Anchor

Anchor opens with a voice over of spoken word, a faux-profound pondering of the nature of love (‘love is some strange, intangible, abstract force’). Then The Platters’ ‘Only You (And You Alone)’ starts playing, as Mehdi Duman, wearing only boxers, drags Elsa Couvreur, in only her underwear, across the stage as she clings to a belt. The first five minutes continue in this fashion, with the couple swapping roles and positions as they are dragged across the stage in alternatively awkward poses, back and forth.

All I can think is of how uncomfortable it must be, of the floor burns that must be accruing by performing day after day. They roll around on the floor, ostensibly intimating the nature of their relationship, and then break apart. She flings a sock in his direction, he hands her a boot. They dress, again painfully slowly, and feign checking their reflections in the ‘mirror’ of the audience. It feels like they are trying to fill time – an hour, after all, is a long time for just two dancers to perform.

Although I’m not sure you can really call this dancing. It’s movement, but there are limited portions of sustained flow, and even fewer passages set to music. After the first 15 minutes, it becomes clear what they’re trying to do: depict the heady falling and fresh obsessiveness of a new relationship; of not wanting to tear your hands off each other; of never wanting to concede in the ‘I love you more’ war.

But that’s all it takes. The attempted point is protractedly made, and the rest of the time is spent wondering how long they’re going to labour it for. I kept hoping for more dance, for the pace to pick up, for a revelation. But it never came: instead, an audio plays of the couple’s apparent first conversation. It is a cringe-worthy exchange that feels unnecessary to include: it is like when a friend starts a new relationship and tells you too many details, except without the emotional investment in their happiness.

The duo disappear off stage for about a minute while the lights are dimmed and Elvis Presley’s ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ plays over the speakers, only to return dressed in matching inflatable dinosaur costumes. There seems no point in this, and the rationality of leaving your audience with minutes to spare until the end of the performance eludes me. It is ridiculous, in a confusing rather than entertaining way.

The show was fragmented, unified only by the consistent feeling of discomfort I felt throughout while watching. If you have an hour of your life to waste, go see this. Or recommend it to your horrible ex.

Anchor is playing 6th- 11th August at 11.30am at Greenside (Lime Studio)

For tickets and more information, click here