AND NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT
Let’s face it; nothing sucks more than a prequel. Trying to explain that which has come before is simply a colossal waste of time. The only thing that’s imaginably more painful is a sequel. Pffft….don’t even get us started on that exercise in futility. Neither captures the spirit of the original and always fails to meet expectations.
Luckily for Toronto playgoers, the world premiere of Cold Blood, a follow-up offering to this month’s Kiss & Cry fall into neither of those dreadful categories. Yes, the camera finger frenzy continues but its darkly comical tale of varied forms of death is both thematically fabulous and fantastically funny.
Because if you’re going to prematurely purchase the proverbial farm, you gotta go out in style. Sometimes mechanical, other times organic. Some live on TV, some silent. And who can resist the exotic?
‘Deaths are like lives, there are no two alike.’
You’ll find it all here in this stunningly innovative presentation that deep dives into what it means to be mortal. From hands floating on a black screen to tap dancing fingers, the transitions back and forth to aurally soothing score and deeply description narrative hooks is simply worth dying for.
The cinematography reaches new heights with some surprising tricks in store. It gains unique perspective through super imposed shots that visually captivate and seduce at the same time.
Inserting The Velvet Underground’s Perfect Day gives the show sound credibility with Bolero serving as an awfully welcomed momentum builder. But selecting the late great David Bowie’s Space Oddity is just eerie and uncanny timing.
Review by Jordan Allystair
COLD BLOOD by Michèle Anne De Mey, Jaco Van Dormael & collectif February 10-14, 2016 BLUMA APPEL THEATRE 27 Front Street, Toronto TICKETS $24.00 – $99.00 COLLABORATION Gregory Grosjean, Thomas Gunzig, Julien Lambert, Sylvie Olivé, Nicolas Olivier DIRECTOR Jaco Van Dormael CHOREGRAPHY Michèle Anne De Mey & Gregory Grosjean DANCERS Michèle Anne De Mey & Gregory Grosjean TEXTS Thomas Gunzig