dancer Chihiro Uchida. It is terrible to resort to objectification of the inscrutable Oriental, but in Uchida’s case I have little choice. With her mop of trendily cut hair hanging over her pixie face, her expressions were completely invisible, but her movements were so wonderfully easy that it did not seem possible that they were initiated by conscious thought; rather, they were purely impulsive, instinctive. This animal-like quality was compounded by the perfectly calculated nature of her movements. Every slide or lift that might, in lesser hands, have a wobble or a correction, flowed seamlessly with impeccable distribution of weight and placement. Even when one of the other dancers pushed her off her stool, her response did not seem predictable, but her tumble to the floor had the same quality as a falling cat which wriggles, quick as a flash, to land on its feet.

Chihiro Uchida in 'Pellucid'. Image from Singapore Dance Theatre.

This feline grace made her appear less real; as if she were one of those impossible elegant anime figures sporting little kitten ears. Had she started to fly, I would not have been surprised. Perched on her stool, another dancer handed her a glass of water, and she gazed into it, with the same vacant yet fixated attention with which a cat contemplates a tank of goldfish. Towards the end of the work, in a sudden rush towards the audience, her hair lifted, revealing a small frown, a look of concentration, but by then the damage was done – the illusion of her surreality could not be shattered.

Uchida’s style might not work for all pieces, but it certainly worked for this. Kuek’s work was a fine vehicle for her talents. Had I been one of the other dancers in the work I might have been frustrated by the focus given to Uchida. Or perhaps the chance to watch her perform this work, night after night, was reward enough.