REVIEW: Grief Floats, Company of Others, Tynemouth
Dancers greet the dawn at King Edward's Bay
It’s dark at King Edward’s Bay at 5am but the dawn comes quickly, a lightening of the sky and a sudden orange glow through the wispy clouds above the cliffs.
But even before the sun this morning (August 27) came the latest iteration of Grief Floats, a contemporary dance work from Company of Others.
It is a piece in which Nadia Iftkhar’s innovative, Newcastle-based dance company demonstrates its willingness to defy convention, spurning a theatre’s comfortable certainty for an amphitheatre fashioned by nature and open to the elements.
It is, according to Company of Others, “a gentle protest, an act of remembering and an annual communal reflection on all we have lost and continue to lose, set against the breathtaking backdrop of the North Sea”.
Gentle it is… and magical, particularly on a morning when nature’s playing its part, the tide encroaching with a steady surge rather than an angry crashing of breakers on the shore.
On the sand lie great pieces of uprooted kelp, reminders of the sea’s destructive power. Gulls, oblivious to a cultural spectacle, strut among us looking for a chip wrapper to worry.
This was my first encounter with Company of Others’ most celebrated work, an experiment – born, we are told, of Covid and Nadia’s personal grief at miscarriage after miscarriage – that has become a regular event, response to popular demand and clearly serving a need.
The premiere of this latest run was scheduled for 5.45am. The audience – would there even be one at that time? – was advised to arrive 30 minutes prior in order to don a headset and take up position on the beach.
That done, I waited and watched – plenty to see here, dance or no dance – as other shadowy figures came in trickles down the steep steps (so there was to be an audience – and not just a disinterested one in feathers. Of course there was).
Suddenly, descending rather more gracefully than the rest of us and with clear purpose, came straight-backed figures clad in green.
One after another they came, a little otherworldly and aloof but admirably maintaining their poise on the sand (no easy task) – just as they would soon in the gently buffeting waves.
In our headsets the music began as the dancers formed into a line, sequinned costumes flashing beneath their green robes, like creatures of the sea about to return to their favoured element.
On the beach they began a choreographed routine, each moving independently, seeming to greet the sea as they moved to meet it, then entering unflinchingly, one first and the others following suit.
Through the headset came the music, matching the occasion with a bit of atmospheric techno and a suggestion of bhangra as the dancers held their line and performed their moves.
Occasionally one would be nudged off her feet by a wave. Grief does float, you’ll be relieved to hear, but in its grip these admirable dancers demonstrated the resilience of the human body and, by implication, spirit.
Everyone who sees this work will add their own layers of meaning, whether in sadness, joy or remembrance.
It ends as it begins, the dancers turning back to the shore and stepping around and through us on the beach and away. And not even shivering, as far as I could tell.
Do we applaud? Some of us did.
Could they even hear? Apparently (I checked) the dancers are equipped with ear pieces – waterproof, presumably – so they can hear the music, so maybe not external sound.
Applause was merited for this is a very particular spectacle, a beautiful idea beautifully realised, especially on a clement morning. But maybe clapping belongs in the theatre. This production transcends theatrical convention. It’s rather like a dream.
Up on the clifftop, overlooking the mouth of the Tyne, more rooted symbols of grief invite a moment’s reflection – the proliferation of benches with their commemorative plaques and plastic flowers.
Submerged below are the Black Middens where many people have perished a stone’s throw from land.
This is the perfect place for a performance such as this and one you are unlikely to forget. See it if you can. All performance times are listed on the Company of Others website.