[…] This had not happened to me yet, in so many years of critical activity: at the ticket office along with the press accreditation I am given earplugs.
The evening promises to be a crisp one.
The OvO in the proscenium, on either side of the stage.
A rusty, raw sonic impasto.
Red lights, a large lopsided carpet in the middle.
Stefania Pedretti has the voice of a lizard, dragon or some other beast. Telluric: produces tremors and riots.
Bruno Dorella grinds rhythm, barefoot, like a woodsman modifies matter, albeit sound: he breaks it, cuts it, hands it.
He rhythm and she harmonies, though distorted. Boats. Roars.
Blue-red-blue-red lights: we return to the beginning, to the magma of the beginning without nuance.
From a backstage corner enters Rhuena Bracci, her face concealed by cloth. She wears a wide tunic, long sleeves concealing even her hands.
It compensates for the carnality of the sound body flooding us with a dance deprived of semblance, without the self presenting itself to the world: fruitful paradox.
Slowly the Dancing Figure gains light and center stage. Mulinella flexed limbs.
One is in the origin, without psychologizing: here-phenomenologically-color is color, sound is sound, rhythm is rhythm, vocality is vocality, dance is dance.
Starting over, putting in millimetric, equal balance textures and languages that are as different as they can be: this is why the gruppo nanou and OvO project is valuable, rare.
There is no pre-eminence of one element over the others: for our habit as Western watchers already this is quite a somersault.
Choreography here is articulation of different textures. Of being. Of basic, geometric actions: rotate, cross, jump sideways, perimeter a portion of space.
At times the Figure is propelled to the bottom of the scene by the sonic pulse that there and pervades it: there is clash of titans, before our eyes.
One stands, those on stage and those in front, immersed in a primordial magma.
One stands in the origin.
Better: in the triggering.
A creaturely act, even more than creative, is this Canto Primo, which could have lasted ten minutes or ten hours, sounding out the possibility of a before that makes us comrades, that is, people sharing bread. [...]