Review: CocoonDance in Chora – “I won’t be buying the video”

Graham Spicer sees the fifth company at MilanOltre contemporary dance festival – “She fixed me in the eyes, so I fixed her back until she turned her head and slunk off… did I win? How I loathe audience participation.”

Milan’s Teatro Elfo Puccini contains three performance spaces, the largest of which is Sala Shakespeare, one of the best dance venues the city has to offer. The steeply raked seating means that even a patron with a top knot doesn’t cause problems – and there was, too, seated in front of me for the opening performance of this year’s MilanOltre festival, held at the theatre – and the seats are comfortable too. And so off to see the fifth company in the festival’s lineup – CocoonDance with Chora.

“Sir, just to let you know that the public will be onstage with the dancers and that the performance is being recorded so if you prefer not to be filmed, please let an usher know.”

Oh well, gone the comfy seat. But up close to see the dance at least. It turned out to be more up-close-and-personal.

Further on, another usher blocks my way. “The audience will enter via the backstage area. Please wait in the foyer.”

The crowd in the foyer grew, and the show start time passed. A slender woman on the stairs introduced herself as Rafaële Giovanola. The Swiss, but American born, choreographer, sweetly spoke in Italian, switching to English when she couldn’t find a word, and said that we could roam around the stage and that our attention would naturally be drawn to where the dancers were performing and so we could move near to what was most interesting, just as in everyday life. Well, she was already talking to the wrong person – an Englishman brought up to avert his gaze and pretend not to notice the head-to-toe tattooed and pierced man with rainbow striped hair on the metro (well, it was Fashion Week in Milan… I stole several looks anyway, of course).

We filed upstairs and onto the bare stage. A few raised black plinths in an all-black space with video cameras, various ebbing and flowing light effects, and a percussive soundscape. Who among us were the dancers? One agitated man seemed to be searching to enter the lit areas, so surely he was part of the company. Another marched around the stage looking important and didn’t have a bag or coat, so him too. An older, stocky man sat down on a plinth and yawned loudly… probably not him. In fact, none of them were part of the seven-strong company, as slowly more exotic-looking creatures appeared with highly coloured garb under their coats.

There was lots of running backwards and circling lone spectators, like wild cats separating a springbok from the herd. I propped myself up against a column – my back was starting to hurt, and I didn’t want to get my feet trampled on. One of the company pushed her face near mine. She didn’t smile, so neither did I. She fixed me in the eyes, so I fixed her back until she turned her head and slunk off… did I win? How I loathe audience participation. Not that I was obliged to do anything, but I was no longer just a spectator. “Bodies of the audience and performers coexist, communicate and connect,” said the press release.

Every now and then the dancers took off a piece of clothing, lastly their shoes and socks, and got sweatier and sweatier – there was quite a whiff on a couple of occasions. Up close and personal. The movement generally heated up, though there were relaxed breaks every now and then when the dancers separated out and collapsed on the floor. During one group moment, they decided to climb up MY column. The cheek! I shifted… but only very slightly. Some people were working surprisingly hard, however, chasing them around various parts of the stage, but staying in one spot gave me closeups of a few set pieces – another had them all lined up, firing-squad style, against a wall, and pushing into each other until the only place to go was forward and down.

They were dancers but there was no dancing – a bit of writhing, lots of pulling and pushing, and gripping onto each other’s clothes. The seven were extremely dedicated, but (if I don’t get cut out of the video), I’m the one in the long black coat with a fed-up expression and occasionally a scowl.

After an hour it finished. In a very small way it worked, in that I slowly found the experience less irritating and discovered things to look at, and I guess that the choreographer would call that a success. But the most interesting people to observe were not the dancers but members of the audience behaving (I imagine) as if at a karaoke evening when some can’t wait to get to the mic, while others squeeze into a corner in the hope of becoming invisible – excitement and fear, arrogance and uneasiness. The stout man sat down and yawned again during the closing moments as the dancers disappeared into the dark.

There was a lot of cheering and whooping at the end, but I won’t be buying the video.

Gramilano Editor

Graham Spicer, aka ‘Gramilano’, is a writer, director and photographer based in Milan. He was a regular columnist for Opera Now magazine and wrote for the BBC until transferring to Italy. His articles have appeared in various publications from Woman’s Weekly to Gay Times, and he wrote the Danza in Italia column for Dancing Times magazine. Graham was the historical advisor on Codice Carla, the 2023 documentary on Carla Fracci.

Graham also works as a dance photographer, and his photos have appeared in many books, theatre programmes, and magazines, including Dancing Times, Dance Spirit and Ballet2000, as well as all the major Italian newspapers.

He is a member of the Dance Section of The Critics’ Circle.