Author: Metod Zupan

It was on November 14th that I arrived in Budapest for the SŐT7 (Sissi Autumn Dance Week), which was held in the historic Bethlen Téri Theater for the 12th time from November 11th to 17th 2023. Having already missed Attila Horváth’s Sweet (dis)harmony – Forum of Young Choreographers, which opened the festival alongside the performances the following days, including Dávid Dabóczi’s Server, Dalma Wéninger’s Stations and Róbert Kiss’s The second sex, there was of course no time to waste. So, let’s jump straight into it.

November 14th was dedicated to the work of a young Hungarian choreographer Szasza Rab, of whom we saw two performances. Rage was performed by Blanka Csasznyi, Réka Oberfrank and Judit Koncz. They are all standing in a diagonal spread across the theater hall when the audience enters and proceeds to sit around the perimeter. Dressed in red, yellow and green, traffic lights associations seem to be coincidental. They stand still but shake, as if warming up before the show – a common practice among dancers. The shaking could also be interpreted as a feeling of nervousness or anger from deep within the body, a common human reaction bypassing vocal expression. The traffic lights association returns, as banal as it is. In an inviting mix of form and content, the choreography never stems solely from one or the other. The shaking at the beginning of the show imbues the dances with an ample, springy quality, which leads to a development of more animated movements. Subsequently, the dance body opens up and expands, incorporating extensions that involve stretching limbs in various directions. As movements become more grandiose, creating a sense of space and expression, the composition expands to the entire stage. Csasznyi manages to demonstrate particular bravura in this aspect, but with her splits, she stands out disproportionately from the movements of Oberfrank and Koncz.

The techno beats of Dézsi Sada, which buzz from the speakers in constant repetition, suggest a sense of inevitability, while the choreography keeps returning to the shaking quality in various contexts. Rage is never fully released though, it remains contained, just like the expressions of the dancers. Considering the gender of the performers and the choreographer, this is to be expected, since women are taught from birth that rage is not something they are allowed to exhibit. But the show itself does not provide any hints of social critique, so in the end, it lacks (contemporary feminist) inspiration. The common movement of nervous shaking also becomes too obtrusive and literal for the theme of rage, which lacks originality in execution.

The second performance of the evening I’m talking about it, also choreographed by Szasza Rab, proves to be more comprehensive. The piece was originally performed by the choreographer herself, but she was this time replaced by Flóra Veres. Veres arrives on stage nonchalantly, with seemingly carefree moves. She travels across the stage spinning and bursting with energy, tossing her upper limbs. Until she ceases. The lighting (done both in this performance and the previous one by Gergő Lukács) suddenly takes on a greenish tint, and the soundscape shifts to a somber tone. With that, the movement also takes on a more grounded behavior, literally sinking to the floor with a heavy character. Voices start to speak from the speakers in Hungarian. Though unintelligible to non-Hungarian speakers, they convey a tangible message. Trauma has just taken place. Trauma that – though unseen – leaves a lasting presence in the space.

The body is left alone in the middle of a vast, dark room, emphasized by the all–encompassing light from the reflectors. As Veres’ body starts to move again with a tart quality, as if scrubbing her body with rapid arm movements, underlined by the gurgling sounds from the speakers, the title of the piece resonates: I’m talking about it. Not with words, but with a more universal embodied language, the choreographer is breaking the silence that victims of sexual assault are shoved into. The trajectory from interrupted freedom to the release of the internalized is also expressed kinesthetically. The movement is less controlled and more grounded with the help of the release technique. Just as in Rage, Szasza Rab tackles a serious subject with attentiveness that comes through the dancers’ intensities on the stage. The meaningful is mirrored in the technical in a way that seems overly banal and literal in the first performance, but thoughtful in this one. While both works represent a rumination on a topic (anger and sexual assault) and its implications on the body, in the medium of contemporary dance, the first one seems to be more inspired in its physical development, while the second one adopts a completely linear dramaturgy. The first one seemingly lacks tangible specificity of a woman’s perspective, whereas the second one embraces it. Both pieces, however, serve as a fine representation of what awaited us in the remainder of the festival’s program (more on that at the end of this article).

The 12th edition of SŐT7 had a seemingly simple curatorial vision of “embracing talent and international relations”, no doubt filtered through the interests of the team responsible for the selection. Given that I witnessed performances created by – at least to me – unknown artists, which is rare in my home country at the least, I was able to take the work they performed into account without any previous knowledge, which can often unwillingly contaminate a writer’s perspective. In other words, the performances spoke for themselves.

