There can be few dance companies in the world as handsome and accomplished as the Danza Contemporánea de Cuba. Established in 1959, the 25-strong troupe exists on a shoestring, but the stellar quality of its dancers ensures that it attracts a steady stream of accomplished choreographers. The current programme contains a piece by house choreographer George Céspedes, and new works by Annabelle Lopez Ochoa and Theo Clinkard.
Ochoa, right now, is hot. Last year she created Broken Wings for English National Ballet, the standout work of Tamara Rojo’s She Said programme, and five companies on four continents are currently either preparing or performing her work. Reversible, which opens the Cuban programme, shows why Ochoa is in such demand. It’s a gorgeous creation, set to a soundtrack featuring, among others, Jean-Claude Kerinec and Staff Elmeddah, Scanner and Eric Vaarzon Morel. The piece riffs on the interplay between men and women – sometimes flirtatious, sometimes challenging, always infused with wit and sensuality – which Ochoa observed on the streets of Havana.
The opening scene sees the genders divided. To a flurry of percussion, a man and a woman are lifted on high. There’s an air of ritual, of formal confrontation. A series of adversarial encounters ensues, all machismo and female swagger, throwaway attitude and casual bravura partnering. Men and women unite in a playfully sensual bachata dance, a syncopated style with a subtle pop of the hips, and the gender boundaries dissolve. Soon, beneath Fernando Alonso’s golden overhead lighting, the entire 18-strong cast are moving on a single, shared pulse to the sound of bells and Spanish guitar. The piece was conceived and created by Ochoa in a month, yet it plays with absolute fluency to the company’s distinctive charm and character.
Clinkard’s The Listening Room is altogether more enigmatic. When the curtain rises we discover the cast listening to headphones. They nod and rock, apparently dancing to different drummers. Meanwhile, a variation by Steve Reich plays over them, and at intervals the dancers remove their headphones and respond to this in Clinkard’s own loose-limbed choreographic style, with unfurling arms and outflung legs. Clinkard seems to be playing with ideas of subjectivity and objectivity, and the way that we increasingly proceed through life to our own private soundtrack, each of us enclosed in our own sealed system. The result is somewhat distancing, perhaps intentionally.
Matria Etnocentra by Céspedes examines ideas of Cuban identity. With movements that begin as a taut militaristic drill, but soon take on a more rhythmically sensual character, he plays with the counterpoint of restriction and exuberance. The result is a showpiece of unison and technical élan, featuring dazzling throwaway solos and explosive kinetic group numbers. Most impressive, though, is the dancers’ palpable belief and pride in their project. There’s no hierarchy here; individuals shine, but never at the expense of the whole. All in all, a joyous evening.
