schwere reiter, Munich
September 13, 2024
A love story between a right and a left rollerblade sounds like a drag, but at the premiere in Munich of his new piece CRY WHY, German choreographer Moritz Ostruschnjak turned exactly this into an exciting and intensive tale about a budding love that, before coming to bloom, ends in a separation full of agony and pain.
Ostruschnjak is a fixture on the Munich contemporary dance scene that consists of around fifty choreographers, some living permanently in the city, some just working there a few months every year. Ostruschnjak started out with breakdancing before, when 18, deciding he wanted to become a ballet dancer. After finishing his training at Maurice Bejart’s Mudra School, he went on to dance with Wim Vandekeybus’ Ultima Vez, the dance company at the Nationaltheater Mannheim, and Göteborg Ballet. In 2013, he became a full-time choreographer.
in CRY WHY by Moritz Ostruschnjak
Photo Franziska Strauss
In CRY WHY, Ostruschnjak not only prods at our usual perception of how things work, he also brilliantly integrates two upright pianos and pianist, Reinier van Houdt, into the performance by two dancers. Sometimes van Houdt plays on one piano, sometimes he plays both at the same time, a hand on each, either sitting on the piano stool, or kneeling or sitting on the floor. The pianos, which the pianist and the two dancers move around, define the space, which either seems vast when they are far apart, or confined when they are close together.
The music, compiled by Ostruschnjak and van Houdt, is a mix of compositions by the American composer and sound artist Alvin Curran, Debussy, and pop songs from which fragmented pieces of texts like, “She was a visitor,” “Why?” and “I have been crying over you,” lend a loose narrative to the action.
The piece begins with van Houdt and dancer Miyuki Shimizu pushing in a piano, to a mat of dark, indistinguishable notes. Shimizu is dressed in shorts, reminiscent of lederhosen, a shirt, socks and trainers (costumes by Daniela Bendini), which gives her an androgynous look. Van Houdt plays the piano, while she dances, as if introducing herself, in a mix of jazzy movements and soft angular arms. Sometimes she follows the music, sometimes the music seems more to follow her.
Suddenly a man, Guido Badalamenti, sweeps in on rollerblades. He circles the room in the best Holiday on Ice style. It took me a while to realize that he was only wearing one rollerblade. He either glides around in what feels like a vast expanse, or he brushes through the narrow space between the two pianos as if it were a narrow alleyway. Shimizu is mostly stationary, moving with angular arms until she sits down in the middle of the stage. When Badalamenti brings her a backpack, a bottle, notebook, jacket and phone, you wonder if he is asking her to pack up and leave or inviting her to stay.
A little later Shimizu takes the second rollerblade out of the backpack and puts it on her right hand. Badalamenti comes close and they touch each other for the first time. Crouching on the floor, they probingly let the rollerblades get closer to each other until the front wheels finally meet in what feels like a kiss. They circle each other intimately as if caressing, while the dancers intertwine their bodies on the floor.
He sets off in another frantic Holiday on Ice solo. When he returns to her, she leaves her rollerblade on his shoulder, which makes him break down. He lies on the floor while the words, “I have been crying for you,” from Roy Orbinson’s song Cry fills the room.
The light dims until only her folded arms, framing her head, her mouth open in a silent scream, are visible. When the light returns, we find her standing above him creating animals with her hands. There’s a bird, a rabbit lovingly scratching his head to get his attention, but he remains oblivious to all the beauty she creates.
CRY WHY is extraordinary for several reasons. It tells a very intimate and intense love story between two people, who barely touch each other, and express their love through the unusual medium of a set of inanimate rollerblades. The movement quality of the dancers is characterised by a total lack of any sort of aggression, even pain is expressed with softness: Badalamenti’s movement with the curving fluidity of the skater; Shimizu’s, even when angular, full of gentleness. The music carries all the emotions and the pianist with his two moving pianos constantly define the space. While the narrative is suggested, you are left free to use your own imagination.
It will be interesting to see which new ways Ostruschnjak’s will follow in his next piece for eight dancers, a live musician and a video, which will have its premiere in Munich in January.