'Dance Europe'
Issue no.72, March 2004
by Daniel Walton

Truus Bronkhorst and Marien Jongewaard have never been ones for subtlety. Why present an image of a girl getting her head slammed into a table just once, when you can do it fifty times. Here we surely have the king and queen of overplayed drama in Dutch dance. But don't get me wrong. DESERTO ROSSO, the new piece on female abuse, makes quite enthralling watching. Ultimately, Bronkhorst and Jongewaard have nothing of substance to say on the subject. Indeed, it is as if no development of gender relations took place in the past fifty years. The two men ruffle their hair with the look of a matador, whilst the two women carry a coyness, clearly inferior, yet always willing to open their legs.

But despite these shallow stereotypes, the strength of the images presented is Totally engaging, blurring the boundary between the poetic and the kitsch. For example, the unrelenting violence of the opening movement section is cleverly placed alongside Steve Reich's Clapping Music, yet rather unsubtly layered with the sounds of screaming women. I get the point from the first moment, but admittedly the continuing ferocity does truly convey the barbarity of the situation. In this sense, the mind numbingly repetitive movement style totally fits the theme.

Surely the greatest credit must go to the dancers; all four of them emerge as complete stars, and not just for the physical energy-sapping challenges of the piece. If the drama is over the top, the playing fully convinces. Despite their brutality, Marc van Loon and Matthew Kelly Roman give knowing looks to the audience that demand a camaraderie. Of the women, Paula Duarte shows a remarkable dramatic presence for one still young, with the singing voice of an angel. But most stunning is Sofia Laalej Bernal with a look of quiet, lost desperation, convincingly representing the plight of women trapped in such situations. As astonishing as her adagio work on a set of raised planks looks, the image lingers because of the feeling of helpless fragility. Equally so when suspended by a harness attached to her ankle. As a result, the ending becomes all the more striking when Bernal bursts onto stage in a curly blond wig and wielding a big fat cigar. High kitsch for certain, but with the greatest power.

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