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Michael Keegan-Dolan’s groaning cornucopia of a show with company Teaċ Daṁsa outstands, outsmarts, and exhausts in equal measure.Summary
Rating
Excellent
There is so much to discuss, so much crammed in, so many visual, musical, and thematic elements to cover for this show, that I have been sitting for five minutes, fingers held over the keyboard, slack-jawed, trying to work out where to start.
But deadlines exist, so let’s start with the basics, shall we? Michael Keegan-Dolan, visionary Irish theatremaker, founder of first Fabulous Beast and now Teaċ Daṁsa (also with the latter) in southwest Ireland, birthed this thrashing creature. 2020 (and COVID) consumed the first collaboration with Vermont native, now London-based musician Sam Amidon, who banjos, yodels, and underscores much of the action with his death-themed songs. Nine dancers of Keegan-Dolan’s company populate in drab costumes that flower into bright red 80’s wedding suits. Seven musicians (many fiddling AND frolicking) rage on drums, or haunt on strings. Set-wise we have a plastic wrapped chipboard cube, and wheeled platform stages stage right and left.
These are the bones, the mere cartilage that underpins the show. But without the muscles, the pumping flesh and blood of a piece, movement would be impossible, and by God there is movement. If wonderful live music wasn’t rare enough in an experimental dance setting, a renowned musician giving spirit to the best Appalachian and traditional Irish folk music punctuates the frenetic action instead of scene changes. At points, the whole cast breaks into complex choral work, faces pale and eyes wide, staring out at us accusatively. The title comes from a malevolent presence in William Blake’s poem ‘Auguries of Innocence’ and, along with Paul Durcan’s poem about the Miami Showband massacre (the senseless political murder of musicians in Northern Ireland in 1978), gives us glowing literary veins. There are small naturalistic yet Kafkaesque acted vignettes, nudity (of course), bubble machines, and knitted animal masks. I mean, everything you could have in a show seems to surface at some point, making it as hard to pin down as a shadow.
But this is Sadler’s Wells I hear you cry, where is the dance? Interestingly, although spirited, using a jumble of club, ballet, and lyrical, the dance seems to take a side role. There are determined group sections where the whirling red arms swing and contract with plenty of hair flicking, but it is by no means the highlight of the evening.
At one hour forty minutes this is a very long, unbroken experience and, although you are never sure what is coming next, at points you find your mind wandering. Like being poisoned by cake, having too much of a good thing means we humans shut down, unable to sustain interest in something that could be whittled into a much sharper and deadlier point.
However, they have carved out a place within me, and sections will stay with me forever. The haunting murder ballads of Amidon, the bubbles storm like gnats engulfing the stage, broken angel wings thrashed into a pulp, or the ruffled shirts crushed under the collapsing dancer’s suddenly limp form. Teaċ Daṁsa are a company of boundless creativity, which seems to be both their greatest asset and biggest drawback.
Written, Directed and Produced by: Michael Keegan-Dolan
NOBODADDY plays at Sadler’s Wells until 30 November. Further information available here.
