In Side B: Adrift, The Hidden Floor completes the madness

NDT 1 concludes its triptych Side B: Adrift with Franck Chartier's new The Hidden Floor. After the performance, I literally get lost.

Different worlds

'Franck?", I call out. In the rain, an unremarkable man approaches me. Yes, answers from under a cap. It's Franck Chartier, on his way to the studio in The Hague. He doesn't look too good. We speak briefly. He is working on his latest work at NDT. And next year Child out. With this, he completes two triptychs.

We say goodbye: he has to go to the studio, I have a conversation with someone training to join the French Foreign Legion. Who doesn't see the ordinary society anymore for a while. Franck I and move into two completely different worlds.

Or actually not.

Two triptychs

Previously at Nederlands Dans Theater by Gabriela Carrizo came The Missing Door from and by Franck Chartier The Lost Room. As the Brussels company Peeping Tom, the duo mainly creates theatre performances. In the Netherlands, theirs was Father to be seen (review here) and Mother. Light madness, humour and stunning technique characterise the two choreographers' work.

But first of all this

Roger van der Poel, Lydia Bustinduy, Marne van Opstal, Spencer Dickhaus, Chloé Albaret, César Faria Fernandes, Meng-ke Wu, Rena Narumi. These dancers delivered an incredible performance. With their bodies, they defied dance rules and laws of nature. They must realise that something special has been created with this dance triptych.

Special? An understatement. Art is not a leftist hobby. It is a mania.

The Hidden Floor

Part three takes place on a rooftop terrace with a bar. Actor Jef Stevens is still crying after part two in the hotel room behind the window. All parts flow well together anyway. The dancers even help with the conversion. And again, strings swell in a thematic, menacing chord. Until a dancer washes up on the floor with a splash.

Brace yourself for a rushing society of people. Only when a naked man is dragged away from a mother's breast in all his glory can you recover. From laughing, admiring or crying.

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Entries and exits on and off stage are not common here. Nothing is, for that matter. Relationships are messed up, men turn out to be sadists, women suffer. Part two shows this most aptly: the luxury hotel room built of walnut wood looks safe and comfortable but as soon as people enter it becomes one big mess.

Part 2 is therefore darker and more fragmentary than Part 1. Only a sobbing plea from a desperate woman deepens feelings. In the final part, humour, darkness and beauty coincide in superlatives. With all the superlatives, a Part 4 is unthinkable.

Chartier thus sets the bar high for himself. He has to overwhelm. Hence he looks tired when I meet him in the rain. One wonders: can a happy person make unhappy work? Can an unhappy person make 'happy' work?

Ever met a normal person? And..., did you like it?

Because loneliness trumps the lives Carizzo and Chartier portray. Whether in a relationship or not. And that loneliness soon leads to madness. With excesses like suicidal jumps, setting things on fire, breaking charred bones and knocking teeth out of someone's mouth. Behind the neat clothes and hairstyles there is intense misery that is exposed to the bone.

Perhaps the two choreographers' work constitutes a viewing box. After all, visitors dressed in suits or suits chatting neatly with each other during the interval and then immersing themselves in orgasmic scenes on stage: there is something dubious and decadent about that too.

Welcome to the real-life world, say the creators.

Batter up for your orientation

As I cycled to the performance, I was still enjoying the elements: the dunes, dark clouds, a raging surf. After the performance, my orientation is confused: could a bundle of people also tumble out of that alley? Am I cycling, or am I falling over? Hence perhaps I literally lose my way for a moment. Never happens to me otherwise. Maybe it's because of the full moon.