Latest news with #choreography
The Guardian
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
Yoann Bourgeois on his mindblowing viral stair climbing act: ‘I want to return to the spirit of childhood'
You may have seen a certain video online of a man climbing some stairs. Actually, he's repeatedly falling from them but then magically bounces back up, weightless as a moon-walker. Out of sight is a trampoline, which gently catapults his looping, twisting body up the staircase each time he falls, turning a would-be simple journey into an epic, poetic odyssey that has caught the internet's imagination. Pop star Pink saw it and immediately got on the phone to its creator; Martin Short even made his own version on Only Murders in the Building. The act is the work of French choreographer-director Yoann Bourgeois, 43, whose live performances have been touring festivals for years. But the popularity of his videos online has propelled him into new realms, working with Harry Styles, Coldplay, Selena Gomez and Louis Vuitton. He continues to create new, live work and brings his latest outdoor piece, Passage, to Greenwich and Docklands festival this summer. Some people run away to the circus; others have it arrive on their doorstep. Bourgeois' parents separated when he was growing up in Jura, eastern France, and their house was sold to a circus group, Cirque Plume. Bourgeois was already interested in theatre (and later studied dance) and he began to train with the group. 'In a way I was looking for a way to get back home,' he says, via a translator. It wasn't just about returning to the physical building, but the spirit of childhood. 'I really wanted to continue to be a child. I've searched for a life where I can continue to play; it drives my career even now.' What Bourgeois plays with are the invisible physical forces that surround us – gravity, tension, suspension – and the interaction between those forces, the performers' bodies and symbolic ideas. For example in Ellipse, the dancers are in costumes like lifesize Weebles with semi-circular bases, rocking and spinning, but never falling. A man and woman 'dance' together, swaying past each other but never quite managing to connect. (Missy Elliott wore a version of the same costume in her video Cool Off.) In Celui Qui Tombe (He Who Falls), the performers stand on a wooden platform that rotates, at some speed, then tilts, forcing their bodies to lean at precarious angles to keep their balance, and the group have to navigate this peril together. The short piece Bourgeois is bringing to London is called Passage, and features a revolving mirrored door and pole dancer Yvonne Smink hanging, swinging, balancing and turning the simple act of crossing a threshold into something of infinite possibilities. Much like the way sculptor Antony Gormley hit upon a universal idea in his use of the body, Bourgeois works with the same kind of directness: a seemingly simple setup or visual idea that represents something huge – life, death, time, mortality, struggle, hope – in a way that's easily readable but can feel profound. Here he is talking about suspension: 'In physics, suspension means the absence of weight. But if we speak about time, suspension means absolute presence. And I think this cross between absence of weight and absolute presence is like a small window on eternity. That's what I search for: to catch the present, to intensify the present.' Even though Bourgeois seeks to be live in the ephemeral moment, you can see why the recorded versions have gone viral. He admits his work looks good on screen. 'I feel very lucky because, by chance, my work can be eloquent in this kind of frame, on Instagram for example,' he says. He's interested in clarity not overcomplication and embraces his wide fanbase. 'I didn't grow up in a family interested in art,' says Bourgeois, and that's who he imagines making his work for. He's reaching even more eyeballs now with his pop star collaborations. For the Harry Styles video As It Was, Bourgeois designed another revolving platform that saw Styles and his lover being pulled together and apart. 'Behind the superficial pop veneer of the song, there's a great sense of despair,' he says. Bourgeois designs his own stage machines, but the revolving floor is, he points out, a very old theatrical device. The question of what's truly new in art came to the fore when he was accused of plagiarism in a video posted online comparing scenes from his work with scenes from other artists. There are some striking similarities but Bourgeois is robust in his defence, saying that the works referenced motifs from the history of art, which he considers to be in the public domain. Many circus performers will use the same props. 'If you use just a frame of a video, it's easy to make a comparison,' he says. 'What is original is the treatment and the creative process.' We need to look at the whole work rather than an isolated image, he insists. What's certain is that Bourgeois can turn universal ideas into something eye-catching that connects deeply with audiences – imbued with the wonder of circus and the grace of dance. Greenwich and Docklands international festival runs from 22 August to 6 September. Passage is part of Dancing City at the festival on 6 September
