Akram Kahn and
Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui
Zero Degrees is the first work to take place in the new Wilson Street CarriageWorks. Despite this the CarriageWorks themselves aren’t finished yet; the exterior concreting is largely roughly done, with the main entrance from Wilson Street lacking any signage; exposed bolts mark the spots where the signage will hang. The CarriageWorks are accessed via stairs from Wilson Street. The stairs are accompanied by a wheelchair ramp that zigs and zags, under cover of a large shed that runs parallel to the street. This too is unfinished as yet.
[Wilson St CarriageWorks in 2004 - AF]
The exterior walls of the CarriageWorks retain a colour and resonance, bearing marks and scars as reminders of their previous usage as a site of heavy industry. Contrasting with this are the smooth glassed doors and the warm colours of the entrance, drawing pedestrians in. Inside, the high-pitched roof is left visible. The foyer exists in a space between the original exterior and the new interiors. These interiors are encased in large panels of smooth pre-formed concrete. The original rows of cast iron pillars have been taken as strong guiding lines by the architects. They largely determine the dimensions of the new interiors, with one line of pillars continuing unimpeded down a passage between the 800 and smaller 300 seat performance spaces.
Zero Degrees is performed in a large white box, reminiscent of that in which Peter Brook set his famous
A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Behind the rear panel are hidden a quartet of musicians and vocalists. In the space itself are two life-sized dummies. Both are white, but as the performance continues and both are manipulated by the performers one appears more flexible, the other stiffer. Interestingly this reflects the difference between relative angularity of Kahn and the extreme flexibility of Cherkaoui. Indeed, perhaps the casts are actually of Kahn and Cherkaoui’s bodies.
Kahn and Cherkaoui appear from opposite sides at the rear of the stage area and walk to face one another. Kahn is darker in appearance, Cherkaoui lighter, with a line of hair across the top of his forehead (both dancers are bald or balding). They are dressed in clothing that is identically cut; the difference lies in the colours. Kahn is dressed in an olive brown fitted t-shirt and broad pants, Cherkaoui in a blue-grey ensemble. Their entrances, in silence, (the musicians have been briefly illuminated before this – presumably to reveal to the audience in advance that they are performing live) contrast with the final image of the performance in which Cherkaoui carries a stiff, prone Kahn from the stage. However, to begin with, they meet at the centre rear of the stage, turn towards the audience and walk downstage, seating themselves at the very front of the stage.
At the front of the stage both performers begin speaking in unison. The text itself is rather conversational, as are the pauses and rhythms, but the effect of the unison is humorous. The text conveys the experience of travelling across the border from Bangladesh to India, and of having one’s passport confiscated by a border guard seeking a bribe. The text references the culture shock experienced by a western visitor who becomes aware that the usual rules of engagement don’t apply here. Their initial anger turns to fear.
This opening text is followed by a period of intricate arm movements, accompanied by the hidden quartet. The pattern of the performance is thus established, a pattern of downstage text interspersed amongst sections of movement. This pattern isn’t rigidly adhered to; it is also broken in numerous ways. Midway through the performance Kahn himself vocalises upstage, a series of staccato utterances sparks a new rhythmic pattern. Later Kahn repeats an earlier piece of text – this time without Cherkaoui. Finally, following the telling of an encounter with a dead body on an Indian train, Cherkaoui sings what sounds like a lament. Throughout the performance the musical accompaniment also shifts. Affected by a distinctly Indian inflection, the accompaniment contains a strong vocal component. Violin, cello, guitar and percussion join long trailing vocal notes that provide an aural environment that colours the mood of the white box. The shifts in rhythm and pace provided by the musical score are a major source of segmentation in the performance. Segments of movement begin from silence and are seemingly picked up and carried by the musicians.
The movement sequences of Kahn and Cherkaoui shift in tenor. At the outset they involve a playful tangling of arms; whose is whose? Their arms seemingly entwine, ever moving and shifting past one another. The effect is of a gentle unfolding towards and with one another. Soon this is replaced with an agonistic tone. A mock battle of arms and legs is engaged in. Kahn knocks Cherkaoui out flat following a sharp spin. The dancers’ shadows on the rear wall become a mediating focus as they join, and then lengthen and shorten separately. Playful sequences with the mannequins also provide humour and a certain note of reflexiveness. While the mannequins’ lack of response and blankly white exteriors allow the performers to manipulate them and project actions onto them (Cherkaoui, for instance, has one mannequin first caress and then abuse him), they also troublingly signify corpses as they are dragged about the space.
