Back at Jacksons Lane on a Saturday night. Part of me wonders how on earth I dragged myself away from watching Vigil, with a cup of tea and the leftover homemade brownies from the morning's parkrun milestone celebrations. I was tired after three solid hours of harp practice that afternoon, my fingers were blistered, and the sofa was calling. But Jacksons Lane has a double bill tonight: Joli Vyann and Mimbre. Both companies I love, not only for their ridiculous level of skill, but for their social engagement and the way they reach out to others. Walking in, I bump into Kaveh and his wife Jessica, and Kaveh points out that part of what draws me here is everything around the show too - the familiar faces, the conversations that follow, the feeling that we are all invested. Community is the answer.
Joli Vyann is Jan Patzke and Olivia Quayle, and while the name sounds French, it's actually a combination of their names.
I first saw them in Stateless back in 2015, a piece about refugees and migration, and later in 35 Amici Drive with Amici Dance Theatre Company, which brings disabled and non-disabled performers together. I haven't seen much of Joli Vyann in person over the years. I've been away, and when I'm home I'm in London, while much of their work tours outdoors around the country. But I've always felt a connection to them. They have a steady warmth about them, and you feel it in the work too.
One of their earlier pieces, clips of which I'd seen parts of online if not in person, is Lance-moi en l'air (actually French!) and tonight's piece sounds almost like the flip side of Throw Me in the Air: Drop Me If You Dare. Quite a good title for a relationship, really.
They are in their trademark white T-shirts and jeans, everyday clothes that somehow make what follows feel even more like watching a regular couple rather than two circus performers.
Jan begins as a dead weight on the floor. A sack of potatoes. Olivia tries to coax some life out of him. The soundscape is vaguely shamanic, and I wonder if a darker magic is at work. Maybe it's the white chalk on Jan's hands that gives me the hint of zombie. But just for a moment. Olivia steps onto his stomach and gives a gentle bounce, like a human defib. Nothing. Then a little jump. The audience gasps. She crouches low as if preparing for a much bigger leap. We hold our breath. She springs up... and lands neatly to the side of him instead. It makes me laugh. It reminds me of the early years with three young children, when my husband would come home dead from work and I'd be desperate for some adult conversation. Poking him to get some sort of reaction. Anything.
Still nothing.
She lies down next to him, defeated. Well, if you can't beat them... An arm flops over, and she is pulled across to roll onto him, as though his body is half awake. It makes me think of the way two people curl round each other at night, half asleep. Gradually this morphs into an acro duet. There is a kind indulgence in Jan's face and an impishness in Olivia's. The floor work folds into the acrobatics as Olivia climbs and spirals around Jan while he lifts and steadies her. A throw. A lift. A catch. A near miss. A drop, and a body slaps into a roll across the floor. I know it's safe, but there's a brutal edge to it, a dark humour, like slapstick without the cartoon exaggeration. Then Olivia spins Jan round her waist, and this time it's Jan who gets dropped.
Their precision and speed are extraordinary. They throw their whole weight at each other and trust it will be caught, whether in hands catching inversions, feet landing in palms, or a foot balance on a head as Jan moves from seated to standing. It's a dance of trust and experience.
Having been with the same partner for 26 years, I recognise some of this. You know another person's rhythms so well, can pre-empt their next move, act as a counterweight, know how far you can lean. And you need a bit of mischief to keep it alive.
Then the music darkens. Olivia flings herself at Jan and bounces off him. His kind face turns fierce. He puts a hand over Olivia's eyes, then over her mouth, and I flinch. Only days earlier I'd watched footage of a protester being restrained with a hand clamped over her mouth, and I can't unsee it. Here, indoors, in the dark pit of the auditorium, it lands harder than it might in daylight outdoors. The shadows and theatrical lighting add a hint of claustrophobia.
But then Olivia slips out of the hold and puts her hand over Jan's mouth in turn, and the balance shifts again.That is perhaps what stays with me most. The way control keeps shifting. One moment one of them has the upper hand, then the other does. One carries, then gets carried. One drops, then gets dropped. After 26 years with the same person, that feels kind of familiar too.
Maybe that is why Drop Me If You Dare is such a good title for a relationship. You give someone your weight and trust they won't let you hit the floor. Most of the time.
In a funny kind of way this ended up being date night for me too. My husband wasn't with me, but somehow he was there through it all.
Website: joli-vyann.com
Photo credit: Gabriel Sarkadi
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