The Guardian
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
Yoann Bourgeois on his mindblowing viral stair climbing act: ‘I want to return to the spirit of childhood'
You may have seen a certain video online of a man climbing some stairs. Actually, he's repeatedly falling from them but then magically bounces back up, weightless as a moon-walker. Out of sight is a trampoline, which gently catapults his looping, twisting body up the staircase each time he falls, turning a would-be simple journey into an epic, poetic odyssey that has caught the internet's imagination. Pop star Pink saw it and immediately got on the phone to its creator; Martin Short even made his own version on Only Murders in the Building. The act is the work of French choreographer-director Yoann Bourgeois, 43, whose live performances have been touring festivals for years. But the popularity of his videos online has propelled him into new realms, working with Harry Styles, Coldplay, Selena Gomez and Louis Vuitton. He continues to create new, live work and brings his latest outdoor piece, Passage, to Greenwich and Docklands festival this summer. Some people run away to the circus; others have it arrive on their doorstep. Bourgeois' parents separated when he was growing up in Jura, eastern France, and their house was sold to a circus group, Cirque Plume. Bourgeois was already interested in theatre (and later studied dance) and he began to train with the group. 'In a way I was looking for a way to get back home,' he says, via a translator. It wasn't just about returning to the physical building, but the spirit of childhood. 'I really wanted to continue to be a child. I've searched for a life where I can continue to play; it drives my career even now.' What Bourgeois plays with are the invisible physical forces that surround us – gravity, tension, suspension – and the interaction between those forces, the performers' bodies and symbolic ideas. For example in Ellipse, the dancers are in costumes like lifesize Weebles with semi-circular bases, rocking and spinning, but never falling. A man and woman 'dance' together, swaying past each other but never quite managing to connect. (Missy Elliott wore a version of the same costume in her video Cool Off.) In Celui Qui Tombe (He Who Falls), the performers stand on a wooden platform that rotates, at some speed, then tilts, forcing their bodies to lean at precarious angles to keep their balance, and the group have to navigate this peril together. The short piece Bourgeois is bringing to London is called Passage, and features a revolving mirrored door and pole dancer Yvonne Smink hanging, swinging, balancing and turning the simple act of crossing a threshold into something of infinite possibilities. Much like the way sculptor Antony Gormley hit upon a universal idea in his use of the body, Bourgeois works with the same kind of directness: a seemingly simple setup or visual idea that represents something huge – life, death, time, mortality, struggle, hope – in a way that's easily readable but can feel profound. Here he is talking about suspension: 'In physics, suspension means the absence of weight. But if we speak about time, suspension means absolute presence. And I think this cross between absence of weight and absolute presence is like a small window on eternity. That's what I search for: to catch the present, to intensify the present.' Even though Bourgeois seeks to be live in the ephemeral moment, you can see why the recorded versions have gone viral. He admits his work looks good on screen. 'I feel very lucky because, by chance, my work can be eloquent in this kind of frame, on Instagram for example,' he says. He's interested in clarity not overcomplication and embraces his wide fanbase. 'I didn't grow up in a family interested in art,' says Bourgeois, and that's who he imagines making his work for. He's reaching even more eyeballs now with his pop star collaborations. For the Harry Styles video As It Was, Bourgeois designed another revolving platform that saw Styles and his lover being pulled together and apart. 'Behind the superficial pop veneer of the song, there's a great sense of despair,' he says. Bourgeois designs his own stage machines, but the revolving floor is, he points out, a very old theatrical device. The question of what's truly new in art came to the fore when he was accused of plagiarism in a video posted online comparing scenes from his work with scenes from other artists. There are some striking similarities but Bourgeois is robust in his defence, saying that the works referenced motifs from the history of art, which he considers to be in the public domain. Many circus performers will use the same props. 'If you use just a frame of a video, it's easy to make a comparison,' he says. 'What is original is the treatment and the creative process.' We need to look at the whole work rather than an isolated image, he insists. What's certain is that Bourgeois can turn universal ideas into something eye-catching that connects deeply with audiences – imbued with the wonder of circus and the grace of dance. Greenwich and Docklands international festival runs from 22 August to 6 September. Passage is part of Dancing City at the festival on 6 September
