The first words to escape my lips after Dana Michel took her
final bow was, "gob smacked, we've been gob smacked!" The audience was on its feet giving an
unequivocal standing ovation. For
an entire performance the audience had not been able to take its eyes off of
Michel. But what had we seen? Dana
Michel took us on a riveting journey into identity and otherness.
Dana Michel not so much performs for the audience, as she
demands that it bears witness.
Episodes of movement and stillness are drawn out, pregnant with
intention. You could feel the
audience squirm and frown in concentration as Michel made her entrance as a
struggling, palsied individual.
This persona's gait stuttered and turned inward. Next, she is smearing her dark coloured
face with white cream and sharing a socially savvy observation, which upends
the audience's expectations. As an
audience member, your feet never really touch the bottom in security. She is the kind of performer that
operates on a taut high wire without a safety net.
Michel is a dance maker of disturbing skill and visceral
ability. We watch enthralled as
one character after another emerges from her creative cocoon as she overlays
everyday movements with character-rich vocalizations and ingenious props. Michel may ritualistically scatter the
stage with the detritus of daily life:
toothpicks, kitchenware or elastic bands. Snatches of narrative from recognizable, dare we say
"civilized" events– like a weather forecast or a cooking program– are
rendered absurd. A handful of
blonde wig is swung about as if in benediction or interrogation. Dana Michel delves into herself and
into us with both pain and humour.
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