Motion Adventures

“This is dance so remarkable, so daring and so perfectly achieved it brings you out in goosebumps.” (The Guardian, Thursday 20th October, 2005)

One and all rejoice as the marvellous and magnificent Mark Morris is back in town. Dad and I went to see Programme 1 at Sadlers Wells on Tuesday, and as usual we came out spellbound by the visual array of swirling energy his effervescent dance troupe had set before us. I have never seen anything encapsulate the spirit of a piece of music through colour and physical movement as perfectly as Mark Morris’s profound but uplifting choreography. Programme 1 featured the ever-tribal classic Grand Duo, and Somebody’s Coming To See Me Tonight, dances set to 19th century English folk songs, during which traditional country-dancing manoeuvres were transformed into an astounding, twirling art form.
It was a shame that Mark Morris himself is only dancing in Programme 2 this week, but at least he came on stage to take a bow at the end of Programme 1. Every time I see him I am struck by how he seems the absolute antithesis to a ballerina – his portly beer gut looks as though it should be more at home sinking pints in a pub than leaping fluidly across a stage. Last time he was at Sadlers Wells he had jet-black hair down to his waist; now this has greyed and been trimmed into curls and a Shakespearianly pointed beard has grown on his chin. The man is a genius, a dance deity, who deserves devout, prostrate worship at every available moment.

I’m double-jointed and spent my childhood having various doctors bending my fingers back towards my elbow and building up my shoes. Even now, physiotherapists can’t quite believe the range of movement I have in my hip joint, a skill which I’ve never really managed to put towards any constructive use. You might have thought that it would have led to a successful future in ballet, but sadly this was not meant to be. The first ballet teacher I had when I was three was so bossy that I wet myself during my first class with her because I was too frightened to ask to go to the toilet, and aged 13, I put the final nail in the coffin by violently dislocating my kneecap in a dance lesson at school, a sight so hideous that it reduced my classmates, 29 teenage girls, to hysterical screams of horror. Besides, no one bothered to give me a sense of rhythm, as anyone watching Dave and I attempting to waltz during the first dance at our wedding reception ceilidh will testify.
But Mr Morris, you have enriched my life. Please don’t stay away too long.