The Guardian
21-07-2025
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
Smart, sharp and nonstop dance: how Twyla Tharp is bossing the Venice Dance Biennale in her 80s
'Do you know how much I could deadlift in my 50s? Guess!' Twyla Tharp implored Wayne McGregor, in a post-show interview at the Venice Dance Biennale. McGregor, the festival's artistic director, didn't dare venture a figure. 'Two-hundred and twenty-seven pounds!' she told us all, delightedly. Never underestimate Twyla. The slight, white-haired 84-year-old is as sharp as ever, and a force in the dance world. She's been choreographing for 60 years, for ballet companies and Broadway, dance both experimental and accessible, art and pop. And she is honoured this year with the biennale's Golden Lion for lifetime achievement. Tharp is a smart, no-nonsense woman with a dry sense of humour, and her work is much the same. Only two pieces from her vast repertoire are staged in Venice this year, but one especially, Diabelli (from 1998), set to Beethoven's 33 Diabelli Variations, has the same precise, self-certain manner as the woman herself. It takes one idea – the rigorous exploration of music and form – and drills into it determinedly. The dance is non-stop, a showcase for the tremendous dancers of her company, all quite different bodies but brilliant technicians, rooted in classicism with Tharp's easy synthesis of jazz, contemporary and vernacular dance forms. It is absolutely chock-full of steps. That might seem obvious, but a lot of contemporary dance now hinges on vibe, mood and repetitive riffs, whereas Tharp is just step after step, finely and deliberately wrought phrases in constant motion with absolute clarity. With its fairly unwavering tone, from the audience there's perhaps not as much light and shade as Tharp herself sees – but she has no time for dawdling (there's a similarity with McGregor's own work here: the constant fast-paced flying mind, expecting you to keep up). The second piece is the European premiere of Slacktide, set to Philip Glass. It's new, but interestingly, uses material from Tharp's back catalogue, reversioned. Compared with Diabelli, the look is certainly more 'now', diffused light, dancers in black shorts and vests, and rather than the front-facing performance mode of the earlier work, the dancers are on their own trajectories, moving between solos and groups. It has a greater sense of freedom, dynamic and edge, but the same very serious conversation with choreography. The winner of the Silver Lion, for an outstanding upcoming choreographer, was the Brazilian Carolina Bianchi. Bianchi has the same absolute commitment to her art as Tharp, but is a completely different proposition. She's best known for the first part of her Cadela Força trilogy, The Bride and the Goodnight Cinderella, in which Bianchi takes a date rape drug live on stage and then attempts to continue the show while the audience watch its effects take over, made in response to her own experience of sexual assault. The second chapter of the trilogy, The Brotherhood, gets its Italian premiere in Venice and it goes deeper (very much deeper, at almost four hours in length) into Bianchi's own attempts to process what happened to her: the injustice, the omnipresent patriarchy, the bewilderment over what gives men seeming licence to abuse women, from the rape of Lucretia to Gisèle Pelicot. She does this through film, performance, a faux interview with a famous theatre director, set-pieces with the male performers from company Cara de Cavalo, and addressing the audience directly. She considers hazing initiations, the myth of the troubled genius in art, the politics of the rehearsal room, the subtle undermining of women in professional life. There's so much here, a bit of editing wouldn't go amiss (although it doesn't feel like 220 minutes) but then this is the ever-circling mind after trauma, always returning to the wound, never finding the answer. Fearless Bianchi is sometimes provocatively shocking, she is also constantly questioning herself, getting in her criticisms before anyone else can. Her subjects are theatre, art, violence and anger. And the real question may be, why aren't we all angrier, all the time, about how commonplace this abuse is? Bianchi introduces herself on stage as predominantly a writer, and this is a text-based show within the realm of performance art, an interesting choice for a dance