Sadler’s Wells, London
May 31, 2022
Dan Scully’s set for Kyle Abraham’s Requiem: Fire in the Air of the Earth looks fabulous. The back of the stage is decorated by two, symmetrical, geometric Art Deco-like frameworks of copper rods. An abstracted representation of city buildings, perhaps. Two lights hang down each side. Centre at the back, hanging high in the space between the grids is a video screen encircled by a neon tube. That screen is largely like a variously coloured sun (or perhaps moon), or shows projections of abstract images. Droplets of ink hanging in water is especially effective.
The five male and five female dancers too are superb in choreography that flips between ballet (more often than you might think), capoeira, hip-hop and modern dance. There are any number of strong solos, some silky smooth, some muscular and strong. There are moments that exude menace, but also graceful, powerful leaps and fine pirouettes. Duets too, one quirkily romantic one standing out in particular. Other moments veer towards everyday gesture. There is a strong sense of community as dancers appear to chat, argue, fight, flirt and play. Sometimes it is very camp indeed. Towards the end, like a window into another world, the screen shows old TV news clips, a body floating in the sea, a christening and, very briefly, black feet on barren soil. Quite why, like so much, is unclear.
The one sentence on the free-sheet that passes for a programme tells us that the work is a reimagining of Mozart’s Requiem in D minor, through abstracted themes including the afterlife, reincarnation, mythology and folklore. The staging, the lighting especially, does hint at a mythological world, and there are nods to reincarnation in the way some performers seem to die before suddenly rising again, but too often the connection with theme is so vague that it does not communicate. It also doesn’t help that, while most sections capture the attention, the way the work rather wanders around with little obvious link between them, makes life difficult for the viewer.
The performers come in all sizes but are unified by British designer Giles Deacon’s range of white dresses, each with its own design printed on, although Catherine Kirk, for some reason, appears in a tutu. All also have a red band painted across their eyes.
The music kicks in with Mozart’s unfinished score, but it’s not long before experimental electronic music composer Jlin starts to chop, shred and remix it. Listen carefully and there are ghostly snatches of the original but the outcome is something that crackles like an old radio with bad reception and is incredibly unpredictable, changing direction even more than the dance does, never staying anywhere for long.
I’m not sure about Requiem: Fire in the Air of the Earth showing us a dream world, but it certainly presents a very strange one.