As well as being the best-known (and the most prolific) British choreographer of his generation, Sir Wayne McGregor routinely creates enigmatic and thought-provoking work, especially when it is created on his own ensemble, Company Wayne McGregor. As in Deepstaria, McGregor’s brain-teasing goes beyond the movement of his dancers to absorb the whole theatrical process.
Experiencing Deepstaria evoked that familiar feeling from so many previous first encounters with McGregor’s cerebral concepts. It’s a mixture of awe, deep thought and vacillation as my mind see-saws from “I get it” to “I don’t get it” from one moment to the next.
The two constants that can always be relied upon in any work by McGregor are the outstanding quality and variety of his quasi-classical and contemporary movement, and that it is articulated by an ensemble comprising some of the best dancers on the planet. And it is the mystery of the planet that has once again stirred McGregor’s little grey cells (if it’s not the earth, then it’s the universe), and in particular the deepest recesses of the oceans, represented through the transparent, envelope-like jellyfish that provides the title of this work. Deepstaria may be a creature from the depths of the ocean but it’s a name that also has the aura of inter-planetary science fiction, both of which aptly summarise McGregor’s predilection with the mysteries of deep and dark space.
Innovation comes in the marriage of Theresa Baumgartner’s extraordinary lighting and the Spartan set, designed by Benjamin Males, which is coated with a material manufactured by Vantablack Vision. This technology absorbs most of the light to replicate the blackness of the deep depths of the ocean in which the large deepstaria exist. Never has the black box been so black!
Baumgartner’s diverse lighting designs switch impact frequently: it opens with two pyramids of light framing a recessed box in which a duet takes shape (rather like a painting being brought to life); there are dramatic switches to side lighting and a sudden change to a warm blue glow; and from time-to-time penetrating light shines into the audience (one of my pet hates since the only time light should be beamed into my eyes is at the optician). The best moments came when rapid slivers of light projected down onto the stage as a very effective imitation of rain pouring down onto Naia Bautista’s solo (the treated stage also seemed to suggest it was retaining water that was non-existent).
If I found the visual effects to be generally impressive, the aural impact was much less satisfying. I get that the organic sounds reflected the mysteries of the natural environment that the work sought to evoke and there were certainly moments where the sound design by Nicolas Becker and LEXX (utilising something called Bronze AI, a digital tool that enables recorded music to vary in an ever-evolving way) added to the holistic theatrical effect, such as pulsating heartbeats linked to gradually intensifying electronic music. Elsewhere, I recall sounds like sweeping the carpet and a booming klaxon (that brought back memories of the sound Vincenzo Lamagna employed in Akram Khan’s Giselle to signal the raising of the factory wall).
The nine excellent dancers switched costumes – designed by Ilaria Martello – twice during the work, beginning with simple activewear of black pants and midriff-revealing tops, then into off-white trousers and shirts, finishing with garments made of Japanese organza that impressively mimicked the luminous sheen of the jellyfish. For a large part of the work, dancers appeared singly, in duets and trios and it was only in the later stages that the whole ensemble was frequently together on stage.
Before I read about the jellyfish motif, I had already discerned underwater imagery. In one late sequence where the dancers played with the light, a small group assembled their hands into a circle, opening and closing like a sea anemone (a relation of the jellyfish) and in another episode dancers were rooted to the spot while their bodies wavered like plants attached to a coral reef.
At 70 minutes’ duration, Deepstaria seemed longer. Because the concept is so multi-layered and requires continual concentration to absorb, it’s not dance that can simply be left to flow over one’s senses, it’s far too cerebral for that. Both people I spoke to afterwards complained that their attentiveness waned long before the end, which is a shame because the beguiling solo by Rebecca Bassett-Graham that closed the work was a sensational treat.
I am not one for wanting interruptions to the flow of the dance, but I think Deepstaria would benefit from an interval since this would clear the mind and split this marathon of concentration into two more manageable sprints. The first costume change would seem to provide the ideal opportunity for a much-needed break, which would further boost the appreciation of a visually striking and thought-provoking work.
