Sharp, stylish but oversized snapshots of the world as a sinking ship
Hofesh Shechter Company, Sadler’s Wells Grand Finale
It’s impossible not to have a soft spot for Hofesh Shechter. With past pieces such as In Your Rooms (2007) and Political Mother (2010), the choreographer, percussionist and Kubrick devotee gave contemporary dance as exhilarating a shot in the arm as it has ever had. But not since that latter piece has Shechter had an entirely fresh, unqualified hit. And, for all the industriousness that he and his troupe pour into the wryly titled Grand Finale, I’m not convinced that this new piece is it.
Wisely stripping away the arch excesses of 2015’s searingly odd barbarians, using a fully designed set for the first time and far more brought-in music than ever before, Grand Finale is a dark, chaotic piece about a dark, chaotic world. Like a clutch of crazed Tweeters, the 10 dancers shift allegiances in the blink of an eye, tenderly supporting each other one second, turning on each other the next, and then suddenly falling into perfect, pulsating and quintessentially Shechterish union.
This stage is a world not only of social media addiction, but also of martial fury, miserable exoduses, unpredictable and extreme violence, all with the rekindled threat of nuclear annihilation hanging toxically over it.
At times, in novel little additions to Shechter’s choreographic vocabulary, the dancers perform with their mouths agape, as if this is the only possible reaction to our troubled times. At others, one member of each couple appears completely lifeless, their partner persistently swirling them around and repositioning them in a matter-of-fact kind of desperation. Contributing pungently to the sinking-ship aura – while also adding a droll dash of never-say-die optimism – is an immaculately decked-out string band that soldiers on no matter what. Meanwhile, set-designer Tom Scutt’s sentinel-like monoliths are efficiently imposing, the dancers’ performances as razor-sharp as the production.
But there’s a fundamental problem of overfamiliarity. The first half has played all its hands within 20 minutes but lasts almost an hour; Shechter covered remarkably similar intellectual territory more entertainingly in 2013’s flawed-but-fascinating Sun; and then, there are his instantly recognisable coiled, round-shouldered, earthbound steps, along with his hefty percussion track.
All this still makes for a fine spectacle, and if Grand Finale is your first experience of Shechter’s work, it may prove a stimulating one. However, when you know just how thrillingly he has deployed his physical and musical arsenal in the past, the feeling of diminishing returns is hard to escape, even if I still hold out a hope that he may one day dazzle us anew.