First Cherkaoui and then Kahn perform solos in the space; Cherkaoui uses his flexibility to roll, tumble, rise and fall from the stage. Kahn sits upstage left on the midriff of one of the mannequins. Kahn’s solos are more upright. He executes a range of spins and turns, including a rapid series of spins – so fast you would think he would lose control. Later Kahn investigates Cherkaoui’s flexibility, rolling and then bouncing him like a basketball. At different times both dancers abuse the mannequins, with these hits or kicks reflected in the body of the other. Cherkaoui in particular endows the mannequins with personality and agency; he seems to expect them to respond.
The shifting and often playful relationship between Kahn and Cherkaoui provides the emotional heart of this performance. While they test the limits of the space, of their own bodies, and the forms of the mannequins, it is the testing of each other, the glances, pokes, prods and stimuli they provide and respond to that propel this performance. Indeed, the title
Zero Degrees, for me, has resonances of the title of John Guare’s play
Six Degrees of Separation. In the white box of the set every gesture, movement and shift in attention, rhythm or speed is exposed and magnified; the dancers blend and separate; their similarities and their very profound differences are made evident as they share the telling of stories and as they weave in and out of each other’s orbit. Contrasting with its minimalist visual aesthetic
Zero Degrees is a profoundly humane work.
A postscript:
In the post above I don't actually mention anything about the specific experience of being in the audience. This is an oversight as it profoundly affected how I perceived the performance (indeed, it almost ruined the performance). To give you a better idea, I have included below an email I sent last night to 'feedback@sydneyfestival.org.au'. I will post any reply I receive ...To Whom It May Concern,
Initially, let me say thank you for tonight's performance of
Zero Degrees by Akram Kahn and Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui. The performance was excellent - deceptively simple, joyful, and reflective. I caught Kahn's
Kaash when it toured Sydney a few years ago, and so being able to see Kahn in Sydney again as part of the festival was great.
Unfortunately this email is a complaint. The seating arrangements in the new CarriageWorks space are not excellent, nor even sufficient, and it is for this reason that I am emailing you. I attended the first night of
Zero Degrees and was seated, with my wife, towards the rear of the stalls (seats U9 and U10). I booked via Ticketek, and my booking number was 6532761 (tel). The cost of these seats was $70 and $60 respectively (I have a student concession). Both seats were considered 'A Reserve'.
The rake of the seating in the venue was such that from our seats neither of us could see the front third of the stage area. This was the case for half the audience; everyone from the aisle back suffered from very poor sight-lines. Added to this, the front third of the stage was used extensively by the performers throughout the performance, especially when they repeatedly sat downstage centre to talk to the audience and perform what I presume were small, intricate gestures. Throughout the performance there was a great deal of restlessness as members of the audience shifted in their seats, stood briefly, or moved to the side aisles to stand and gain a glimpse of what was happening onstage.
Within a few minutes of the performance starting both my wife and I found that the situation was intolerable. We therefore walked to the rear of the seating bank and stood for the majority of the performance. Interestingly, even standing at the rear of the seating bank still didn't allow us a clear view of the front of the stage. All up I found this experience very frustrating. I was frustrated that I couldn't actually see what was going on (and I am 186cm tall) and that despite the great efforts of the performers their performance couldn't be adequately appreciated by at least half the audience.
So, I am asking for a partial refund of my ticket price in lieu of the fact that what was advertised as 'A Reserve' only afforded a partial view of the stage. In fact, ultimately what my wife and I purchased was very expensive standing room. I've been very polite in this email, but I am quite irate at the poor planning of this event - that a third of the stage was obscured by the insufficient rake of the stage is very substandard, especially for a dance performance where to be able to see all of a dancer's performance is essential! I therefore expect that this complaint will be taken seriously.
I understand that the condition of the venue is largely the fault of the venue's management (whom I have also contacted), but I did buy my ticket from the Sydney Festival organisation, so that is why I am asking for a partial refund from you. Perhaps you could provide me with a third off each ticket, considering I couldn't see a third of the stage?
I have kept my receipt and tickets as proof of my attendance and am very happy to produce them in order to receive the requested refund. I have provided means by which I might be contacted below. I would very much like a response to this email. I will be out of Sydney until the 13th of January, but can be contacted by mobile.
I would be very surprised if you do not receive a number of responses from other audience members.
Yours Sincerely,
Andrew
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