Words by Isabelle Enquist.
Mouth Wash and Razor Blades, choreographed by Casper Dillen and performed by members of Small Sample Size Theatre, with a score by composer Gia Dreyer, took place on January 18th at The Place, London. It transported us, however, to a surreal, dizzying landscape of movement. In a way that is reminiscent of Pina Bausch’s unsettling whimsy, Casper proposes a scenario of the world descending into chaos.
What does the end of the world look like? We have been weaned through popular culture to expect all kinds of gruesome scenarios requiring action-filled struggles for survival amidst a world on fire. But why could it not be people in blue dinosaur suits playing badminton? And why would it not be happening right now?
Theorising the apocalypse is a paradoxical effort plaguing our collective consciousness, as we try to predict the unpredictable. Mouth Wash and Razor Blades tries resolving it by testing the boundaries of everyday minutiae, recontextualising and rehearsing possible realities. Walking out into the street after Mouth Wash and Razor Blades means taking a look around you, noticing the crowds – people tripping, running to catch the bus, spilling a drink – and experiencing the world as a continuation of the stage.
The narrator warns us in the very opening lines of Mouth Wash and Razor Blades, about the dangers of pickpockets in public restrooms. This, coupled with a few hints – a flurry of squeaky duckies, a group of people brushing their teeth – leads me to conclude the performance is set in a public restroom. This helps in tying the narrative together, as one of the final acts, the punchline, happens to be the narrator having his wallet stolen. Though seemingly chaotic and haphazard, each stanza of the musical score and each action of the performance – the blue dinosaurs; the group struggling for a pair of glasses; the choreographer trapped in the box; the dancer deciding that dance would be the last thing they do – convey a sense of continuation, owing in part also to the clever insinuation of the backstage as an extension of the set.
It disoriented the viewer, all the while addressing some key ideological, societal, and, consequently, existential worries. At least, I was cajoled into imbuing reason and meaning into every bit of nonsensical action. It was somewhat ridiculous. I saw someone spit toothpaste into a cup on stage. A suspended, slowly rotating piece of material intermittently reflected a beam of light into my eyes, reminding me of my existence, situating me in the performance. The beauty of this performance is that, taking it at face value, relying on its visceral impact, retains equal value as a possible interpretation.
Mouth Wash and Razor Blades unsettles common expectations of theatre and dance, bypassing restrictive, traditional frameworks of narrating. It is in some ways the antithesis of esoteric; not meant to be fully comprehended – at least not in a singular, unanimous way. It is an avant-garde piece of performance, pushing the borders of sense and comprehension in a way that is reflective of our desires to be immersed, enchanted, and ultimately convinced of the beauty of repetition and the absurd nature of our being.
Concept, Direction, Choreography: Casper Dillen. Composer: Gia Dreyer. Costume design: Dodam Gwon. Assistant director: Dann Xiao. Scenography: Casper Dillen.
Performers: Agelos Kotzias, Cameron Jarvie, Casper Dillen, Christy Taylor, Cizzoe Yi Wang, Dann Xiao, Edgar Ocampo Pazmino, Haedong Lee, Jamie Myles, Maieuran Sathananthan, Noah Henry, Qibai Ting, Romain Nagata, Tomio Shota, William James (JJ), Yujie Duan. Header image by Xinyue Tao.