A billowing plastic sheet covers the stage, whipping up in peaks to imitate ocean waves. A sea made of plastic certainly captures the zeitgeist. Jasmin Vardimon has made a Medusa for the #MeToo era, reminding us that the snake-haired gorgon was not a monstrous man-hater for no reason, but a woman subjected to abuse and left bitterly vengeful.
In Spanish, Medusa is the word for jellyfish – thus arises the link between the aquatic theme and Greek myth. In its attempt to combine an ancient tale with contemporary social and environmental concerns, there is a lot going on: darkly atmospheric storytelling, Green politics, kooky dance theatre, energetic choreography, multiple depictions of female objectification and abuse, amusing vignettes and some text direct to the audience, all set to a smörgåsbord of music tracks from Grieg to Aphex Twin.
You could certainly suggest that Vardimon has too many ideas for one show. Perhaps she set out to make one piece and then became much more interested in another. The oceanic opening gives way to four female mannequins packaged in plastic wrap being touched up by a prospective buyer. The man gives a little talk about a woman being in his shadow and how she’ll never break the glass ceiling. None of this is exactly subtle, but many of the movements are effective: one of the women plays that shadow, lying on the floor, mirroring his moves at a 90-degree angle.
There’s a lot of choreographic cleverness, such as the molesting hands all over Medusa’s body that turn into flared fingers, mimicking the snakes of her hair. Vardimon favours female dancers who are near contortionists: bodies with well-oiled hinges, deep lilting backbends, long legs whipping the ground (Medusa uses such a killer kick to flatten her foes) and tendril-like arms rippling in the water. This work marks 20 years of Vardimon’s company and a number of signature moves make their appearance. She’s known for almost violent physical movement, the kind of kneepads-at-the-ready stuff that sees bodies throwing themselves horizontally in the air and to the floor, corkscrewing en route – although this kind of physical theatre is starting to look a little dated now.
The violent impulse is altogether darker when it’s turned on the women on stage, who are hit, punched, shot, groped, muzzled and chopped down like trees. Medusa is raped by Poseidon – that’s the origin story Vardimon wants to highlight. Yet women are not only victims. Here is a goddess, presumably Athena, bending the world at her whim, swooping her arms with great flourish and flooring all in her path. It is Athena, after all, who punishes Medusa for Poseidon’s actions. It’s an early honour crime that shuts down any idea of sisterhood.
The piece is characterised by sudden shifts in tone and temperament, and they sometimes undermine what has come before. You might be just getting into the mythical world, then a guy turns up with a rubbish bin on his head, spilling over with plastic bottles that spew across the stage. I don’t really buy the connection between the two themes and the scene-skipping approach means you miss moments of development and revelation where it matters. For Vardimon, the Medusa story is a starting point for something more roving. But while on the stage women frequently take the punches, no real blows land for the audience.
At Sadler’s Wells, London, until 24 October.