prize. But the body is absolutely at the centre of her work. Her central question, as she puts it, is what do we do with this body? How to live in a body that survives rape? Elsewhere at the biennale, the opening show comes from Australia's Chunky Move, a company established in 1995, now led by Antony Hamilton, who has choreographed U>N>I>T>E>D. The stage is dominated by a large mechanical contraption, a piece of rigging that holds what looks like a giant insect with flashing and glowing lights. The dancers have mechanical limbs too, multijointed insect-y legs attached to them, turning them into human-machine hybrid hexapods. It immediately brought to mind a piece McGregor made for his company in 2002, Nemesis, where the dancers wore mechanical limbs extending their arms. In fact the whole look is very millennium-bug-throwback, like a guerrilla army of hackers who've jumped the fence at Glastonbury, in baggy parachute pants with all sorts of straps and layers and clashing patterns and camo and reflective neon. It's a crusty-cyberpunk look – if you ever went near Brighton in the 1990s, you'd recognise it. Except that in the 90s we barely had mobile phones or email addresses and this kind of tech felt like pure sci-fi, whereas now, the idea of humans getting tech implants or machines becoming sentient is basically the world we live in. So that's unnerving. But what does Hamilton have to say about it? Not so much. The thing about all the cumbersome props is that they extend the body's possibilities, but also reduce their ability to move. There's a vague sense of struggle between embracing or fighting the machines but, just like in the real world, having the technology is one thing, deciding what to use it for, or what you want to say with it, is entirely another. It's neither stirringly hopeful nor apocalyptic enough to be terrifying. Twyla would have those mechanical critters for breakfast. The Venice Dance Biennale continues until 2 August
The Guardian
20-07-2025
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
Smart, sharp and nonstop dance: how Twyla Tharp is bossing the Venice Dance Biennale in her 80s
'Do you know how much I could deadlift in my 50s? Guess!' Twyla Tharp implored Wayne McGregor, in a post-show interview at the Venice Dance Biennale. McGregor, the festival's artistic director, didn't dare venture a figure. 'Two-hundred and twenty-seven pounds!' she told us all, delightedly. Never underestimate Twyla. The slight, white-haired 84-year-old is as sharp as ever, and a force in the dance world. She's been choreographing for 60 years, for ballet companies and Broadway, dance both experimental and accessible, art and pop. And she is honoured this year with the biennale's Golden Lion for lifetime achievement. Tharp is a smart, no-nonsense woman with a dry sense of humour, and her work is much the same. Only two pieces from her vast repertoire are staged in Venice this year, but one especially, Diabelli (from 1998), set to Beethoven's 33 Diabelli Variations, has the same precise, self-certain manner as the woman herself. It takes one idea – the rigorous exploration of music and form – and drills into it determinedly. The dance is non-stop, a showcase for the tremendous dancers of her company, all quite different bodies but brilliant technicians, rooted in classicism with Tharp's easy synthesis of jazz, contemporary and vernacular dance forms. It is absolutely chock-full of steps. That might seem obvious, but a lot of contemporary dance now hinges on vibe, mood and repetitive riffs, whereas Tharp is just step after step, finely and deliberately wrought phrases in constant motion with absolute clarity. With its fairly unwavering tone, from the audience there's perhaps not as much light and shade as Tharp herself sees – but she has no time for dawdling (there's a similarity with McGregor's own work here: the constant fast-paced flying mind, expecting you to keep up). The second piece is the European premiere of Slacktide, set to Philip Glass. It's new, but interestingly, uses material from Tharp's back catalogue, reversioned. Compared with Diabelli, the look is certainly more 'now', diffused light, dancers in black shorts and vests, and rather than the front-facing performance mode of the earlier work, the dancers are on their own trajectories, moving between solos and groups. It has a greater sense of freedom, dynamic and edge, but the same very serious conversation with choreography. The winner of the Silver Lion, for an outstanding upcoming choreographer, was the Brazilian Carolina Bianchi. Bianchi has the same absolute commitment to her art as Tharp, but is a completely different proposition. She's best known for the first part of her Cadela Força trilogy, The Bride and the Goodnight Cinderella, in which Bianchi takes a date rape drug live on stage and then attempts to continue the show while the audience watch its effects take over, made in response to her own experience of sexual assault. The second