Taut and dangerous, Tanja Liedtke’s Twelfth Floor examines the dislocation and exclusion of individuals in an institution.
As dance theatre, it creates clear individual characters whose madness infects those around them. And while the narrative is somewhat clouded, it does contain a sense of drive in the way chaos permeates the order of the institution.
Individually, the company creates great characters - each owning a particular set of physical moves. Anton and Craig Barry are aggressive macho types, who spend their time engaged in fruitless contests. While they pose, preen and flex their pecks, Julian Crotti creates a far more sinister kind of male, creeping around the corners of designer Gaelle Mellis’ claustrophobically institutional set, drawing on the walls and writing convoluted messages of lost hope.
With her robotic moves and bright pink tunic dress, Amelia McQueen at first appears to be the men’s jailer. When she enters, they stand shuddering in the corner. It is a feeling only enhanced by her introduction of Kristina Chan’s young woman into the room, who she then persuades to start stripping off.
The dynamic becomes rather more marginalised than a simple one of prisoners and jailer as relationships grow up and break down in surprising directions. The macho boys’ offstage rape of McQueen’s character - and their subsequent dragging her on stage stiff as a blow-up doll - while Chan and Crotti form an oblivious liaison is as genuinely disturbing as the earlier games were funny.
Thought-provoking stuff which demonstrates great focus, but which purports to say rather more than it communicates.
Production information can change over the run of the show.
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