“Talented, if slightly drunk seeming dancers”
I braved torrential rain, compounded by a particularly violent and semi-hallucinogenic cold, plus a last-minute venue change, all to eventually arrive at Sadler’s Wells East for a thoroughly perplexing evening.
Hours before, the owner of The Peacock’s building, LSE, informed the renters (Sadler’s Wells) that “unavoidable building works” (we wonder weather-related?) required the theatre to shut down. Scramble would, I imagine, be putting it lightly. Thankfully SW had an empty theatre quietly twiddling its concrete and brick thumbs by the swollen Waterworks River in Stratford.
So, amidst the waterlogged streets, one issue was elegantly sorted and smoothed over with drinks vouchers and wry, wet smiles. A little further back in 1994, choreographer Philippe Lafeuille met two dancers mysteriously referred to as “a Catalan and a Venezuelan”. Their “spiciness of spirit” launched TUTU to global success, and their 1998 show Méli-Mélo romped from France, Spain, and Italy to Japan, the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, and further tours across Europe and North America. In 2014, Chico Mambo premiered with a cast of seven male dancers. They have since cheered 600,000 spectators and now mark their 800th performance in our little town.
Corinne Petitpierre (assisted by Anne Tesson) has an eye for the surreal and the silly, starting the men off in outlandish pink tutus stretching all the way down their legs, and nothing on top. We get flowing silk slips poking fun at Pina Bausch staples, swans that resemble babies’ nappies, actual nappies, and some intentionally costume-box medieval prince and leading-lady outfits. There is garish colour, lots of skin, and a heavy dose of infantility.
Throughout, it feels as if Matthew Bourne’s Swan Lake were attempted by talented, slightly drunk dancers. There is a blend of high–low humour here which sits rather uncertainly together. Ironic jabs at Bauschian hair-whipping and screams, and black-clad contemporary dance’s random flailing, go down very well with cultured titters from the audience. The piece really sings when the gents are plucking at the serious and self-involved nature of dance, which they do very well.
However, very childish humour is muddled in, making me wonder if it is indeed a children’s show. Yet the semi-nudity and crotch-centred jests suggest otherwise. Adults pretending to be babies is, for me, like nails on a chalkboard, and clown-like gazing out at the audience for laughs can be trying.
Vincenzo Veneruso plays many of the female parts, floating en pointe with grace and softness, then descending into blokey knuckle-swinging, which becomes an ongoing (if over-repeated) source of comedy. All the boys show a fluidity and inversion of gender roles and a plasticity of presentation that is refreshing, especially the towering and powerfully built, red-bearded Kamil Pawel Jasinski.
I long lament the lack of whimsy in ballet, and TUTU clearly seeks to fill that gap in the market. However, the confusing tone of the show obscures much of the lunging technique of the performers and leaves a hollowness to the chortles.