On the fifth day of the festival, the works supported by the Imre Zoltán Program of the National Cultural Fund – which had been featured from the beginning of the festival and showcased local talents – exemplified the second element of the curatorial vision: strengthening regional ties. The exception was the closing performance, which was created as part of the Beyond Front@ project and displayed artists mostly from neighboring countries such as Slovenia and Croatia.

Martina Tomić: figures, figures, at Bethen Square Theater (November 2023). Photo by Gábor Dusa

The phrase “figures figures” might refer to numbers, human figures on display, or patterns of dance or speech, much like in the famous Italian canzone “Parole parole”. In the performance by the Croatian choreographer Martina Tomić, in a way, it represents all four. The piece was created by Studio Contemporary Dance Company (SCDC), one of the first and still rare contemporary dance companies in the region, and was performed by Ida Jolić, Ana Mrak and Tomić herself. Numbers, patterns, compositions and words all play an important role in the choreography, which is divided into five chapters (turn, walk, break, fall, end). However, in a refreshing turn of events, the piece holds no deeper meaning than what we see on the stage. In other words, the dancing is about dancing.

Turns, walking and falls are all constitutional elements of contemporary choreographies, just as breaks and prudent endings are constitutional, if somewhat clichéd elements of contemporary dance dramaturgies. Structured around these elements, each chapter begins with the title projected onto the screen behind the dancers, informing them and the audience what the dominating focus of the movement research will be. The most coherent example of this is the chapter in which the score is being typed out in real time and projected on the screen at the upstage wall. The dancers alternately look at the projection and proceed to execute the assignment – sometimes following a predictable “dancer’s logic”, other times seeming disobedient to the typical ideas of what, let’s say, a “fall of the right part of the body” should look like. The scores are just like figures or Paroles. Although they seem to give us unescapable dictation, they are just that: scores, figures or paroles.

The manner in which the creative process of the work unfolds gives the performance a grounded quality that avoids pretentiousness, which is also true for the costumes designed by Ana Fucijaš. Or so it seems, because the fun mix of colors, tights and a shiny puffer jacket are never used, they seemingly represent nothing other than what they are. On the flip side, however, the lighting design by Toni Modrušan seems to disregard the specifics of the stage in Bethlen Téri Theater, resulting in an unwelcome appearance of shoddiness and dustiness that is distracting. Dramaturgy by Ivana Đula, however, saves the performance through its management of pace and development. The dancers themselves also demonstrate a wonderful ability that seems like improvisation and comedic timing, making the audience giggle a few times during the show.

Daša Grgič: Plenir, at Bethen Square Theater (November 2023). Photo by Gábor Dusa

On November 16th we experienced a return to content when we witnessed the performance PLENIR by Slovenian choreographer Daša Grgič, where four dancers, Grgič included, present “an homage to their grandmothers” through sufficient dancing but somewhat less stellar acting. The fact that the piece is concerned with heritage is evident from the moment the audience enters the hall, seeing the dancer Igor Sviderski dressed in an old farmhand, sitting in the midst of stacks of hay. It isn’t long until music starts to play, and the rest of the ensemble including Urša Rupnik and Luka Ostrež appear. They are also dressed in what appear to be old-timey clothes, but seem to be much richer farmers than Grgič and Sviderski. The costumes designed by Anka Rener Kremžar thus create a contrast between them that the choreography itself doesn’t address.

The performers weave scenes from the lives of our ancestors including farmwork and migration, but are mostly focused on courting. In these scenes, the content is not the only thing that feels anachronistic, for the gender roles are rooted in androcentric representations as well, for example in the practices of romantic ballet. Like in the classical pas de deux, Sviderski and Osterž pick up Grgič and Rupnik, carry them around, follow them and even undress them. The group dances don’t fare much better and mostly consist of modern choreographies performed in unison, featuring mimetic pictures such as performers presenting sitting on a moving train by shaking and sitting. Symbolism thus mostly wanes to clichés.

According to Grgič, the piece wanted to answer the question of “What is our cultural-historical-ethnographic heritage?”, which is a profound question. Where do we come from, how has it shaped us, and how does it influence our daily decisions, especially in an era that is obsessed with identity and history yet constantly repeats past mistakes? All of those questions are mostly answered today by a professional and institutionalized system. However, the question is here not posed by a specialized governmental agency, but by a specific individual; a female choreographer. But because she doesn’t base the choreography on individual family history, the end product resonates more as national mythology, with all the anachronistic gender dynamics that it entails. But since the work was created with good intentions, one is tempted to forgive its shortcomings and unrelenting efforts to charm. As a camp spectacle, PLENIR was immensely charming and enjoyable.

