An opening night triumph: The first Sydney Festival reviews are in

DANCE
Post-Orientalist Express
Roslyn Packer Theatre
January 8 to 10
Reviewed by CHANTAL NGUYEN
★★★★★

Korea is a known dance powerhouse – and from Korea, choreographer Eun-Me Ahn is a known force of nature. A darling of the international festival scene, her projects include everything from the 2002 FIFA World Cup opening ceremony to a duet with a live chicken. Her visually stunning satire Post-Orientalist Express rushes in like a rainbow in a whirlwind riding a dragon, and opens this year’s Sydney Festival.

Blessed with more than 90 luminous costumes (Ahn’s designs), an extraordinary techno soundscape (Young-gyu Jang’s composition), and eight performers who can do everything from somersaults to biting satire and god-like serenity, Post-Orientalist Express is not so much a dance piece as an entire world, breathtaking in its panoramic energy.

The tottering panda was an audience favourite. Credit:

Its through-line is a satirical commentary on Western exoticisation of “the Orient”. European dance critics describe Ahn as “the Pina Bausch of Asia”, but you walk out of this show thinking that really, Pina Bausch should just be called “the Eun-Me Ahn of Europe”.

You take your seats and realise the piece has already started: animations of paintings from Europe’s 19th century “Orientalist” school of art project onto the curtain (Taeseok Lee’s video design). Then come the dancers, gliding and pole-vaulting across the stage in Ahn’s delightful designs. There are boats that glide across lakes; a giant teapot full of mist; a gold dragon embroidered on black velvet; surreal structures of lace, tassels and balloons; sky-high platform boots; flashing mouthguards and glow sticks; and even a tottering panda.

The endless energy of the seven dancers is a wonder. Credit:

Starting as a surreal, hypnotic series of hyper-stylised tableaux (perhaps representing the Western gaze), the dance gradually loosens up, crescendoing into an explosion of colour and life. There’s no interval to interrupt the galloping momentum. Ahn herself is a recurring narrative presence – like a fairy godmother, she flicks in and out with energetic solos so charming that the audience cheer.

The choreography never feels like camp mimicry. Credit:

Her seven swift-footed dancers are a wonder: effortlessly somersaulting and spinning in a cloud of serpentine athleticism, appearing more like a cast of dozens. Despite this prowess, they move with a refreshing humility, quiet dignity and self-deprecating humour. This stops the choreography from ever feeling like camp mimicry and proves that inaccessible pretension should never be confused with good modern dance.

The standing ovation at the end came quickly and was delightfully noisy – some audience members even made heart signs with their hands.

THEATRE
Burgerz
Carriageworks, January 8
Until January 18
Reviewed by HARRIET CUNNINGHAM
★★★★

When is a burger not a burger? Does it have to be beef? Does it need cheese? Is it a burger if there are no pickles? Does the bun need to be thicker on the top or the bottom? And does it have to be round?

These are questions Travis Alabanza has asked of themselves, and now asks of us, in their by turns anarchic, hilarious and hugely affecting show Burgerz, which opens Australia’s first Trans Theatre Festival. (By the way, Alabanza says yes, the bun does need to be round, otherwise this show might be called Hotdogz.)

When is a burger not a burger? Travis Alabanza raises a few questions. Credit:

Burgerz is Alabanza’s response to their experience of a hate crime some 10 years ago, when, one morning on London’s Waterloo Bridge, a man shouted “tranny” and hurled a burger at Alabanza, splattering their dress with mayonnaise and mince.

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It was nothing that a thick skin and some dry-cleaning fluid couldn’t fix, perhaps, but for Alabanza the real impact was that no one in this busy street reacted. No one helped. Everyone looked away and walked on by.

Track 8 at Carriageworks is full of people ready to help on the first night of Burgerz. When Alabanza emerges from a large packing case dressed in blue overalls on a blisteringly hot night they are greeted by a crowd of fellow travellers. When they call for a volunteer, hands shoot up. But when they ask for a volunteer who is a white cis-male, all goes quiet.

Thank goodness for Andy, an economist from Norway who accepts the invitation and spends most of the show on stage wearing a bright orange apron. Andy becomes sous chef and straight man for a sometimes brutal interrogation into the making of a burger.

There are plenty of laughs: big squirts and little squirts, meat grinding and buns. There are also tough conversations. Can we talk race? Yes, we can and will. The most impactful moments are when Alabanza drops the cabaret persona and speaks candidly about the despair, the hurt and the confusion of their everyday existence. Andy becomes an Everyman, a silent witness, while the burger becomes a metaphor for the senseless brutality of the norm.

The concept of Burgerz is inspired and the delivery unflinching. On opening night the outcome was robbed of some of its impact by stifling heat, unco-operative microphones and the unprovokable Andy, but it will build as Alabanza gets the measure of a Sydney crowd.

For the most part, Alabanza laps up the volatile chaos of audience participation. They have an impressive string of comebacks for all occasions and handle the top spin of cultural difference with ease. They are gentle but insistent in their attempts to get a reaction from Andy, to the point that it sometimes turns into an uncomfortable battle of wills.

But, in the end, the burger gets made and we learn. About Alabanza, about burgers and about ourselves.

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