Broken Wings

Sudden Birds, the five-dancer performance that Godder most recently brought to Budapest, was made five years ago, two years earlier than Strawberry Cream and Gunpowder, an equally political and disturbing piece performed in the Trafó in 2005. Godder also brought a duo entitled Two Playful Pink and Hall to Budapest. The three appearances of Godder's sensual and bizarre world in the Trafó have deservedly won our appreciation. Her multi-talented and excellent dancers, the dense and intensive atmosphere of her choreographies - with plenty of delicate details - have made memorable performances. Godder has a unique talent for utilising dancers who appear in a state of trance during the performance: we can witness actors presenting stories in a uniquely individual style, without words but with much more dramatic force, as if reading from a book in which the pages have been mixed up to create a new order, with some of the storylines reaching beyond the performance, and extending to infinity.

 

Sudden Birds is played out in an immaculately white space, surrounded by three tall canvas walls glowing in the light. In the front and the back, neon lights are hidden behind corrugated boards, flooding the floor and the background with light. Four headlights from each side are cast on the four female dancers dressed in black. They present a series of fragmentary situations, swapping roles and shifting between images. The puritan choreography is accompanied and guided by the excellent sound of electric cello (and mixer) played live by Karni Postel on the left of the stage. The tapping, plonking and fragmentary tunes are captivating: they all end up in Postel's magic box and come out echoing, filling the space, wiggling around the dancers. One of the four dancers has a deeply confused appearance: her skinny, boyish figure, and somewhat hard but beautiful features are utilised very rationally by Godder to confuse the audience. It is almost impossible to tell her sex, not only because of her physical appearance but also because of her movements and role. The sensual interplay of the four dancers is characterised by lewdness and insanity, with their different levels of conscience alternating in a relaxed, but at the same time powerful, manner.

 

Photos by Tamar Lamm

It may sound commonplace, but what we can see at play in the performance are images of rivalry, teamwork, distress, collective suffering and the swapping of roles. We might have seen and written these words many times in the past. But the performance of the four dancers radiates such (spiritual) power and their glances, cast regularly on the audience, are mesmerizing to such an extent that is rarely experienced in such a production. What we can witness here is not only very credible but (no matter how difficult it is to follow) also very compelling. The performance only runs out of breath in the second part. The mesmerising effect ceases to reach from wall to wall and boredom sneaks in. Those passionate about the theatre know that once boredom rears its ugly head, it is nearly impossible to escape it. This black and white dance is the untellable tale of enigmas and invisible storylines, an index of sensations and gestures, with the only words spoken being the list of contributors presented by one of the dancers at the end. The performer utters every name with a strange trepidation, putting her finger between her lips to mark every comma. By this stage, one cannot avoid feeling deeply lost in the forest.

 

Godder's five-year-old work cannot be considered a juvenile effort, even though it was made when she was only 29, around the time she won the Bessie Prize, her first serious acknowledgement. Half a decade ago, the lion's claws were not yet fully grown, but the ends were already clearly visible.

 

By Tamás Halász