FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 22, 2024
BIAF 24: The Gate House
Photo: Neil Hainsworth
Michael McEvoy's The Gate House, a Prime Cut co-production with Northern Attitudes Dance Company, is art as refinement and inspiration, staggering in its depiction of discovery, or rediscovery, of instantaneous drive and expression. Played out as song and contemporary dance within the open centre of St Anne's Cathedral in Belfast, it joins Prime Cut's recent Aurora in being startlingly effective in its necessity and immediacy, another smart illustration of the plantations and fortifications in human purpose and belonging along with their overall impact in the face of necessary learning and adaptation.
That "learning" and "adaptation" is drawn from choreographer McEvoy's own lineage and life experience. One of seven main dancers in the piece, along with Angus Bartlett, Clara Kerr, Hannah Scully, Oliver Robertson, Rosie Mullin and Diarmuid Armstrong, McEvoy, assisted by additional choreography from Kerr and Denise Catney, sees the production as a sharing of "all the versions of Belfast that helped shape (him)" – versions derived not only from his own identity but also via anecdotes from his father and grandfather. From old stories heard can new stories grow, and in this case we are presented with a tale of change, resilience, open-mindedness, securities and insecurities – like a tug, but not a warring one, between safety and initiative and where that may eventually lead.
Accompanied by several stirring and thoughtful tunes from musician Joshua Burnside, McEvoy and his team craft an impressive concoction of stark and truthful imagery before our very eyes. There's an early instance where McEvoy himself appears to be functioning as the pivot in the middle of the dancing space – moving back and forth, not sure where to go or what to do, until every other main dancer gradually fills the floor and dashes around with joy to the sound of strings. We soon hear them talking in gibberish, but what they are saying matters less than the companionship they are offering our previously lonely "middle man" – there is no longer a social distance, but a social connection. A connection which becomes playful and mischievous when the "middle man" covers his head for a while, perhaps implying an attempt at shelter from the storm he'll have to face. In the meantime, every other dancer stamps their feet, soon reaching a unified rhythm, before clicking their fingers and singing a capella. It's a sharp contrast – our central figure's potential trepidation at the arrival of a whole new world while his colleagues have fun.
Photo: Neil Hainsworth
A defining and standout moment in the piece arises when McEvoy finds his way to the relatively large centre of the performance space, and slinks about on the dark floor as if he is trapped in the midst of an oil-coloured sea. Is this an attempt to free oneself from the effects of discarded waste or impending climate change? A means of having nowhere else for artistic composure and creative freedom, except within the stickiness of consumption and pollution? It implies the idea of sifting through everything we consume day by day, old and new, before attempting to draw what we perceive to be most beneficial from all the detritus - life as a physical and intellectual battle.
Even during the supposedly calmer moments, McEvoy does not let up with his inquisitiveness. Chairs are later carried out over the floor as the set up of a pub with beers for everyone is created – just the sort of place where you'd expect to unburden your troubles as well as pack them up and smile. But in between the calm and laughter, we're reminded that there is a price to pay - the price of opening up. Not everyone is going to react in the same way or how the most prominent talker wishes them to, and from a place of respite we are suddenly, uncomfortably redirected to that sadly familiar feeling of losing control. Here we see The Gate House as an exhibition of bonding and insularity, the kind arguably made most popular by the Friends generation and beyond, where it appears that a refuge can be as much a trapping as a release.
When we move on from the "pub" setting and to a more open one, we see movement of graceful elegance and physicality. By now the story, as it did for Robert Wise & Jerome Robbins' Jets and Sharks more than six decades ago, and Steven Spielberg's even more recently, echoes the idea of song and dance as command and freedom – art forms as crucial statements about identity in a compelling cauldron of conflict. But, instead of tragedy, there is timely uplift, the loudness of the music and the vibrancy of the dancing amplifying to the point where our central figure can feel comforted that he will not have to face his journeys alone. Comfort then transforms into confidence and dancing styles that continue to entrance and fascinate before the power of a unified community is entrenched with the sudden arrival of many more dancers on the floor. By this point, we cannot help but surrender to the experience – and neither, it seems, can the main dancers, who appear to bear expressions both learned and energised in a calming aftermath. The reward to be taken from The Gate House is one of enormous encouragement – from both the performers and from a reminder that it's never too late to reshape and inspire both your own life and the lives of others. It is a thing of beauty.
Simon Fallaha
The Gate House recently premiered at St Anne's Cathedral, Belfast, as part of the Belfast International Arts Festival 2024. For more information, click here.