Warning: Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander readers are advised that the following article contains the name of someone who has passed. The family of Ningali Lawford-Wolf has given the media permission to use her name.
If you’ve never seen a Bangarra performance before, you’re in good company. SandSong is the latest production by the acclaimed dance theatre company, and the first of the company's that I’ve seen. So what exactly is dance theatre? Well, it pretty much does what it says on the box. Bangarra combines incredible choreography with new music compositions and brooding script-less theatre to deliver an entrancing performance that evokes the most visually arresting aspects of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander culture.
SandSong is their latest offering, and one with a deeply emotional backstory. The original concept for the show, from Wangkajunga woman and long-time Bangarra collaborator Ningali Josie Lawford-Wolf (1967-2019) with artistic director Stephen Page, was inspired by Ningali’s roots in the Kimberly. Unfortunately, Ningali passed before she was able to create the work with Page – now, SandSong honours her story. As Bangarra prepared to deliver the production to audiences back in 2020, Covid-19 hit, and the production stop-started its way through the past two years to finally arrive in Melbourne this month. It’s a rocky history for a deeply meaningful show – one that feels aptly poetic considering its subject matter.
You see, SandSong isn’t here to create a comfortable discourse between white Australia and Indigenous culture. In fact, it aims to bring to light some very uncomfortable truths about First Nations history in our country. Over four powerful and immersive acts, Frances Rings and Stephen Page’s mesmerising choreography – paired with Steve Francis’ lush, evocative compositions and Jacob Nash’s deceptively simple set design – take you on a journey through the cycle of life and the movement of the seasons, as seen through the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander historical lens.
Each act represents a season, but a moment in Australian history as well. Starting with the ‘Cold, Dry Season’ in act 1, we see Indigenous culture untarnished by the impending devastation of colonial rule. In act 2, the ‘Hot, Dry Season’ foreshadows the displacement and trauma to come, as a drought pushes Country into survival mode.
However, it is in act 3 that Page pushes the audience into a haunting retelling of the horrors that First Nations people endured during the occupation of their land. Here we witness people sold into slavery, to the horrifying calls of what sounds like a cattle auction. Prices, increasing with the fervour of impending sale, ring out into the theatre, as three men bound by a shared chain writhe back and forth against their bondage. Later, people are forced into servitude in exchange for only rations, as their land is seized for stockyards.
It's here that Nash’s masterful set simplicity comes into play, alongside beautiful lighting by Nick Schlieper. Until now, the stage has been mostly bare, save for a textured backdrop that remains static throughout the production. However, the texture is constantly transformed by clever lighting and colour; one moment it’s a craggy rockface, a backdrop for dancers in the bush, another moment it becomes the bush itself, and yet another moment, the rains that bring relief in the wet season. Exactly how, I’m not sure – it’s a lovely bit of stage magic. So much so that when, at one point, a large sculptural shard is brought on as a set piece, it almost feels awkward for the dancers to manoeuvre it around set.
Act 4 sees hope, manifested in the coming of the wet season. A truly beautiful passage with two dancers on wires floating through the cast could have been awkward and unnecessary, but with the help of aerial movement consultant Joshua Thompson, it becomes an airy, moving, seamless piece of choreography that stayed with me well beyond the closing curtain. It’s a testament to the pinpoint accuracy of the dancers on stage here. Not only does the entire production hinge on their ability to deliver their choreography flawlessly, but moments like these – when a millisecond could mean the difference between a collision or not, and a less talented dancer could take the choreography from astounding to awkward – call into light just exactly how talented they are.
Sure, there were occasional lagging moments here and there that could have been snipped for a slightly less lengthy edit, but as SandSong came to a close with the journey through the seasons coming full circle, it was pretty damn clear to me this wasn’t going to be my last Bangarra experience. I can’t wait for the next one.