By BRUCE DENNILL
Cion: Requiem Of Ravel’s Bolero / Choreographed by Gregory Vuyani Maqoma / John Kani Theatre, Market Theatre, Newtown, Johannesburg
Even for the committed theatregoer, there are very few productions in which everything clicks, from the richly meaningful concept to performance that appears to be more or less flawless. Nor is it common to experience such a profound level of talents combining on one stage: nine exceptional dancers, displaying Olympian stamina and discipline, along with four almost bewilderingly brilliant musicians (including, in this production, music director and composer Nhlanhla Mahlangu, the value of whose work in that role cannot be overstated), whose vocal interplay provides the soundtrack for the entire piece. Add Gregory Vuyani Maqoma’s striking, readily identifiable choreographic language – into which he stirs traditional South African dance moves along with tap, krump and other contemporary moves – atmospheric lighting and costumes in plain, neutral shades that somehow combine cultural meaning and modern detail, and the production does something that some audience members may not immediately know how to process: it stimulates completely.
Maqoma’s narrative is inspired by Zakes Mda’s professional mourner character Toloki (‘Cion’, another version of ‘Zion’, is the title of the second novel featuring the character, in which Toloki examines the history of slavery in the southern states of the US), while Mahlangu’s score subtly weaves in the familiar strains of Maurice Ravel’s Bolero – the piece is not as front and centre as you might expect, which has the counter-intuitive effect of increasing its effect when it emerges out of the arrangements.
Cion’s two major elements – dance and music – match each other for intensity, creativity and precision (the combination can leave you open-mouthed in wonder at times). Otto Andile Nhlapo as Toloki (the role originated by Maqoma) has a powerful stage presence. Physically the largest man on stage – other than the formidable Thabang Mkhwanazi, who handles the bass parts of the vocal arrangements – he is a fluid, poetic dancer with remarkable control of his body and a face that can communicate the tenderness and empathy of someone whose job it is to help others process the pain of loss and the complexity of grief. In one of the standout scenes, he is joined by Roseline Wilkens as the pair examine – in the midst of a budding love affair – the choice many slaves made to abort their children so that the babies would not be born into slavery. The contrast of eroticism and desolation, often within split seconds of each other, is a punch straight to the heart.
Xolisile Bongwana is the first performer to emerge from darkness at the beginning of the piece and it the devastating, haunting quality of his vocals in the first song that sets the tone for the whole enterprise. It’s a voice you doubt can be matched, until Simphiwe Bonongo, who begins the show playing a snare drum, showcases the mind-boggling versatility of his voice, producing sounds as varied as a basso profondo buzz of a didgeridoo and the perfectly timed flicking and whipping sounds of Nhlapo’s hands as he tries to fend off an assault of spirits. Rounded out by the gorgeous, pure tenor singing of Sbusiso Shozi, the vocal quartet’s isicathamiya stylings (think Ladysmith Black Mambazo) and multi-layered rhythmic and percussive accompaniment to the dancing are as effective – or even more so – as a whole philharmonic orchestra.
For all that the tone of the production, set in a cemetery studded with crosses, honours its themes of grief, mourning and giving both death and those lost the reverence they deserve, the beauty of the music and movement and the utterly extraordinary abilities of the performers makes watching Cion a euphoric experience. It inspires thoughtfulness, certainly, but it leaves you with joy and a sense of awe that makes all of life’s darker moments – death-related or otherwise – feel a little less heavy to bear.
