Mind-boggling, eye-goggling, fascinating, undulating, shimmering, glimmering, twerking, working, lip smacking, thirst quenching, ace tasting, motivating, good buzzing, cool talking, high walking, fast livin, ever givin, cool fizzin… There are far too many adjectives I want to use about this crazy and brilliant troupe so I’ll let an old ad from the 70s say it, writes Michael Holland.
An early press release said that these young people of the Cia Suave dance group – all gleaned from the favelas of Brazil – were going to interpret, through urban and traditional dance, the transition the country made from the Trump-like Bolsonaro running the country by selling off the rainforest, and Lula, a decent man who put the people first. ‘After years of agony, it’s time for rebirth’ says the blurb.
While the audience found their seats, the dancers warmed up with drums, drink and playful passinho and dancinha moves. As the lights dimmed they slowly moved in to various shapes and positions around the huge Queen Elizabeth Hall stage. They portrayed tired, oppressed, beaten people who needed help to carry on and that help came from within themselves. The traditional dance styles gave way to the avant grade moves of internationally-acclaimed choreographer Alice Ripoll, there was much more bodily contact as they slithered over, around and across each other, becoming interlocked. This was another kind of party.
With nine dancers there was always something going on, always something to watch: is that man naked!? How can anyone possibly do that with their body? Is that three or four people in that scrummage? And what are they doing…?
With the right-wing restrictions lifted these people were going for it in a big way, and each dancer was given a spot to show off their own speciality. Thankfully, they did not take themselves too seriously, which meant a lot of laughs for us. How could a girl making her bum cheeks dance not be funny? Or a man, pretty much rolled up into a ball but still walking about not make you chuckle? These were athletes at their peak and they were going to enjoy themselves. They were seeking out and acting out their own personal free zones.
Glitter bombs were let off, and when the glistening bodies rolled around they became covered in the glitter to become shimmering phantoms moving around a darkened stage lit only by flashing baubles released from huge exploding balloons hanging overhead. It was an amazing sight to behold.
Did I understand their interpretation of their generation’s Brazil? No. But that did not matter at all because, even in what I perceived as its randomness, it was a beautiful thing to watch.
I was less enamoured with the finale, a kind of contortionist sex game that went on too long and slowed down the high-tempo atmosphere that had been created, which was not the best way to end such a fantastic event that had everyone stunned into amazed disbelief.
Queen Elizabeth Hall, SE1 8XX until November 4th.
Booking: www.southbankcentre.co.uk
