There are choreographers and there are choreographers; and then there is Wayne McGregor. Other members of his profession are generally inspired by music, a narrative (usually pre-existing as a novel, play or film) or emotions. What puts McGregor in a field of his own is an enquiring intellect that finds inspiration extending far beyond the norm, incorporating science, technology, philosophy and (here in Autobiography) the human genome.
Underpinning all of this is a movement style that is distinctly all of his own and despite his pledge of allegiance to the work of Merce Cunningham there is little in his choreography that can be said to be derivative of Cunningham. This said, Autobiography – a work that first surfaced in 2017 – comes close to Cunningham in concept, if not in movement.
Cunningham and his close musical collaborator and partner, John Cage, famously employed chance – usually through the roll of a dice – to make key artistic choices for a performance and McGregor follows suit with this work, using modern technology to make the choices such that no two performances of Autobiography will ever be the same. The work comprises 23 sections many but not all of which are randomly stitched together (although three are permanently in the same place) and chance also determines the activity of each dancer who must by definition understand every “role”. It also means that each performance is completely free of gender specificity and as I write this reflection on the evening, I cannot tell without looking at the programme how many dancers were he, she or they and Team McGregor makes one understand that it really doesn’t matter.
This performance was Autobiography (v95) and I was also booked to see the following evening (v96) and at first I was really looking forward to another opportunity to witness these extraordinary dancers performing extraordinary movement with flexibility and rotation that should not be possible from human hip joints and sockets. It was just one step short of the extraordinary hyper-flexibility that one might see from specialist performers in a Cirque du Soleil show or a cabaret contortionist act only these movement skills continued in layer after layer of activity for 80 minutes. But by the end I decided not to return.
The randomness of the connections, each of which has some relevance to McGregor’s own DNA (the 23 sections align with the 23 pairs of chromosomes in the human genome), take away an element of choreographic control. Even McGregor doesn’t know the order of the works prior to each show. So, the curation of solos, duets, trios, ensemble work etc is beyond his direct influence but in v95 it trundled along seamlessly, although the first occasion of a pure duet didn’t happen until deep into the programme.
It should go without saying that the dancers are phenomenal athletes, and the cool fluidity of their movement was often breath-taking. They were all superb and I was especially always drawn to the commanding presence of Jordan James Bridge and silky skills of ex-Rambert dancer Salomé Pressac (whose costume in the early sections seemed to have a tea towel hanging from her waist) and the imposing snow-blonde New Zealander, Rebecca Bassett-Graham who closed the show in a blurry, dreamy solo, still in progress as the curtain fell.
The stage is deliberately bare (I guess random set changes would be a step too far for the tech team) and so it’s the lighting changes, exquisitely designed and timed by Lucy Carter, that frame the performance. A lighting set hung high above the action and rose and fell according to the section, coming to rest on the stage in one episode.
Music is important to McGregor although generally not introduced into his creative process until late in the day and, here, he has worked with the Chicago-born electronic composer/musician, Jlin, and her score is remarkably eclectic, ranging from the gentle sounds of birdsong by a babbling brook to a throbbing bass-led electronic cacophony.
In spite of the randomness, there were much-needed intervals of quietude amongst the frenetic pace, including a moment of slow-motion walking and periods of darkness and silence. This latter was especially welcome since some of the noise levels of the work were close to being unbearable (and at one point I did seriously consider, for the first time in my career as a critic, leaving the auditorium). This came shortly after a period in which I thought someone was regularly touching my leg. I should be so lucky because, in fact, the excessively heavy bass caused so much vibration to the seats (and the bodies in them) that it provided that weird sensation of being touched!
To be blunt, I felt excluded by the excessive level of noise and this uncomfortable experience determined my decision not to return for v96.
