Spinvis' talk show Howl gets completely out of hand

Dance artist Amos Ben-Tal and songwriter Spinvis put together an intriguing talk show. And it does not go at all as you expect. Because what happens when you get a very Dutch songwriter and an Israeli choreographer with a ballet past to produce a joint performance? Right.

The talk show

The lights in the room remain on. We the audience, are a talk-show audience. Spectators also sit on stage, on wheeled benches. As clapping cattle or human padding behind the guests to be interviewed. A musician and a table with sound technology complete the setting. The show can begin.

The host of Howl

Spinvis, Erik de Jong, acts as host. He takes his guitar, looks into the audience and asks questions, singing. 'Do you like to be alone? Are things settled?' Then, by way of introduction, he holds a relaxed chat, introduces himself and bridges to dance. Because musicians have nothing at all to do with their bodies. Not like dancers. And that's what Howl is about, the ageing of the body and its effects.

But of course, that is not what the show is about at all.

The Q&A

Charming, a bit Berend Boudewijn-like, Spinvis jokes with his guests, whom he welcomes one by one. 'This is a serious talk show and we have very good editors.' And then he asks the wrong question with a non-fact or vague suggestion. Then, after the Q&A, each successive guest switches to dance. Genevieve Osborne and Milena Twiehaus each do a solo. Aurélie Cayla and Yvan Dubreuil dance a beautiful, scanning duet that ends in an embryonic embrace. 'Jiří Kylián gave us permission to perform the first 3 seconds of his work Click - Pause - Silence to use. We made a remake of that.'

Do talk shows have little to do with the truth? This unlikely little.

Personal and close

Except Spinvis also manages to elicit intimate details from his guests that seem real. And those outpourings come out poignantly when Spinvis strikes up a conversation with Aurélie. Clockwise and premeditated, all the dancers initiate a confusing movement pattern. Spinvis asks deadpan questions and Aurélie, a young mother, talks about the period after her pregnancy and her struggle with her body. Amos himself walks back and forth with a fluorescent bar, dancers pretend to improvise and sometimes move in agreed sync. The music recalls snatches of text and live produced sounds.

A fascinating whole. But it also takes a long time. And the evening started so exuberant and light-hearted. Now the mood feels heavy, almost frightening. If you translate the performance to society, or vice versa, you might think of crowds of people watching an election result full of euphoria, only to see their certainties shattered. There appears to be little to hold on to in life. It is difficult to orientate anymore. The four pillars: courage, cheerfulness, control and security that Ben-Tal promotes bring together in Howl always out of balance.

Amos Ben-Tal seems to read a lot of books before each new choreography. Or rather, doesn't read them out but stops where he likes. Therefore, with Howl, don't expect a performance that is out, or finished. But one that is extremely thoughtful and brilliant.