[2013049] Life in Miniature
Anything Is Valid Dance Theatre @ Holden Street Theatres – The Caravan
7:00pm, Sat 23 Feb 2013
“Set and performed inside a caravan to an intimate audience of 5 people at a time” promises the précis, and I’m hooked; I love the idea of ultra-intimate performances (of which I attended many this Festival season). That Life In Miniature was also listed as a dance piece had me booking tickets as early as I could schedule; but I must admit, knowing the caravan had been sitting in the Holden Street carpark during this week of sticky weather, that I was full of trepidation when heading out for my allotted timeslot – that tin-can was going to be hot.
I elect to wait in the bar, where a small group of people are also waiting – three women and one man, all happily chatting whilst one of the women tended to an infant. One of the Holden Street crew recognised me and approached – they’re the other people in your group, she indicated; are you OK if they bring the baby in with them? It was hardly a fair question – what was I going to do, say no? – and it only made me more anxious.
We ventured out into the sunlight, and are greeted at the door of the caravan by half of AIVDT, Quindell Orton; one of the women asks whether there’s a fan inside. There’s a knowing smile in response – we’re doing our best, we are assured. And then we’re ushered into the caravan, and… well, it’s a caravan. Nothing fancy: the table and bedding area is typical of all the caravans I’ve had the opportunity to stay in. The three women (and child) sat in a row at the front of the van, with myself and the other guy sitting along the side of the van behind the table; there’s friendly banter between our usher and the group as she seats us (and points out the fan which struggles away throughout), before closing the door.
But suddenly Serena Chalker’s face appears from behind the bedding partition; our usher falls silent, and takes a seat at the table. The new person joins her, and soon they’re engaged in a mute game of angular mimicry of limbs on the tabletop. There’s something alluring about the rapid flurry of arms as they follow each other, something mysterious about the eyes that challenge each other whilst encapsulating smiles… but then the two women stand up and start moving around the very confined space.
They play hide and seek either side of the bedroom partition; they perform the washing-up in a most physically elegant (yet angular) way. They never speak a word, but hint at volumes: are they sisters or besties? Friends or foe? Their faces and actions shift the mood of their interactions between tension and joy; they (literally) climb the walls, they stretch and pose.
It’s a really intoxicating – and quirky – performance, with a curious moment of respite in the middle when they pass the biscuit tin around with a nod and a smile. And, at the end of the performance (when the caravan door was flung open, and we discovered in horror that the outside temperature wasn’t really all that much cooler than inside the caravan), my head was buzzing with a series of questions for the performers – I wanted to know who their characters were, because I felt like I’d just encountered them whilst we were all on weird tween family holidays in a Renmark caravan park. And that sense of nostalgia (for something that I’d never experienced) was, most definitely, a Good – if curious – Thing.