IT IS hard to think of a more fitting tribute to Pina Bausch’s career than “Vollmond (Full Moon)” (2006), one of the last pieces she choreographed before dying in 2009, aged 68. This is a vital, mesmerising work, at once profound, funny and full of the many ways we hurt each other and ourselves. Also it is a spectacle, with gown-clad, hair-whipping women and jangly men gliding about in the rain—sometimes a trickle, occasionally a torrent, all of it pooling on stage.
Bausch’s dance pieces tend to explore the dramatic struggles between men and women. The couples in “Vollmond” are duly compulsive, manic and irrational. They push and pull at each other, testing and teasing. A man dances near a woman and tenderly leans in for a possible kiss; the woman responds by kissing him frantically, violently, pecking him across the stage. Is she conveying desire? Distaste? Another woman, statuesque in a long black gown, delivers an orange to a man sitting in the front row; “I’m so hungry,” she says coyly, a manipulative minx. Bausch choreographed for grown-ups, rich with experience if not always wisdom.
For over two hours, the 12 dancers on stage interact and move on, their gestures violent, their yearning palpable. Typical of Bausch’s work, there is much running and leaping and clutching, some of it joyful, all of it urgent and athletic. In gowns that seem formal, otherworldly and occasionally ill-fitting, long-haired women of various shapes and sizes (though mostly spectre-thin) act out moments of vanity and vulnerability. The men are tenderly drawn but seem like children, easily bossed, bored and entertained. They play games to amuse themselves and possibly to lure women. The dancers occasionally speak, but the real communication is through movement.
From Economist