A man-sized, wooden fence around a soothing blue carpet suggests a sheltered spot for the four performers who expose themselves quite a bit during Microcosm. But of course we watch as the Dutch writer Arnon Grunberg (50) and the Flemish poet Charlotte Van den Broeck (30) feel the soft plush with their toes and try to speak the physical language of dance with half-naked bodies. In columns and interviews they have expressed how, with this debut, they are looking for their greatest shame: dancing in front of an audience. Choreographer Nicole Beutler picks up the gauntlet and gives them two conversational dancers as support: Liah Frank and Rob Polmann. They take the writers with them as cheerful stowaways in a light-footed quartet that becomes increasingly close, free and intimate.
Logically, compared to the professionally developed body awareness of the dancers, that of the writers stands out as untrained. The younger Van den Broeck looks strong and athletic when she allows herself to be partnered and lifted. The smaller Grunberg, with glasses and necklace, sometimes looks like a cheeky jester, especially when he imitates he imitates fierce tennis strokes with tongue between lips or smiles as he skips over the soft floor with his hips turned out and legs raised high. Yet Microcosm never becomes a caricature or parody of dancing-with-non-dancers (which happens more often). You feel their energy released in this victory over their fear. And it is touching to see how caring bodies react to each other in self-directed, yet uncomfortable situations of physical contact. However, the confrontation with the spectator deserves further elaboration. Now this is only a short final chord in an otherwise carefully constructed and attentively performed performance. After all, in being watched is the real game with the pain.
Read the original (Dutch) article here >>