There was only one moment that didn’t immediately strike true in this marvellously frenetic and imaginative dance production by the UK-based Hofesh Shecter Company, and it revolved around the full-frontal male nudity. Though it was nothing to do with that in and of itself.
More that Theatre of Dreams is a work about dreams and nighttime imaginings, and being naked on stage is one of the most well-known and common actors’ nightmares (others being the curtain rising and not knowing the lines or finding yourself in a completely different play altogether).
But during the Adelaide Festival performance, the dancer standing in the middle of the wide Festival Theatre stage wearing nary a stitch didn’t look in the least bit uncomfortable, never mind terrified. If anything, he appeared merely a little confused.
On second thoughts though, it tracked perfectly. These are dancers, not actors – being in the body in all its glory is where they are most comfortable. He was merely curious as to where that body had ended up.
Theatre of Dreams review – quick links
Pulsating and growing
Theatre of Dreams began surreptitiously, with a low hum that evolved into an increasing, throbbing beat. In the past, Artistic Director Hofesh Shecter has spoken of the importance of music to his company’s work, and it is fundamental here. The music – although it could more accurately be described as an oscillating and occasionally overwhelming soundscape – was an almost constant accompaniment, at times morphing into an actual three-piece band.
Unlike the appropriately scantily clad dancers, the trio of musicians were dressed in red suits (very David Lynch) but the colour only became apparent during the bows. Under the ever changing lights they could have been orange – a prison band, perhaps?
Lights, curtains, action
And it was with the lighting and the judicious curtaining that the dreamscape of the piece was most fully evoked. Snap blackouts were followed by snap lights up on a different moving tableau, in a different spot on the stage, framed and constrained by the curtaining. Crannies opened and suddenly the scene changed with the utterly illogical logic of dream sequences.
And in those crannies and secret nooks, bodies leapt and contorted, pulsated and flowed, at times not even human-like, but as the perfectly synced tentacles of an amorphous creature of the netherworld.
Sometimes in unison and then following their own trajectory, the troupe of 12 conjured up visions of the deepest subconscious – punctuated by moments that looked almost prosaic in their familiarity. Was that a game of charades there? Or perhaps a dreamlike conveyor belt version of the audition process?
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Inviting the audience into the Theatre of Dreams
And then in the middle of it all – curiously not at the end, where it could almost be expected – the house lights were switched on and the entire company directed their attention out to the audience, suggesting, then coaxing those in the seats to become part of the show for a while and dance too. Meanwhile a gentle voice filled the auditorium, cajoling us into being free, letting go and giving our bodies permission to move howsoever they would like.
Some of the company even left the stage and roamed the aisles, still dancing and encouraging all to join them. Maybe it’s the nature of festival audiences, or maybe Adelaide dance aficionados are just built that way, but from where I was sitting it appeared that the majority of the crowd needed little motivation.
But if that felt like a natural end to proceedings, there was more to come. Perhaps that was in itself a commentary on the nature of dreams – there are moments where things seem to come to a logical conclusion, but then the narrative jerks and twists and takes you down a completely new rabbit hole.
If this was the intent, then theoretically the concept was sound. In a practical sense though, perhaps there were those in the audience who had made that mental shift to picking up their jackets and thinking about the exit, only to have to readjust their focus – meaning the unintentional sliver of a sensation was that Theatre of Dreams, while uniformly inspiring to watch, could have been even stronger at 80 minutes than it was at 90.
