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Fagin’s Twist
Patrick Centre
Birmingham Hippodrome
**** Avant Garde Dance is a young company
brimming with talent: on this occasion, an octet of dancers who ooze
with energy, interact superbly and charge every move and gesture with
sizzling electricity.
Their heads, elbows and shoulders are as
brilliantly synchronised as their legs are deft and their bodies fluent.
At their best, they galvanise the entire theatre and mesmerise their
audience with their endless invention, spirited capers and heart-warming
realism. Avante Garde amounts to scintillating experience. The company was founded in 2001 by Tony Adigun after he felt disillusioned with aspects, in
particular the unoriginality, predictability and even banality, of the
type of dance he was all too often required to participate in. He determined to set up a company of like-minded
young dancers that brought together many aspects of contemporary dance,
but in particular the vivacity, angularity and syncopation of hip-hop, Fagin’s Twist
exemplifies just these qualities, and from the outset the dance element
was exciting, vital and at best riveting. But there, perhaps, the
qualities of Part 1 were exhausted. Both here and in the much better
Part 2 there were some brilliant sequences passing items from one to
another – a clutter of boxes, ‘posh’ bright yellow handkerchiefs, hats,
the stolen watch that means so much to Oliver. But the music, having
started well with a kind of Tubular
Bells like percussion effect,
converting to an initially mesmerising perpetuo moto, and some really
exciting use of a searing cello solo (for the Artful Dodger) which
sounds as if it is played live (much else being, I take it, recorded)
starts, by a third of the way through, to become wearisome. Where the music does
pick up – and there is more of this later on – is where the recurring
aspects become less ponderous and hammering and where a series of gently
plaintive patterns, and harp-like touches a bit like the Estonian Arvo
Part’s pleading Für Alina,
conjure up moments of real magic. What else, the quality of the dance apart, serves
the production well? The set – three hefty slatted high platforms with
flexible doors carved through them – yielded a host of different
backdrops or cupboard like containers through which Oliver, in
particular, deftly weaves; the costumes, especially latterly, were
splendidly appropriate and appealing to gaze on; the endlessly varied
use of space impressed – although the very front of the stage was
neglected (a common deficiency with plays as much as dance). However what made the first part tangibly
inferior to the second was the complete uncertainty of the story line.
In the absence of any printed programme and any explanatory notes
(including, crucially, castlists) it is supposed to show us the early
part of Fagin’s life – something which seemed inadequately, indeed
minimally, captured by the choreography.
Joshua James Smith featured
large as Fagin himself, but what we were presented with was seemingly an
abstract
piece, attractively danced and with lots of clever touches - yet to the
uninitiated, more or less arcane and meaningless in content. Visually
this was redeemed by a couple of riveting duets near the end featuring
(possibly) Bill Sykes, and by a final ensemble that was as catchy and
energised as anything thus far.
If the abstraction of the first half fell badly
short on the narrative front, the second half picked up, and excitingly:
Smith’s Fagin came vividly alive, the Dodger continued to act as a
spirited and thoughtful narrator (words being used periodically amid the
dance), Bill Sykes became quite prominent and Nancy with him. The young
(girl) Oliver proved to be as pliant and supple as any of the dancers:
(s)he moved with the magnetising allure of Shakespeare’s Ariel, her
staggering pliability, darting head movements and springy changes of
direction all utterly enchanting. The music, much less oppressive, now
calmed down quite a lot and served the drama better. While the two ‘yellow
handkerchief’ sequences were quite splendidly and eye-openingly
fashioned, one of the high points was a solo or soliloquy for Fagin,
magically danced by Smith before his unexpected demise (to
grieving rising and falling string semitones). But the quality of
Adigun’s choreography could be seen especially in two or three
pas-de-deux
(Bill and Nancy, Fagin and Oliver), and even more so in two memorable
pas-de-trois,
the first most effectively featuring sad, wan strings supported by
serene piano chordings. But the joy of the whole production was Oliver’s
monkey-like scampering and ability to squeeze through any aperture, and
his vigorous efforts to regain the watch, an heirloom from his dead
mother, from those who have held him virtual prisoner. At the end, in an
extraordinarily skillful switch or transfer, the boy acquires the coat
signalling authority. You are left with the feeling that Oliver has
assumed charge of the entire outfit, taking on the powers formerly held
by Smith’s Fagin. Roderic Dunnett 21-10-16 Tuesday 25 Oct 7.30 Lakeside Arts, Nottingham www.lakesidearts.org.uk
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