I last saw Akram Khan four years ago when his extraordinary solo performance, Xenos, was billed as his final swan song, but of course artists such as Khan will never venture far from the limelight.
Khan first blasted onto the British dance scene 20 years ago, bringing kathak dance to mainstream culture, infiltrating a new form of movement expressivity into pop culture, ballet and contemporary dance. A performer with unforgettable stage magnetism, tonight sees him back onstage, and, even if he’s not the main star of the show, it’s hard to take your eyes off his mercurial speed of movement that has retained great power and energy, unfazed by time out.
Now he returns to his traditional roots in a piece inspired loosely on the Mahabharata in a tale of motherhood, female pain and brotherly discord against the backdrop of global crisis, with the spotlight very much on the collective. Yet even inside the collaborative huddle, Khan captivates, exuding expressivity and electric-powered hand gestures that seem to be generated as a separate entity from the rest of his body.
In GIGENIS, the generation of the Earth, Khan shares centre-stage with an ensemble of six brilliantly gifted Indian classical dancers from Kutiyattam artist Kapila Venu, Bharatanatyam, soloists, Mavin Khoo and Mythili Prakash, duo Vijna Vasudevan, Renjith Babu, and Sirikalyani Adkoli. The hour-long performance is then elevated by the presence of live musicians bordering the sides of the stage, lit by yellow bulbs swinging from side to side against a simple black backdrop, framing the evergreen-coloured tunics beautifully as the dancers flow and stamp.
Tonight is the story of a war widow whose two sons are polar opposites. One, danced by Khan’s main man, Khoo, who represents stillness, softness and goodness, the other, danced by Akram Khan himself, brings turbulent mayhem to the role, revealing familiar Khan energy. Khoo, a master of calm, is chosen to rule; as his brother, Khan, throws his toys out of the pram in a toddler tantrum, spinning like a dreidel, enraged and fuming, his brittle energy seeps through his entire body from head to toe with flickering fingers that look like angry swords.
The cradle of the drama, though, sits with the mother figure played by Venu, emanating the powerfully expressive ancient Indian dance tradition Kutiyattam. She is not a dancer, but infuses her character with believable passion and sadness witnessing her sons’ bitter conflicts.
When the evening opens with the clamouring of banging percussion merging with high-pitched, moaning voices, Venu holds the stage with sculptural stance, all exaggerated eyes, expressing fear and joy and her simple, powerful movements building in intensity alongside the overpowering live music as she follows the younger iterations of herself around the stage, as if to ask herself how she came to this point in life. Her performance is mesmerising, as if an ancient Indian heroine has been brought back to life exuding stoic precision and ancient wisdom.
Bharatanatyam dancers—the on- and offstage couple Vasudevan and Babu—perform a light-of-touch duet with strident stamping feet and fluttering arms, embracing like a pair of doves. The young female dancers, Prakash and Adkoli, bring bright and wide-smiling energy to the cast, a welcome respite from the battling.
While Zeynep Kepekli’s darkly layered tones and atmospheric lighting design creates a subtle otherness, we are transported to distant lands of rich reds, smoke and naked yellow bulbs blowing in the wind (machine) building in bloody colours as the tale takes an aggressive turn.
The performance with no interval is continuously driven by the music, and the sound reverberates in my chest as the pitch levels are so fiercely high—at one point, I cover my ears to muffle the intensity. The overall sense of being transported to faraway lands is testament to sharply visually persuasive imagery with threads of poetry sewn into the astounding movement ensemble, creating shapes and patterns that communicate storytelling directly, echoed by the honeyed tones of the female narrator.
As Venu sinks to the floor, we hear the words, "I was a daughter, then I was a wife, then a mother.” The stage is bathed in stillness, and there's a breath-hold moment as you can feel all the mothers, wives and daughters nod, then sigh as if they understand what that means. A tremendous, sweeping, epic hour of authentic traditional dance that sits simmering on the senses long after the performance is over.