‘It’s a mad world, my masters’, said playwright Thomas Middleton in the early seventeenth century and things haven’t improved much since. The thought came to me as I left the real world where innocent civilian lives are callously snuffed out by war, to walk past luxury shops displaying early Christmas glitter and on to the Zürich Opera House and a welcome revival of Marcos Morau’s Nachtträume (Night Dreams). In his devastatingly brilliant production, he lays bare the use and misuse of power, that potent addiction that continues to shape human destiny.
Despite the technical excellence of the Ballett Zürich dancers, there is no place for individual stars in this piece. Thirty-four dancers from first soloists to students join forces to become a body corporate, flexible, resourceful and expressive, with master showman Ruben Drole, as protagonist. Drole, a lead singer with Opera Zürich, is a force of nature: a sturdy masculine figure of authority, he sports a glittery Flamenco comb and wears a sequinned black frock of indeterminate shape and short enough to show his bare knees and sock suspenders. This versatility is replicated in his voice that covers the range from venom to anguish, rage to pleading and a laugh that terrifies with its total lack of mirth.
The house lights flicker ominously as Drole ascends from the pit to booming sounds from Clara Aguilar’s recorded score. ‘Love me’ he demands, ‘love me like dreams love the night. I have come to guide you in a dark night.’ And dark it is.
Every creative detail is right. The set, by Max Glaenzel, has no Green Table although Kurt Jooss’ masterwork was the initial inspiration. However, there is a circular table around which the corps assemble feeling they should have a voice. But the gathering soon descends into chaos as this is denied them. They appear later as headless, suited businessmen, filching the globe lights from the deco chandelier to place on their necks in the hope of enlightenment, as they parley to find a leader. However, this is another unsuccessful transitory phase that soon dissolves. The chandelier that takes centre stage is a dominant feature. It shifts up and down, dancers hang from it and Drole seems at times to be consumed by it. It even sports a halo of flashing red lights that give it extra-terrestrial pretentions. In a further sinister move a headless man now sports a CCTV camera in place of his head then forcefully removes it releasing a puff of smoke. The frightening, alternating with the comic and confusing, ensure that emotions are never at ease.
Morau is an unusual choreographer in that he has no background in dance study or performance and his virgin perspective on the art opens unique vistas. Nachtträume is total theatre and shows the imaginative heights that dance can reach when embodied in highly disciplined physical form. There is also something strangely reminiscent of Busby Berkley’s manipulation of dancers’ bodies, as tiers of dancers move in perfect unison. But this is a bleaker universe. The movements are questioning, the contact close but devoid of desire or humanity. Legs seem to be detachable and move with Barbie doll flexibility. The precision is breathtaking as a chaotic heap becomes a precision chorus line in seconds and props and furniture appear and disappear with magical effect. High praise to the rehearsal team for their excellent work.
The mob become restless, and the scene is interrupted with a brief curtain drop. When Drole orders it up with a sweep of his arm, a dazzling art deco fairyland is revealed. The dancers now in long black skirts twirl in sequinned glamour, backed by videos of geometric patterns. Aguilar’s score switches to swing jazz accompanied by trumpeter, Heinz Della Torre who partners up with Drole in a ballroom shuffle. A moment of sweet sentimentality is introduced as Drole serenades a flock of fluffy sheep before they are scared away in a blinding headlight. Later Luigi Largo joins in, playing the piano amid dancing couples, while wheeling freely on a trajectory around the stage.
Nachtträume draws on many texts from Pedro Calderón de la Barca: ‘all life is a dream’, to William Shakespeare’s thoughtful Richard ll: ‘Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown’. In between there is pungent original text: ‘An old world is dying, and a new world is being born’. ‘Love me and tonight everything will be possible’. The messages come thick and fast, and it is impossible to absorb them all, but no words or images are superfluous. The dynamics are skilfully managed and the shift in narrative is re-enforced in the costumes. Designed by Silvia Delagneau, they remain monochrome but ring the changes. The dancers’ uniform of identical make-up and black lacquered bob of hair finds an infantilised form in black suits with short pants and white shirts, black leather shoes and sock suspenders. But when they graduate to adult business suits, their heads are strangely missing.
The final scene has the dancers defiantly facing the audience from the front of the stage while Drole is marooned atop a pyramid of chairs and still crying out for love as the curtain lowers. Nachtträume is disturbing, totally riveting and essential viewing.
Maggie's accommodation was funded by Ballett Zürich
