WOULD achieves this effect, and does so with sublime efficiency. As members of the crowd we bare witness to a struggle of the creative mind, a sort of mythical dance of inspiration, carried out by the organic and primal choreography that is executed by the performers.
The emotional roller-coaster of creation and inspiration is dissected and explored through their words and movements; along with the highs and lows, the frustrations and failures. At times the performers seem to be pleading one another, experiencing a harrowing state of emptiness, much like lovers after failing to connect with one another. Their capacity to see eye to eye is constantly disrupted by their individual flow states, sometimes overpowering one another, only to realign momentarily, allowing them to guide each others steps. They seem to try and try, much like people do, to communicate, to synchronize, and sometimes their efforts fall flat, leaving them deflated and disappointed by their inability to have their sparks become flames.
At times it was akin to two people trying to describe a sort of psychedelic revelation, an idea so big that it cannot be contained by words; only painted with the sounds of the some deep true knowledge that remains eternally out of grasp, tickling your fingertips and making you thirst for more.
Everything around us, with the exception of nature, was once an idea, floating around in some individuals head and weighing only a few electrons, that the individual worked into being using raw materials, language, and a great deal of risk and courage.
WOULD, could be categorized as a dance show, but instead, should be seen as a manifestation of something greater, an age old part of the human condition that is being communicated through the ebb and tide of the two main actors, who using their bodies, make flesh the battles of the creative being.
An idea: Should I recommend WOULD?
I could, I will, so go see WOULD if you can, I did, I have, and I must say now i'm a fan.
Should....I review this show? Will I review it? Would it be appropriate to put words on such an experience without giving too much away and spoiling it for others?
If done correctly, I should be able to say just enough...So how do I begin?
Well, it was......the silence of the theatre, begging to be heard of over the chitchat of the crowd...it was dark......it was, funny, but not in a cheap laughs sort of way....it was mystifying....it was at times confusing...but really not confusing at all...like the moment right before you understand the twist in a really good movie, but you're not quite sure yet...it was, like a work in progress, but that also seemed very complete, sort of like a “the making of” but that in itself turns out being better than the “of”...it was....intense, primal, human...
You know that feeling?
The one where inspiration hits you like a train, and flows through you, feeling as though you were suddenly connected to some ethereal realm of divine originality, almost making you feel guilty, guilty that it might not all belong to you, that someone, somewhere, who is smarter and better and funnier than you, has lost their train of though and you got hit?
That feeling that gets your blood flowing with adrenaline as you anticipate of the arrival of your brainchild, like a child born of mind-love with some great entity that resides in the elsewhere; it unfurls from somewhere within you and without you, making you the magician with his endless ribbon in the mouth trick; only you don't know how or where the ribbon is hiding, what its made of, or when it ends. Like a really good comedic tangent at a dinner party, it just seems to keep coming, and you know you can only fly for only so long before crashing, so you need to know how and when to land with grace, so as not to scare away whatever it is that's feeding you? WOULD, the creation of Mélanie Demers, produced by Mayday and performed by Marc Boivin and Kate Holden, is enriched by this bold and central theme: Inspiration.
At the theater, things can go quite sideways; some shows are like turkey dinner, but if done properly, you can achieve an almost timeless state of concentration, where from behind the fourth wall you sit smugly, in total immersion and contemplation, melting into the atmosphere, allowing your heartstrings to be plucked and strummed by the performers. Up on the stage, on the other side of the wall, we can witness the sight of creation as the canned chaos of minds is made manifest. Ideas now become tangible; temporally sealed in a unique and once in a lifetime moment, where their temporary flight of glory is measured only by the holding of our breaths, by our heart's quivers and quakes, that although muted within our chests, doubtlessly bleed out and feed the electricity.
