| About the Work |
........ an open work, corresponding to the
open space of the entrance hall extending over three stories
of the Hochschule für Musik und darstellende Kunst in Frankfurt,
in which the entrances and exits, with their stairs, halls,
banisters and projections, become platforms or even inclined
planes on which people, with their various sound and body languages,
become involved in conversation, sometimes deliberately, sometimes
more or less incidentally in passing. The act of passing through
developed into a determining element of the whole "Halls"
piece, since not a single rehearsal took place without "transit
traffic" – people crossing the rehearsal space im
large or small groups, with or without instrument cases, sometimes
munching on snacks or carrying music stands. These people became
an actual part of the "Halls" set: talking loudly,
cautiously waiting, watching with fascination or aggravatedly
complaining. In the course of the one-semester development work,
this "transit traffic" wrote its own highly dynamic
story, including acoustic "cross relations" –
intermittent five or ten-second openings and closings of some
practice room door or other that briefly flooded our rehearsal
with a wave of different "world music" in a crescendo
and diminuendo that seemed almost composed.
The fact that such audible and visible transit traffic repeatedly
passes through the staged version of the "Halls" piece
is nothing other than a homage to everyday life in the Frankfurt
Musikhochschule entrance hall, which, seemingly of its own volition,
spotlights itself in the "Halls" scene through its
"marginal comments" – including two dancers
(Ariane Schack and Matija Ferlin), who, in the mezzanine part
of the entrance hall, let their bodies droop in relaxation during
a well-earned break after an exhausting dance rehearsal, as
they do several times every day. Particularly this dance-break
duo – and we are thankful to daily life in the entrance
hall for this – repeatedly directs our attention to the
old theater question, namely, where theater – and in the
latter case, "theater in theater" begins and where
it ends. Of course, we know that this is a matter of subjective
perception, and yet: seldom have we felt its impact so red-hot,
as it were, probably because often our long-debated "positions"
– as if by conspiracy – were seriously obstructed,
which was very unsettling.
What holds the piece together is the winding, danced "endless
ribbon" under the 18-meter-long bench on the mezzanine
level, curved in shape like a grand piano. Within the narrow
space between bench and floor, the figure of the dancer (Kristin
Brünnler) makes herself at home, engaging in ever new variations
of winding, turning, and feeling her way. The 38 centimeters
between the bench and the floor are never too low for her, nor
are the possibilities for stretching too limited. Inwardly,
this figure has long since accepted her spatial restrictions
and has created her own expansiveness and certain forms of unusual
free spaces in her strictly enclosed landscape. Each visitor
meets the figure of the dancer in this special quality of being.
Before anyone enters the hall, she is already there. And she
is only doing what she has always done, namely living her life
dancing. What does it matter if during the performance of just
under an hour’s duration she never gets on her feet? Who
cares if her spine never has the chance to be upright? This
figure occupies her space through dance in a way that is totally
her own. She misses nothing and nobody.
Passages from the lives of other figures interrelate with
this danced endless ribbon. Their identities have no clear "role"
outlines either, no clear-cut beginning, no final conclusion.
The undertone singer (Chris Amrhein), for example, is driven
by the notion of having to fight his way up to considerable
heights by means of great vocal and physical efforts. Although
he reaches various window sills, banisters and levels (not only
spatially), he does not reach a goal that he probably cannot
define himself. It is the struggle that keeps him alive. Alongside
him, a female figure (Alexandra Pesold) encounters her environment
with disarming unselfconsciousness – or has a concert
hall door ever received so many kisses before? She goes on her
way as effortlessly as if in flight. At the very moment when
the Sisyphus-like struggler involuntarily slides downward, the
floating female figure dances up a pillar, singing.
The figure that appears more as a voice than as a person (Lauren
Newton) is the most difficult to define. Her many facets of
expression correspond with her sudden appearances and disappearances.
The figure of the trombonist (Jaro Vent) plants, with his flower
box activities, peculiar counterpoints into the heterogeneous
scene, once intervening acoustically in a skirmish between a
trumpet (Hagen Pätzold) and a voice with his watering can,
another time attempting to gain visual access to the strange,
ever-winding figure of the female dancer with photocopied pictures
of the bell of his trombone.
All the figures are like drifting leaves in their multiplicity,
fleetingness and the intensities of their physical and musical
languages. And it is precisely these languages that are allowed
to express themselves in aesthetic performance rules of their
own; only once in awhile do they become linked in specific encounters.
"In Endless Halls" plays with the complexity of the
figures, preferring to work with a variety of colorful, ambiguous
facets than with clearly defined identities. And if one of the
actors wants to stick to the rules of performance he has learned,
like the trumpeter, who has spent many years of his music-oriented
life practicing sonata movements with a brilliant classical
technique, there is nothing to prevent him. It is ultimately
a question of which "vocabulary" our artistic language
needs when we wish to enter into relationships with figures
of widely different types. The trombonist puts his instrument
to his lips only once during the whole piece, namely at the
one time when something palpably gets under his skin. It is
the necessity of creating an intervention through sound that
brings about this important reaction, replacing the flower-box
activities he has pursued up to this moment. Carrying flowers,
like giving flowers, can be either totally appropriate or totally
inappropriate – not only for gardeners.
(Helmi Vent) |