Tanztheater des Staatstheaters Darmstadt more than lived up to the dance theater portion of their name on Friday night with artistic director Lin Mei-hong’s (林美虹) Schwanengesang (Swan Song) at the National Theater.
It was a brilliant piece of theater, even though the number of strangulations was exceedingly high for a dance production, and some of the scenes will surely give viewers nightmares for months to come. Forget Giselle, with its “mad” scene and vengeful Willis, Lin has conjured up a gothic horror tale of love, obsession, madness and death that will be hard to beat — all the more amazing for being performed by a cast of just 15 dancers. George Rodenbach’s novel Bruges-la-Morte may have been published in 1892, but at its heart is a tale for the ages, and Lin’s choreography gave it a very modern edge.
Most of the dancers played multiple roles, beginning as doppelgangers to the protagonist Hugo (danced by Simone Deriu) and his wife Marie (danced by Andressa Miyazato), dressed in identical suits for the men and a platinum, 1930s permed wig and a spaghetti-strap, long slip dress for the women. It was hard to tell who was who, and that was the point. The story of Hugo’s obsessive love for his dead wife could have been about any one of them, or all of us. The 10 dancers who were not the leads also performed as a flock of nuns, then swans and then demons — some of them must have been changing costumes right in the wings.
The other three leads were also exceptional: Tatiana Marchini as Hugo’s housekeeper Barbe, whose devotion turns to unrequited passion; the long-limbed Eszter Kozar as Mariette — the Marie look-alike who Hugo becomes besotted with — and especially Laszlo Kocisis as the specter of the dead Marie. Each time Kocisis appeared in his Kabuki-white body paint and slip dress, with a long grayish clump of hair trailing down one side of his head, he would tiptoe on, arms upraised as if posing for a Grecian urn drawing, looking somewhat lost. Then his torso would contract, the arms would tilt awkwardly and his face contort — you could see Marie’s body decaying with every move he took. The black-robed and hooded Bengt Ekerot may have created an indelible impression as Death in Ingmar Bergman’s The Seventh Seal, but Kocsis has created an image that will be hard for anyone who sees him to forget.
Thomas Gruber, who did the staging and costumes, designed a deceptively simple set that was little more than a large black platform that took up most of the stage, with a narrow strip of a canal in front of it, a large wardrobe that doubled as a door front and a bench for the judge from hell, noose-like bell pulls and a panel of lilies that hugged one side of the proscenium.
The edgy, jazz score was by Michael Erhad.
As a choreographer, Lin appears to be at the height of her powers. She has created a very dark work, but the darkness never overwhelms the audience, and at Schwanengesang’s core are some amazingly beautiful duets and solos.
Lin has been artistic director of the Tanztheater des Staatstheaters Darmstadt since 2004 — and at the Dortmund theater for five years before that — and it’s hard to believe it has taken so long to bring this terrific Taiwanese choreographer and her company to Taiwan. Given the economics and scheduling of dance companies and Darmstadt’s commitments at home, it may be too much to hope that the company could make an annual trip to Taipei. But there should be a law that Lin and crew have to come back at least every two years.
In the March 9 edition of the Taipei Times a piece by Ninon Godefroy ran with the headine “The quiet, gentle rhythm of Taiwan.” It started with the line “Taiwan is a small, humble place. There is no Eiffel Tower, no pyramids — no singular attraction that draws the world’s attention.” I laughed out loud at that. This was out of no disrespect for the author or the piece, which made some interesting analogies and good points about how both Din Tai Fung’s and Taiwan Semiconductor Manufacturing Co’s (TSMC, 台積電) meticulous attention to detail and quality are not quite up to
April 21 to April 27 Hsieh Er’s (謝娥) political fortunes were rising fast after she got out of jail and joined the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) in December 1945. Not only did she hold key positions in various committees, she was elected the only woman on the Taipei City Council and headed to Nanjing in 1946 as the sole Taiwanese female representative to the National Constituent Assembly. With the support of first lady Soong May-ling (宋美齡), she started the Taipei Women’s Association and Taiwan Provincial Women’s Association, where she
Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) Chairman Eric Chu (朱立倫) hatched a bold plan to charge forward and seize the initiative when he held a protest in front of the Taipei City Prosecutors’ Office. Though risky, because illegal, its success would help tackle at least six problems facing both himself and the KMT. What he did not see coming was Taipei Mayor Chiang Wan-an (將萬安) tripping him up out of the gate. In spite of Chu being the most consequential and successful KMT chairman since the early 2010s — arguably saving the party from financial ruin and restoring its electoral viability —
It is one of the more remarkable facts of Taiwan history that it was never occupied or claimed by any of the numerous kingdoms of southern China — Han or otherwise — that lay just across the water from it. None of their brilliant ministers ever discovered that Taiwan was a “core interest” of the state whose annexation was “inevitable.” As Paul Kua notes in an excellent monograph laying out how the Portuguese gave Taiwan the name “Formosa,” the first Europeans to express an interest in occupying Taiwan were the Spanish. Tonio Andrade in his seminal work, How Taiwan Became Chinese,
RSS