Dancing in the dark

I went to the theatre last night to watch a dance/physical theatre thing. It was at the beautiful theatre with the amazing orange lights and magic trees outside. It's shoulders were stooped with sadness though, because a well-loved actress died on Wednesday, someone who frequented its passages. Or maybe that was just me.

It was a beautiful piece with some serious whatthefuck? moments, as all 'interpretive dance' should be. Set on the stage, but with us, the audience, sitting backstage, the curtains opened behind the dancers, revealing the auditorium beyond. Wonderful setting! They were all good, but two of the six dancers stood out like glowing embers in a fire - a woman with a presence that whacked you in the face and a man with the body and voice of an angel. Incredible stuff.

One most poignant (what's a theatre review without the use of the word 'poignant'?) moment during the performance made me cry, fat drops coursing down my cheeks (thank goodness it was dark!) as they made the boy with MS fly above the stage. Beautiful. And then the speaking of Xhosa blew me away. It's something I hear everday - on the streets, at work - but it always just flows over me, more street noise, I never really listen.

This was different, it was all that was in front of me and (ridiculously) for the first time in my life I really listened. It is the most beautiful, rythmical language, at once soothing and dramatic. I loved it.

We all need to listen more, don't we?