The title of one of Natalia Osipova’s previous self-curated evenings was A Force of Nature, and this simple phrase sums up her stagecraft perfectly. She has always, since her very earliest appearances on stage, stood out for the sheer energy and commitment she shows in all her work; this, layered onto the virtuosic skills that come with a Russian training, plus the innate artistic sensibilities that made her Giselle so sublime, makes her truly unique.
Her current evening, simply titled Osipova/Linbury, could not fail to attract interest, opening as it does with Martha Graham’s Errand into the Maze, rarely seen in the UK. As expected, Osipova’s personality and approach produced an engaging and relatable account of a woman’s determination to overcome her greatest fear. We see her contemplating the project, preparing for it, enduring it and accomplishing it, all clearly portrayed through Martha Graham’s choreography, always perfectly judged. At Osipova’s very first rise onto demi-pointe I was struck by her insight into Graham’s from-the-core intentions, and as the piece progressed one could see Graham’s own breadth of movement reflected in Osipova’s. Marcelino Sambé’s athletic muscularity is ideally suited to the role of the Bull/Minotaur representing Fear, and even with the bulky headdress and character make-up, his charisma shone out as it always does.
Osipova’s interpretation of Ashton’s Five Brahms Waltzes in the Manner of Isadora Duncan is one of the greats, and now there is a film for posterity, with a creative concept by Grigory Dobrygin, who also directs. Filmed in an empty warehouse-like space at Alexandra Palace, on bare boards, it showcases the inner turmoil of the free spirit as Osipova runs and skips, turns and coils, and is a fitting tribute to Duncan, an idol of Ashton’s. Kate Shipway at the piano does Brahms proud.
I had no idea what to expect from The Exhibition, choreographed by Jo Strømgren, whose work I am not familiar with. His Wikipedia entry describes him as the artistic director of Jo Strømgren Kompani, a theatre company specialising in nonsensical languages, and describes his style as “peculiar”. On this evidence, that’s a good way of describing it, but it works! As the lights come up, we see a stage-dominating backcloth, a black-and-white photograph of the sea, with a red velvet rope barrier in front of it. Osipova enters, dressed fashionably in a pleated-back raincoat, wide trousers and heels, hair down, and proceeds to contemplate the picture.
Enter Christopher Akrill, dressed as her antithesis in a khaki parka, knitted woolly hat, sling bag across the chest, all rather dull and ordinary. Osipova, though, sees something in him, and starts to taunt him by continually blocking his view as he moves from bench to bench in an attempt to study the picture. When he protests she launches into a cascading torrent of Russian; he can only answer that he doesn’t understand a word she is saying. His remark “A foreigner – of course” reveals his shut-down, cut-off nature and his torment, the qualities Osipova has set her sights on investigating. Gradually, they evolve a way of communicating soul-to-soul, and he draws from her the story of her childhood, lost to abuse, as she perches on a pedestal against a backdrop of train tracks. In turn, she wrestles from him his long-ago cruelty to a cat, the remorse for which is perhaps the defining feature of his locked-in life since.
Dance, a universal language unimpeded by international barriers, expresses its very own nature in this piece. The choreography is straightforward and relatively unchallenging, reflecting the openness required to communicate human-to-human on a sincere, true level. The whole piece is utterly bonkers but wonderfully witty and charming with plenty of laughs, making it easy to engage with the deeper message.
Akrill is a highly accomplished dance-actor and his performance was delightful. Osipova was a revelation; the natural, confident way she delivered her dialogue made me think how wonderful she might be as a film actress, in the Elizabeth Taylor/Lana Turner mode. She has the face for it too.
