There were no references to crime, poverty or ecology — just an endless pulse of music, flirting and movement. From the opening sequence, illuminated by video projections of palms swaying in the sea breeze, to the concluding water fight two and half hours later, the piece exuded tremendous fun and sensuality. Beyond the joyous respite I found when watching the piece, I also came to look at Bausch in a new light.
An analogue emerged that surprised me. Such a connection might seem odd. The path between avant-garde expressionism and witty Hollywood sentimentality is not obvious. Beyond the angst of expressionism there is something tremendously aspirational and romantic in the dreamlike worlds that she brought to life.
The men and women in her company are all uniquely beautiful, with their languid limbs and tumbling, shiny hair. The locations are vibrant and elemental, and the costumes are exquisitely chosen. However this beauty is just close enough to the audiences who fill theatres to watch her work to pique a romantic engagement with the worlds onstage. The dancers are beautiful, but not otherworldly. The places they inhabit are founded on a strong core of reality. The dancers present anxieties and foibles, but such flaws are edited and shaped in such a way so as not to alienate.
They are charming. The realities of adult experience are filtered through a keen understanding of our desire to be beautiful, to formulate a witty response, or to have that perfect kiss.
One of the final moments of Agua involves the company of dancers perched on round tables, gyrating their hips as though spinning on a fair ground ride. Each dancer grins out at the audience looking both silly and sexy, presenting an attractive tension between openness, calm and humour.
