Concert d'eau pour jardin d'hiver (review)

Figure 1.

Denis Brely, Pierre Gaudin, Patrice Guillaumat, Patrice Mizrahi, Catherine Raffaeli, and Gérard Yon in Mélodie Théâtre’s production of Concert d’eau pour jardin d’hiver. Collège de la Salle, Avignon. Photo: Benoit Elliot.

Exploring the landscape of theatrical activity, the found object musicians of the Mélodie Théâtre have discovered new terrain: the water. As Concert d’eau pour jardin d’hiver begins, the audience gazes at a skeletal greenhouse enclosing a large blue wading pool. Suddenly, a low beckoning sound, reminiscent of whale songs, resonates. A woman dressed in a white flocked wool coat and hat solemnly promenades into view, carrying a goldfish in a glass bowl. Five men, similarly dressed, follow her, carrying on their shoulders the source of the sound: a twisted amalgamation of brass instruments.

They shed their Siberian wrappings to enter their greenhouse-encased fantasy world: a winter garden complete with frosted foliage. Dressed formally in indigo and black, they stand on a platform behind the pool. With the poise of chamber musicians, they drolly intone a popular French children’s song, warping the lyrics to pay homage to fish. As the song ends, the lone female performer pours the goldfish into the water and, with no hesitation, sloshes into the pool herself—wearing an evening gown, hose, heels and a hat. Ceremoniously, each man enters the mid-calf deep water: one holds his breath, another pretends to dive, a third tests the temperature with his toe.

They take their seats at transparent tables and stools, and the music begins. The woman places a hose into a bowl of water and melodically burbles, like a child blowing bubbles through a soda straw. Three men rub wet fingers around the rims of water-filled glasses, creating a haunting melody. The percussionist plays wooden spheres partially submerged in water while another performer alternately whistles and delicately taps glasses with swizzle sticks. At first, they play with little emotion, as if this concert is a rote, unwanted task. Yet underneath that façade, there is a mischievous acknowledgment of the absolute incongruity of their performance.

Their formality erodes as they succumb further to the serendipity of their environment, where anything and everything provokes new musical creations. Seemingly mundane objects (a corkscrew, fishing poles, wind chimes, bird calls, bamboo rattles, soda bottles) suddenly attract attention and the performers discover their musical potential. These everyday objects inspire a variety of fleeting scenarios. Nasally intoning “poisson-poisson,” the woman scatters flower petals over the water and twirls a blue umbrella, evoking scenes from a Chinese opera. Summoned by the lowing of a conch shell, the company forms the shape of a boat and voyages to the South Seas, threading hollow wooden tubes through the water like didgeridoo oars. One musician blows an Indian melody on a pipe while another instrument, a hose topped with a funnel, bleats a reply and sways like a charmed cobra.

As water saturates their costumes, the performers play with increasing abandon. Their concert becomes a jam session, reminiscent of the celebrated cacophony of Stomp, where any sound is music, whether it is water poured from a pan, fingers popped in bottles and mouths, or ping-pong balls rhythmically spat into a fishbowl. They jiggle their fingers between their lips, using their own saliva to make sounds. Spoons plink on a floating guitar buoyed by a water bottle, mist pumps from an oversized mosquito sprayer, and hips gyrate in a serpentine conga line as their music crescendos into an orgiastic frenzy.

In the midst of this chaos, iridescent bubbles float down from the greenhouse rafters. Intrigued, the performers stop and watch in silence. One of them gently touches a bubble. As it pops, it makes a sweet crystalline sound. Another performer joins him, tentatively bursting bubbles. Magically, each bubble yields a different note, and the two quietly play a mesmerizing melody...