Chameleonic and nuanced, Northern Irish choreographer Oona Doherty transcends the boundaries of gender performativity and stereotypical masculinity in her critically acclaimed Hope Hunt & The Ascension Into Lazarus.
Oona Doherty performing Hope Hunt & The Ascension Into Lazarus at The Yard Theatre, Hackney, London. Dance Umbrella 2019. Photo by Rocio Chacon.
Awaiting the anticipated arrival of Oona Doherty at The Yard Theatre, nestled amongst the ominous industrial units and graffitied garages jutting up from the cold, concrete slabs of Hackney Wick, the tension and excitement is palpable. This is an immersive and lingering performance like no other. When the line-up for Dance Umbrella Festival 2019 was announced, Hope Hunt & The Ascension Into Lazarus leapt straight off the screen and into my schedule. Having followed Doherty’s work for some time, I was eager to witness her mastery and madness in person, and what better time to be an admirer than during Dance Umbrella. I could sense an atmosphere of expectance as I arrived at the club-like foyer of The Yard Theatre. The air was broken with the sound of music, thumping from bass-heavy speakers, violently sliced by the dissonance of a distant of car horn. The awaiting audience, myself included, funnelled out into the night as a clapped-out Vauxhall Corsa, with blacked-out, bin-bagged windows, sped into the courtyard. Unbeknownst to many, the performance had already begun.
Oona Doherty’s portrayal of European, working-class masculinity in Hope Hunt & The Ascension Into Lazarus (2016) goes further than the re-enactment of simple, transgressive stereotypes. Doherty pulsates with a ragged luminescence as she shapeshifts from one disaffected masculine persona to another, driven by a nuanced and complex understanding of juxtaposing assumptions of masculinity; the layers of the European, working-class male are peeled back, revealing a previously hidden anxiety and fragility. The tone is set from the very moment Doherty tumbles out from the battered boot. The vocal grunts and chants, casual yet intimidating posture and stance, and unwavering eye contact with unsettled voyeurs initially suggests a stereotypical working-class masculinity. Doherty ducks and dives with a grounded swagger and intensely erratic forcefulness as she weaves her way through the standing onlookers before moving inside. There is a collective exhale as the audience resumes a level of comfort in a place of familiarity; sat neatly in pews, we begin to observe Doherty once again. The characters in Hope Hunt appear to be violently grappling with themselves, from contorted movements and repetitive chants, to repeatedly throwing themselves to the floor as if being manipulated by an invisible structure. The range of male characters Doherty portrays, stripping back the harder exterior to reveal deeper layers of compassion and fear, suggest a complex series of masculinities. In her fluidity and spiralling transcendence, Doherty forcefully throws her hand towards the audience with a vigorous, active weight; this accelerating, repetitive movement gradually transitions into a calming, free-flowing motif, before mutating into yet another working-class male character.
Whilst these ego driven masks of stereotypical masculinity may allow for a personal defence, Doherty rips away this barrier to intimacy and vulnerability, particularly in moments where characters lie centre stage, simply breathing. The Ascension Into Lazarus, perhaps a biblical reference to the rich man and the beggar parable, suggests themes of spirituality and enlightenment. The free-flowing, lingering movements, supported by a choral accompaniment, offer a stark contrast to previous portrayals of masculinity. Doherty moves with both grace and poignancy as she appears angelic, all in white, wings outstretched. Her vaporous movements supersede the violent chants which intercept the music. Such vulnerability can also be heard in her chants; in a post-show discussion Doherty revealed that “da”, which she repeatedly shouts, “means dad in Belfast” (Doherty, 2019). There is a particular reverence as the viewer gains access to the back region of the working-class male, in all his anxiety and fragility, a side that is not often revealed. The juxtaposition of the two “acts” of this performance, running parallel to the two divergent portrayals of masculinity, is astonishing; how one person can move with such contrasting brilliance is dumbfounding. If you are fortunate enough to see this performance, be sure to seize the opportunity. Doherty presents a masterclass in shapeshifting; she veers from caricature and pantomime, instead presenting a performance that is both chameleonic and nuanced.
by Jodie Nunn (she/her) as part of Dance Umbrella Festival (written Oct 2019)
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