Barbican Pit, London (as part of Dance Umbrella)
October 12, 2023
In MOS, Athens-based dancer and choreographer Ioanna Paraskevopoulou and fellow performer Georgios Kotsifakis initially explore a technique from the world of filmmaking. Together, they create a playful two-hander as they create sound in response to silent film played behind them. They describe the work as a “scenic game of image, movement and sound” and, it is very much that with, for the first half at least, the movement a very distant third in importance.
They create their soundtrack using a variety of everyday objects and materials scattered around the stage that looks like a cross between a children’s playground and playroom.
It starts with the old favourite of coconuts cut in half, with their flesh removed to make the clippety-clop of horses’ hooves, created against a backdrop of an old Western. A high-pitched beep signals the start of a new game or session. Rope, a tray of dry earth and a washtub filled with water, window blinds, bathroom plungers (amplified, they sound remarkably like poppers on a coat), old roller skates, a cane are all brought into use. Welcome to the art of foley.
Photo Photo Pinelopi Gerasimou
Commanded by a high-pitched alarm announcing the start of each recording session, the two disciplined foley artists stare at a screen behind the audience and start knocking half coconuts together, slamming doors or pouring water.
Although they rather neatly give the impression it’s improvised (and it would make a great workshop exercise), it is carefully choreographed, of course.
And far from being new, the idea is very old. It’s a sort of extension of the cinema organists that used to accompany silent movies. Some of the methods they use are also in play in radio drama.
Despite a couple of more amusing films including one of an early flight pioneer attempting to fly using bird-type wings (some clever use of an umbrella to make the sound of wings), things lose their allure. I found myself increasingly watching a small television stage right, on which Stanley Donen’s 1951 film Royal Wedding, starring Fred Astaire and Jane Powell, had been playing quietly to itself since everyone walked in. Astaire. No contest really, especially when he’s dancing. Even without sound, the ‘Sunday Jumps’ number in which he dances with a hatstand a gem.
Things get more tricky when the screen in front of the audience in turned off and Paraskevopoulou and Kotsifakis react to what plays only behind everyone. I assume we are supposed to watch the couple and imagine the film, but many turn round from time to time, probably (like me) to confirm their thoughts. Very noticeable is the change in the performers. Eyes fixed on the screen they look hypnotised. There’s even a hint of tension.
I can’t help thinking there is far more to explore here but MOS instead segues into a third section as the couple don tap shoes for an extended tap-dance section. The choreography here is minimalist. The same phrase is repeated again and again. But, slowly, little extra sets creep in. Variations start to appear. A quick glance at the television soon reveals that little moments cleverly reference Astaire and Powell in Alan J Lerner and Burton Lane’s vaudeville tap number, ‘How Could You Believe Me When I Said I Love You When You Know I’ve Been a Liar All My Life’ (quite a title!). From being two separate dancers who could be in different rooms, connections start to appear. It is maybe slightly too long but it is very well done, the couple absolutely in sync with each other.
For a work that is somewhat experimental in terms of approach, in the first part at least, MOS and its two performers are surprisingly engaging, despite my mind flipping to Fred occasionally. It didn’t make me emote, it didn’t make me think. I certainly didn’t find it challenging. But it is a neatly packaged piece; and at about 45 minutes, just the right length.