Review: Gravity & Other Myths' The Mirror creates a sophisticated yet saucy cabaret of physical feats
Receiving a wild standing O, Aussie company ups its own game to create a fun, finely orchestrated flow of ever-shifting human towers and sculptures
Megan Drury and performers in The Mirror. Photo by Andy Phillipson
DanceHouse and The Cultch present The Mirror at the Vancouver Playhouse to January 27
GRAVITY & OTHER Myths’ The Mirror is next-level circus, running like a sophisticated, ever-shifting funhouse, mixing sultry cabaret and Aussie cheekiness for a vibe all its own. And we haven’t even mentioned the underwear.
Those lucky enough to snag a ticket (and we highly suggest you try) are treated to an utterly inventive, nonstop parade of bodies in skivvies—tighty whities, teensy thongs, fluorescent boxer briefs, high-waisted hipsters, you name it. The honed performers skitter into elaborate human towers, falling backward into waiting arms, and reforming again. Sometimes they take a tumble through the air between those towers, or string themselves like an arched bridge between them. Other times they stand riding each other’s backs surreally across the floor, or hustle into human stairways for others to climb toward the rafters. The only climbing apparatuses are their limbs, shoulders, and ridiculously ripped torsos and backs.
For those who caught the Adelaide-based troupe’s indie-feeling, stripped-down A Simple Space at the York Theatre in 2015, The Mirror is another massive step forward—a fully realized artistic spectacle on the larger Vancouver Playhouse stage, without losing any of the intimacy, sauciness, and chemistry the acrobats are known for.
The company excels at making stage magic out of simple devices. In The Mirror, a black curtain that dancers move back and forth throughout the show provides the live equivalent of cinematic wipe edits. In the instant it takes for the curtain to cross the stage, intricate formations magically transform, appear, and disappear; at one point we see the curtain pass in front of a massive tower of people standing on each other’s shoulders, then, in seconds, it pulls away to reveal one guy left wondering where his mates went. At other times, “mirror” images of morphing multibody sculptures splay out kaleidoscopically from either side of the panel.
Upping the ante in this show is the use of LED and fluorescent light rods that help carve out the space, as well as live camera projections that often allow us to see the acrobats’ straining, sweating, upside-down faces up-close-and-personal. Everything flows together so fluidly, and the lights and projections are used so sleek-and-minimally, that these techy tricks (created by set and lighting designer Matt Adey) never feel like gimmicks.
Similarly, the musclebound athletes never come across as show-offy. For one thing, they’re too Aussie-nonchalant about the superhuman feats they’re pulling off, but also most of the time they’re having too much fun. One of the hilarious highlights comes when the crew manipulates two performers, holding their bodies as stiff as cut-out dolls, into holding, kissing, and mounting each other—then hoisting them, lips still Krazy-Glue-locked, high up to stand on their shoulders.
The Mirror. Photo by Andy Phillipson
Magnetically holding it all together is Megan Drury at the mike, looking and sounding like a dark-haired, Weimar-era Annie Lennox, providing live music and a David Lynch-cabaret feel for the show. She treats you to seductive lounge versions of your favourite pop and vintage hits, with a showstopping finale that’s a mad medley of everything from Rage Against the Machine to Dead or Alive.
The show pokes witty fun at ubiquitous selfie culture, and the endless stream of signals and samples that gush over the interweb. In the process, it creates a dreamlike, prismatic universe all its own, with precision and flow that show uncountable hours of refining and rehearsal.
Gravity & Other Myths came out of the indie circus-fest scene and has made a name for itself on the Fringe circuit, but this is a work so finely choreographed under director Darcy Grant that it could hold its own on any of the world’s finest contemporary-dance stages. And likely receive the kind of wild cheers and standing ovation that it got here.
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