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Compagnie Burn Out in Jann Gallois’s “Quintette.” Photo by and copyright Laurent Philippe and courtesy Maison de la Danse.
Par /by Anne-Charlotte Schoepfer
Copyright 2018 Anne-Charlotte Schoepfer
(Published in French and in English, you’ll find the first paragraphs of both versions below. For the complete versions — in both languages — and more photography, subscribers please e-mail firstname.lastname@example.org . Not already a subscriber? Subscribe with PayPal for just $29.95/year by designating your PayPal payment to email@example.com, or write us at that address to find out how to subscribe by check. Subscribers get full access to the Dance Insider & Arts Voyager’s 20-year Archive of more than 2000 exclusive reviews by 150 critics of performances and art from five continents, plus the Jill Johnston Letter.)
BRON (Rhône-Alpes), France — “Quintette”, vu le 1er mars, c’est l’histoire de cinq personnes, de cinq êtres humains qui se rapprochent, se décrochent ; s’entendent et se déchirent… Dans cette pièce de 50 minutes présentée à Pôle en Scène (Bron) dans le cadre du festival Sens Dessus Dessous de la Maison de la danse de Lyon, la jeune chorégraphe Jann Gallois a exploré toutes les facettes de l’accrochage et du décrochage par le mouvement. En fait, elle traverse le fait de laisser son égo de côté et de s’entendre ensemble ou alors bien au contraire de se mettre en avant et de tomber dans la dispute et la cacophonie totale. On passe alors par des moments très fluides et très doux à des moments très saccadés dans le corps et très bruyants par la voix….
BRON (Rhône-Alpes), France — “Quintette,” seen March 1, is the story of five people who come together, break apart, sympathize with each other and rend each other asunder. In the 50-minute piece, presented at the Pôle en Scène as part of the Sens Dessus Dessous festival organized by the Maison de la Danse in nearby Lyon, the emerging choreographer Jann Gallois explores every facet of connecting and disconnecting (in French, ‘accrochage’ and ‘décrochage’) with movement. As the dance develops, Gallois explores what happens when one abandons the ego, or, by contrast, elbows everyone else out of the way, leaving the ensemble to collapse into disaccord and complete cacophony. We thus careen between fluid and gentle passages and staccato jumps and starts punctuated with explosive vocal eruptions….
Emilie Sudre in Anthony Egea’s “Soli 2.” Photo © & courtesy Jean-Jacques Mahé.
By Paul Ben-Itzak
Copyright 2009, 2016 Paul Ben-Itzak
(Originally published May 27, 2009.)
PANTIN (Seine-Saint-Denis), France — Apparently to goose his party’s standing for the June 7 European Parliamentary elections, French president Nicolas Sarkozy just announced he’s going to send a couple hundred more police over here to this department (as French counties are called) on the outskirts of Paris to take back several areas which in his view have been over-run by gangs. I have a better idea: Instead of simply squashing all that youthful energy, how about re-channelling it into constructive, creative activities and ends? I propose sending those young citizens over to the Centre National de la Danse. Even if, when one enters its newish, somewhat cold concrete building on the banks of the Ourcq canal just outside the Paris perimeter, it may seem more like a library or hushed sanctuary than a place where dance students flock to get their technique pushed and dance fans to seek inspiring performances.
Justement, as the French say, it occurs to me that the audience at the CND May 27 for the opening of Anthony Egea’s putatively hip-hop solo “Soli 2” was predominantly white (the youth in Seine-Saint-Denis are predominantly colored, French of North African or other African descent) and, except for the kid two seats over from me who finally stopped squirming when the dancer Emilie Sudre took off her top (tastefully — her back was to us for most of this segment, and more about that beautiful back in a minute), predominantly older. And considering that this was a hip-hop solo and the lady was busting to move, markedly sedate. (Sometimes at the CND, I feel more like I’m in a science laboratory than in what is theoretically in part a national hub of experimentation for an art vivant; no hubbub here, bub!) But what if a bunch of those excitable youth from all over Seine-Saint-Denis were bussed over to the CND?
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