The whispers circling the intimate Varda Hall studio room fade to unspoken anticipation–an uncomfortably long silence that sets the stage for the following fifty-five minutes of absolute absurdity.
A mysterious table of relics–a tongue drum, a mallet, a rock collection, a laptop–invites choreographers Ohad Fishof and Noa Zuk to break the radio silence and begin the 'experiment.' The musical instruments are their tools, the monochromatic uniform-clad Sarah (Carmel Ben-Asher) and Felix (Kelvin Wu), their test subjects.
At first, as the two dancers slowly come to life through sharp and precise movements matching Fishof's transcendental music-making, Fishof appears to be playing the role of the omniscient narrator. However, as Ben-Asher and Wu stare blankly past the audience and each other without showing any signs of human cognition, their detachment from their own existence becomes clear. Fishof is not narrating through omniscience, but rather omnipotence–there to dictate, control, and manipulate his lab rats.
Welcome to The Burnt Room.
© Mizuki Kin Tachibana
Caught in a hypnotic trance, Ben-Asher and Wu's actions fall in line with the way they are being treated: grunting heavily, arms hung low like chimps, they spiral into erratic fits one at a time, then at the same time, though never touching, never fully crossing paths. The two move on a linear plane, unable to shake the primal spell cast upon them by a higher power.
In a jarring scene, all three characters fight for Wu's attention. He reacts exclusively to the Pavlovian striking of Fishof's tongue drum, yet remains completely unfazed by Ben-Asher's and Zuk's applause. He is being conditioned. The four dancers circle the room handing out imaginary pellets to audience members; they too are being conditioned. Suddenly, the high-pitched buzz staking claim over the sound system makes sense–it was designed for canine ears.
"Sarah! Felix! Sarah! Felix!" The experimenters scream their subjects names, only this time, their subjects are unresponsive to their masters, focused on each other instead. For the briefest of moments Ben-Asher and Wu wake from their trance. Their movements become more intertwined, more physical, more human, until Fishof violently spirals into a chant on how communication is the devil, then once again, they are silenced. All four of them are silenced. Stripped of their autonomy, trapped within their own psyches, the space within their minds, The Burnt Room.
© Efrat Goldman
Tread lightly into The Burnt Room March 19-20 at the Center for Contemporary Art, Tel Aviv. Find out more HERE.