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Broken Chords

Published Tuesday 23 January 2007 at 12:15 by Christopher Collett

Anyone who has had their heart broken will identify with the latest offering from Sheffield-based Vincent Dance Theatre. A response to the disintegration of director Charlotte Vincent’s marriage, it is a raw, chaotic and fragmented piece that almost collapses under the weight of its grief.

Played out on a stark set consisting of rows of lonely, empty chairs, the piece starts painfully slowly as a comatose violinist strikes up a mournful tune while other similarly zombified figures stagger on stage, barely able to move through the fog of depression. Their inaction, however, is punctuated by short frantic sequences, jagged shards of movement that communicate unimaginable suffering. Coupled with the tortured wails of the violin, it is almost unbearable to watch, the choreographic equivalent of fingernails being dragged down a blackboard.

Halfway through, the piece then goes all post-modern as the action is halted by one of the performers who breaks down, explaining that they have become severely depressed by the experience of working with a suicidal director for the past year. Like a Forced Entertainment show, Broken Chords becomes a deconstruction of the theatrical process, asking what both audience and performers can be expected to endure in the name of honest, authentic art. Unlike Tim Etchells, however, Vincent realises that exploring these questions and entertaining an audience are not mutually exclusive.

It is a challenging piece but its difficult moments are largely offset by vigorous crowd pleasing choreography as well as some exquisite moments of dark comedy.

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