chapter of the trilogy, The Brotherhood, gets its Italian premiere in Venice and it goes deeper (very much deeper, at almost four hours in length) into Bianchi's own attempts to process what happened to her: the injustice, the omnipresent patriarchy, the bewilderment over what gives men seeming licence to abuse women, from the rape of Lucretia to Gisèle Pelicot. She does this through film, performance, a faux interview with a famous theatre director, set-pieces with the male performers from company Cara de Cavalo, and addressing the audience directly. She considers hazing initiations, the myth of the troubled genius in art, the politics of the rehearsal room, the subtle undermining of women in professional life. There's so much here, a bit of editing wouldn't go amiss (although it doesn't feel like 220 minutes) but then this is the ever-circling mind after trauma, always returning to the wound, never finding the answer. Fearless Bianchi is sometimes provocatively shocking, she is also constantly questioning herself, getting in her criticisms before anyone else can. Her subjects are theatre, art, violence and anger. And the real question may be, why aren't we all angrier, all the time, about how commonplace this abuse is? Bianchi introduces herself on stage as predominantly a writer, and this is a text-based show within the realm of performance art, an interesting choice for a dance prize. But the body is absolutely at the centre of her work. Her central question, as she puts it, is what do we do with this body? How to live in a body that survives rape? Elsewhere at the biennale, the opening show comes from Australia's Chunky Move, a company established in 1995, now led by Antony Hamilton, who has choreographed U>N>I>T>E>D. The stage is dominated by a large mechanical contraption, a piece of rigging that holds what looks like a giant insect with flashing and glowing lights. The dancers have mechanical limbs too, multijointed insect-y legs attached to them, turning them into human-machine hybrid hexapods. It immediately brought to mind a piece McGregor made for his company in 2002, Nemesis, where the dancers wore mechanical limbs extending their arms. In fact the whole look is very millennium-bug-throwback, like a guerrilla army of hackers who've jumped the fence at Glastonbury, in baggy parachute pants with all sorts of straps and layers and clashing patterns and camo and reflective neon. It's a crusty-cyberpunk look – if you ever went near Brighton in the 1990s, you'd recognise it. Except that in the 90s we barely had mobile phones or email addresses and this kind of tech felt like pure sci-fi, whereas now, the idea of humans getting tech implants or machines becoming sentient is basically the world we live in. So that's unnerving. But what does Hamilton have to say about it? Not so much. The thing about all the cumbersome props is that they extend the body's possibilities, but also reduce their ability to move. There's a vague sense of struggle between embracing or fighting the machines but, just like in the real world, having the technology is one thing, deciding what to use it for, or what you want to say with it, is entirely another. It's neither stirringly hopeful nor apocalyptic enough to be terrifying. Twyla would have those mechanical critters for breakfast. The Venice Dance Biennale continues until 2 August
New York Times
18-07-2025
- Entertainment
- New York Times
The Moves That Made ‘Chicago' and ‘A Chorus Line' Singular Sensations
Fifty years ago, when director-choreographer giants still walked the earth, two of the biggest — Bob Fosse and Michael Bennett — created highly influential shows that have attained legendary status and lasted: 'Chicago' and 'A Chorus Line.' These were musicals with dancing at the center. The showbiz-cynical attitude of 'Chicago,' a tale of 1920s murderers who go into vaudeville, was inseparable from its choreographic style. 'A Chorus Line' was about Broadway dancers, built from their real-life stories and framed as an audition. To celebrate the golden anniversaries of these shows, The New York Times invited Robyn Hurder, who has performed in productions of both over the past two decades (and recently received a Tony nomination for her performance in 'Smash'), to demonstrate and discuss what makes the choreography so special. To coach her, direct-lineage experts were on hand. transcript [MUSIC] For 'A Chorus Line,' Hurder could turn to Baayork Lee, an original cast member who has been staging and directing the show ever since. (She's directing an anniversary benefit performance on July 27.) For 'Chicago,' Verdon Fosse Legacy — an organization dedicated to preserving and reconstructing the choreography of Fosse and his chief collaborator, Gwen Verdon — sent Dana Moore, who worked with Fosse in his 1978 'Dancin'' and his 1986 revival of 'Sweet Charity.' She also danced in the 1996 'Chicago' revival and in revivals of 'A Chorus Line,' too. Want all of The Times? Subscribe.
