Sep. 09, 2009 - Issue #725: Sex in the City 2009

Cabane

Sept 3, 2009 / John L. Haar Theatre

When an artist like Paul-Andre Fortier asks you to do something, you better get down to work and do it. Especially if the seminal Montreal choreographer asks you to dance with him—no matter how intimidated or doubly left-footed you might be.

That's kind of how it happened for Robert Racine, an author, musician, and visual artist who found himself working with Fortier over a year to create the choreographer's most recent installation, Cabane. Racine personally admits he is not a dancer per se, but he does perform with a magnetism and simplicity that's hard to categorize as anything other than physical theatre. The collaborative performance sees the pair perched atop a rickety old shack, among other things. They imitate vultures, darting their heads curiously about, while exploring a clutter of objects strewn about the stage.

The eponymous shack in Cabane acts not only as a hut of sorts, but also as a huge acoustic bass (this effect created by a string threaded along the top and one side of the shack, suspending a swath of jugs filled with water—a mic placed near the jugs amplify the vibrations when the rope is plucked by Racine).

What looks like a bunch of junk sparsely scattered about actually evolves into an ad-hoc symphonic playground that Racine plays in. While Racine hammers the metal frame of a cot stripped to its springs and wails operatically like a cat in heat, Fortier glides around the ramshackle set behind, responding to the clangs and cries with disconcerting grace. Fortier has honed an undeniably haunting stage presence over his decades of experience; as he bounces and rolls on the creaking bed of wires, his eyes provocatively, only for a moment, turn outward to the audience—a very plain but taunting gesture. Though it only lasts two or three seconds, his gaze holds a rapturous energy that resonates every single time he peers beyond the set.

The two characters are straight out of a Beckett-type endgame: at first Fortier demonstrates and mentors Racine's awkward, bird-like persona, tossing crumpled choreography instructions at him and guiding him through the barren, existential set-up. While Racine vocalizes and provides much of the soundtrack for the piece—all sounds are created live on the props or on their bodies—Fortier's silent character moves about with dominant poise. The set is lit only by four overhead projectors, the curtains on the wings have been stored away, leaving the guts of the theatre in plain view along with two stoic technicians placed at the downstage corners. The techs become part of the show as they diligently follow every move of the dancers, shifting around the stage to provide effects with shadow or video projections.

Fortier and Racine's relationship eventually comes to a competitive hilt, culminating in a stunning collage of the set's collapse and its accompanying rhythmic crash. It's all a bit obtuse and “Montreal” to us, maybe, but Cabane is certainly a piece that works hard to squeeze any latent creative juices out of the imagination. V

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