Dance to relish in compelling double bill

Death is on my mind this week.

It’s been a perennial worry for years, but on Monday my friend and colleague, the esteemed arts critic David Zampatti, passed away suddenly.

So I came to Madre Muerte, a contemporary dance work about death, carrying not just my usual mortality-related anxieties, but fresh grief.

Madre Muerte (Mother Death) is the first work in Squared Off, a double bill from local independent ensemble OFF-base Dance Company. Created and performed by OFF-base’s artistic director Tyrone Earl Lraé Robinson, Madre Muerte is described by its maker as “an invitation to grapple with death, not with dread, but with a sense of awe and acceptance, recognising that death is not an end, but a beautiful transformation, a return to the source from which we all emerge.”

It’s a reassuring premise, but from its opening moments, this work is discomforting, the stark chill of its warehouse performance space a fitting backdrop. In a flickering, shrinking pool of light, a slow reveal of the solo performer is set to Rachael Dease’s mournful synthesised notes melded with sounds of running water that build from soothing, to insistent, to a tsunami-like roar.

Unveiled, Robinson is a deathly sprite. Lithe but unearthly, golem-like, his body scoops the space, limbs circling and enfolding, as he eddies and spins to Dease’s haunting vocals.

A highlight of this work is a cascade of flowers, designed by Shuling Wong, that telescopes down from the ceiling. Warm lighting by Rhiannon Petersen plays not just on the blooms but the fine wires that hold them in place, so that they gleam enticingly.

As the work progresses, Robinson morphs from spritely to elderly so convincingly that it seems his fingers are actually gnarled as he shuffles gingerly about the stage, picking up strewn flowers.

Although Madre Muerte is unsettling, the comfort alluded to in the program notes does arrive – no spoilers here as it’s worth experiencing sight unseen.

While it was hard to connect the otherworldliness of this work with my own sadness, I found solace, not just in that final moment, but in the work’s unquestionable beauty. Madre Muerte would make for a stunning installation/performance in an art gallery, preferably with Dease singing live.

In the program’s second work, Acid Trip, Robinson takes us on a different kind of journey, into a liminal space where the “dissonance between who we are and who we are expected to be” is “transformed into a catalyst for exploration and growth”.

If that sounds too woo for you, be assured – this solo is served with a healthy dose of humour. And Bernadette Lewis delivers that comic element with her trademark power and charisma.

As promised, this journey starts with the ingestion of hallucinogens. Again Petersen’s lighting is otherworldly but this time the vibe is psychedelic – bright columns of LEDs contrast pastel washes.

Woven into Joe Lui’s soundscape, a voiceover detailing an acid trip/hot-dog murder is illustrated by Lewis’s pop-art/Tarantino-style antics as she contorts her body in ways that teeter on gruesome.

As the work progresses, Lui’s blend of 60s chill/surf music is served up with kaleidoscopic projections by Mark Haslam. An IKEA wardrobe appears bland but has some surprises in store, including the transformation of Lewis into a sunny sixties-style starlet who cavorts about the stage, bold and stylised.

It’s not all fun and games though. Towards the end Lewis’s face is projected on the back wall, morphing and distorting in monstrous ways against the sounds of ghost-like voices that are reminiscent of Madre Muerte. Perhaps the two journeys of this double bill aren’t so disconnected.

At an hour each, both solos feel fractionally long, but this is no deal-breaker.

As I reflected in the evening, I found myself wondering, what would David Zampatti have thought?

In spite of the fact that he maintained he didn’t “speak dance” (dance was probably the only performing art form he hesitated to cover), I think David would have relished this double bill, for its compelling soloists, for the clever interplay of choreography with design, for its use of two of his favourite composers, and for its willingness to confront universal but often unspoken anxieties.

Highly recommended.