Graeae’s new collaboration with Brazilian company Circo Crescer e Viver seeks to explore the idea of belonging; what that means to us as individuals and as a greater whole. Through this 50 minute journey will not bring about any profound revelations, it is a new and at times captivating meld of spoken word, sign language, physicality and fantastic original music.
Setting the scene as a group enter a house that is about to be demolished and reminisce on the experiences they had there and what it might mean to belong to a place, or each other, what follows is more of a tableau of disconnected fairytales than an interwoven narrative, but the heart and measure of the piece is the refreshing honesty of the performances. Despite feeling as though they could have used more rehearsal time to coalesce as a company, there are some remarkably tender moments as a story of love and loss is played out on hoops, a passionate tango is danced in a wheelchair and a blind performer ghosts back and forth across the stage in a white dress, seemingly invisible to those around her and stopping intermittently to sort through and treasure the contents of a chest in the corner – which transpire to be the responses of previous audiences to note cards that have been handed out at the beginning asking what we feel belonging means to us.
Though it could have benefited from stronger direction and fewer moments of abstract philosophy, there is a sincerity and playfulness to Belonging, underscored by a soundtrack that ranges from passionate to tender to cheeky. Though the paralympic games, and not least Graeae’s stunning rendition of Spasticus Autisticus have, one hopes, done much to advance the UK’s genuine understanding of what it means to live with a disability, it is always refreshing to have a reminder of life outside The Last Leg and to see performers taking joyful ownership of the aids they use in life – playing tricks on each other with their prosthetics and engaging in a comically woeful game of hide and seek by attempting to hide behind a pair of crutches. They are at once both vulnerable and strong.
Belonging is designed to be accessible – everything spoken is signed and vice versa – and raises the question of distilled narrative; how much of theatrical narrative is lost when it must be signed as quickly as possible or audio described, and how much of the nuance of sign language do we lose when its original performance is translated to spoken word?
Prompting many similar questions, Belonging comes from a good place and although it may feel like a set of ideas that wandered a little in the rehearsal room, is a playful and passionate piece.
