TIME

project and direction: Elvira Frosini

 

with: Cristiane Canassa, Isabella Di Cola, Alessandra Di Lernia,

Elvira Frosini, Gamberale Eyeshadow, Veronica Sferra

 

 

Performance over time, as a suspended moment, infinite accumulation of equivalent intervals, the suspension or disappearance of a historical dimension while we are immersed in a colonized time, in an "era without party" ( G. Debord ). Actions are repeated, deformed, left to look.

 

 

 

What they wrote about TIME

 

Many work on the body as an aesthetic object. Few, however, like Kataklisma on the body as a social machine. After Buffet, Time's brief performance also confirms this: the utopia and rhetoric of the present are the deepest ground for a moral reflection that Elvira Frosini carries on through the theater. It is not so much - or not only - the repetitiveness that dictates the strange magnetism emanated by the movements of the six black-dressed women, seductive and irreproachably made up, that the director has deployed on an imaginary starting line in the Palladium foyer, with her back to the most of the audience. It is above all the contrast between the plenary, twentieth-century symmetry, of their rigorously more geometric choral movements and the continuous dyslexias that afflict the different individual bodies in a comic succession of stumbling blocks, falls, dislocations, sinking - up to slip dead body, but launched like torpedoes, in the total inertia of that relaxed position which according to Husserl signaled the "zero degree" of human energy. Ironically, the individual lying down - face down or face up, astonished or still intent on speaking like the actress who telephones repeating disconnected sentences - is the only conceivable alternative to the perpetually erect and moving individual, intent to test not the breadth of the earth he has under his feet but the narrowness of the space in which the time of work, of which Time is obviously a parody remnant, forces him. The solemn breath of Haendel's Messiah only makes things worse, adding to the ironic gap between a world that would like to move as one ideological body - launched towards the wonderful and progressive fate of the global market - and an existence that it explodes in a kaleidoscope of postures, all equally abstruse, all equally insignificant: what remains of the individual in an era of conformist individualism. Joyce said that History was a nightmare, Kataklisma describes the nightmare become ordinary in which the ebb of history throws an existence immersed in the identity of a time equalized on the instant, in an eternal punctual and obsessive present (the great alarm clock that one of the young performers, asleep like a puppet, holds in her arms) where every variation (living, loving, eating) is an illusory difference destined to repeat the theme. Out of time, in an out unavailable to historical perception, there is only the melancholy toy dinosaur that the director holds with a long red leash. Mechanical ballet for spasms and abrupt interruptions of energy, where one advances and falls with the incessant monotony of the batteries that are not duracell, Time celebrates the end of each duration and, if Haendel's quote is not deceptive, of every possibility that the time of the clocks is cut short by the heart attack of a "messianic arrest of happening".

Attilio Scarpellini, The Difference

 

Time is fragment / splinter, it moves on horizontal and vertical axes crossed by female souls who, in the mechanical reiteration of daily gestures, makes us feel the ticking of the time bomb that we have become. It is the harmony of Handel's Messiah to accompany the paralyzed smile of the six performers, replaced at the end by a growing uproar, which confuses the empty words in common use with those spoken. The escalation at each new appearance is part of the Politicalbody Project, since 2005 through the creative will of Elvira Frosini, which develops research on the body as a space-time crossroads of culture, conventions, power and communication relationships.

Giacomo d'Alelio, Liberazione