Climbing the steep stairs to Varda Hall – Suzanne Dellal Centre's hidden loft space – one has no idea what to expect. As per usual, Ohad Naharin has disclosed very few details about the performance beforehand, inviting audience members to enter his world in a raw, vulnerable state.
The anticipation builds as the rowdy crowd funnels through the draped curtains to discover an intimate audience-in-the-round setup. The back row fills up first, perhaps due to fear of audience participation. A very vocal American man sits front and center, ignoring the white 'reserved' sign pasted on the bench in Hebrew.
Idle chatter falls to whispers as Londiwe Khoza, a young ballet dancer from South Africa and current protégé of Ohad Naharin, storms in abruptly. She commands the stage with an expressive a cappella solo, stealing the audience's attention and setting the tone for the next 60 minutes.
A cast of eight trickle in behind. Eyes blank as if cast in a spell, they march robotically towards the eight reserved seats scattered in the front row. Karma repeats on the vocal American man when one of the male dancers nearly plops down in his lap. Caught in the line of fire, the man scoots over just in the nick of time.
© PR
As Khoza's solo climaxes then drops to a dramatic close, she is joined by the other eight Batsheva Young Ensemble dancers. The mood shifts – eardrum popping rock music blasts over the sound system to accompany the first group section of the evening.
The music cuts as suddenly as it burst in, and eight dancers return to their front row seats, leaving a new soloist alone on stage. One by one, through intricate solos cast against different musical backgrounds, each of the nine Batsheva dancers tells their story: of struggle, sexual passion, frustration, and newfound freedom.
Manic music followed by sudden silence then more music guides the uninterrupted hour of tension and release. Solo, duo, and group scenarios bleed into one another like vignettes slowly coming together to form a series of short stories – a collective memoir of sorts.
Fitting to the performance's title, costume plays a 'mammoth' role in the narrative arch. The pastel, denim-like jumpsuits bring a certain minimalism to the performance. The muted tones mimic the characters' struggles, as they try to break through the silence to find their voice. One dancer literally rips his jumpsuit off – shedding a layer as he exposes his nude body to the room.
© PR
While nudity can make some uncomfortable, something in the ease of his movement, which is so natural like an extension of his soul, leaves the audience intrigued rather than off-put. They join him in his journey as he unleashes his imprisoned emotions and emulates what can be interpreted as an abusive relationship between two lovers, both emotionally and physically.
As Mamootot approaches its denouement, the nine dancers circle the audience, grasping the hands of different spectators. They gaze deeply into each audience member's eyes; only this time, the hollow stares that have accompanied their Gaga movement up till this point are now filled with powerful emotion.
They have shared their stories, and are now able to reach out for guidance, both physically and metaphorically. Their heavy breathing breaks from meter, a humanizing aspect in Naharin's outlandish world.
© PR
A final female duet embraces the newly softened atmosphere – a sigh of relief.
Fade to black.