Lia Ujčič and András Engelman: Some Things Touch, at Bethen Square Theater (November 2023). Photo by Gábor Dusa

A more contemporary representation of a couple’s dynamics, though still using the medium of dance for representation, was the other Slovenian entry, the performance Some Things Touch by Lia Ujčič and András Engelman, which we saw on the closing day, November 17th. As in all the other works seen and discussed thus far (probably a coincidence and not a curatorial decision), the performers are already present on the stage when the audience enters and takes their seats. When the gentle but persisting, rhythmic music by Rhoda, dné, Elandro begins, the show conceived by Ujčič and Vincent Wodrich commences.

Ujčič and Engelman are sitting together on a minifridge, as if awaiting something, their nervous shaking giving their limbs impulses to start moving. From fast but gentle and precise caresses, adjustments and head turns a dance develops, which gradually becomes more and more dynamic. They mirror each other’s positions, not overly marked by signs but rather associated with everyday couple situations. The performance is reminiscent of the Belgian choreographer Wim Vandekeybus’ work, not only because the concept focuses on the narrative of a conflict between contentious gender dynamics, but also because of the idiom in which they move. Unlike the anachronistic dance codes of gender dynamics in the previous performance, Ujčič’s and Engelman’s movements differ only in individual idiosyncrasies rather than conforming to a stereotypical regime of man-woman choreographic hierarchies.

As the piece progresses, they both excel in solo parts, with one dancing while the other is preoccupied with fridge magnet poetry. The narrative can be described as having an internal dramaturgy that lends meaning to every action, yet functions much richer and remains completely logical if actions are left open-ended and fixed meaning is not ascribed to them. In this sense, the choreography can be experienced as a rumination on contemporary struggles such as codependency, isolation and cohabitation, all of which having an embodied element to them, and as such, serve as great inspirations for dance. The lighting design by Virág Rovó also follows the same principles as the movement. It changes subtly when the composition changes, it follows the ques and impulses created by the others and works in tandem with the dynamics of the couple.

The 12th edition of SŐT7 truly saved the best for last. On the evening of November 17th, we were treated to the performance Dream of a Ladybug by the South Korean choreographer and dancer Ha Ji Hye. The solo begins with her arrival at the center of the stage and with an immediate start of unpredictably patterned rhythmic music. This provides Ha Ji Hye with ample opportunities to surprise us with unexpected contortions, kicks or tilts. During the energetic shaking, she maintains an excessively excited facial expression that offers us a glimpse into the performativity of her gestures, but the dramaturgy keeps us on the edge of our seats until the very end. This is due to the masterful layering of her movement development and expression alongside other suspenseful elements such as dynamic light and sound design, as well as costume design. Starting in a heavily overdressed outfit unfit for extreme movement, the dancer gradually starts to disrobe, always giving us a glimpse of what’s to come.

Over time, the dancer removes her thighs and top, revealing cupping therapy bruises all over her body, which is still moving tirelessly. But it isn’t until the music shuts down that we see the actions on the stage for what they are. Suddenly, we hear Ha Ji Hye gasping for air, see her sweating, and her overhyped, boastful smiles becoming a distant memory. She is dancing herself to exhaustion and treating herself with therapy only to bypass the regeneration process. Much like contemporary cultural workers, who – due to insufficient fundings – have to hyper-produce. Her back, dotted with six circular bruises resembling a ladybug, suddenly appears bitter. What was once a dream of freedom has now turned into a reality of exhaustion.

What we witnessed at the Sissi Autumn Dance Festival was, in a way, a division oscillating between the past and the present. The tangible links of form and content sometimes bordered on the banal, other times on the too literal, but most of the time were stuck comfortably somewhere in that sweet spot in between. It is usually the sweetness of that spot that distinguishes the good from the bad, but it doesn’t necessarily separate them from the mediocre. That is a much more complex task, one that only a few managed in this particular festival. This liminality was also mirrored by the companion program, consisting of an exhibition by János Eifert, an artist talk by Lea Kukovičič and an Improvisational dance evening as part of the Dance Communication Lab – Beyond Front@. But considering the length of this article, I think it’s safe to say that not many have made it this far, which gives me ample excuse for an abrupt conclusion.

The text was created in the framework of dance critics residency taking place in Budapest in November 2023 as part of Beyond Front@: Bridging Periphery project.