"Oyster," by the Israelis Inbal Pinto and Avshalom Pollak, has been compared by some overseas critics to the dancers transformed by Maguy Marin in the famous "Cendrillon." Perhaps the comparison isn't entirely convincing. Inbal Pinto, a choreographer and director with a strong background in visual arts and design, has created her own style of movement theater where dance borders on mime, gymnastics blends with acrobatics and circus tricks, and a fantastical universe is brought to life on stage. Her goal is not to promote new or old dance forms but rather to entertain with joy, a touch of poetry, and plenty of surprises.
Perhaps we are closer to the historical and now vanished group Mummenschanz than to Marin of the 1980s, although Inbal confidently navigates dance, especially salon dance, with the assurance of a true professional. "Oyster," with its precious stones—both visual and corporeal—confirms this, unfolding like an oyster gradually revealing its gifts, hinting at carnival, the poignant world of clowns, and Fellini's disenchantment in "8 ½." With its Christmas lights, flying platforms, mobile stage "within" the stage, and magical, sparkling objects, "Oyster" presents a series of "acts" performed by thirteen performers connected through a wide variety of sounds and music: from blowing wind to chiming bells, echoes of classical scores to folk and pop pieces with a sprinkle of mambo.
Reminiscences of Fellini's "8 ½" appear in the costumes: old tutus topped with bright pink shorts and pointe shoes with black laces for the women, tails and stiff collars for the men. Everyone boasts eccentric hairstyles, and someone with a large, distracted hairstyle resembles Albert Einstein. Certainly, the characters' identities are elusive and volatile. But Inbal Pinto, whose fame has grown tentacularly thanks to this show, doesn't aim to tell a story—although "Oyster" resembles a fragmented fairy tale or a messy musical for adults and children—but rather to evoke memories and chase surprises.
A giant man formed by two dancers in a single coat, and the ballerina with lace-up shoes resembling dolls atop music boxes or jewelry boxes. Another man wants to be a dictator (perhaps a poke at the State of Israel?), and a grandmother, who could be the costume designer of this "theater within the theater," cuts those rigid ribbons connecting the dancers in an exciting mimetic dance of automatons. Flying platforms descend from the sky to allow the dance of an acrobat who walks on her arms and her partner. Elsewhere, the same acrobat will move like the clapper of a bell. Perhaps someone might wonder if this is a sort of less technological and polished Cirque du Soleil. The answer is simple.
With their faces covered in chalk and their "acts" born from a craft of the stage—unknown in Israel before the birth of the Inbal Pinto Dance Company in 1992—the performers of "Oyster," often disguised as automatons, dolls, and marionettes, could belong in a Tim Burton film. Between innocent and mysterious childhood and the abnormality of monsters belonging to dreams but also to the transfiguration of reality, this multifaceted show sails in its solitary and cloudy universe at a certain distance from everything we know or expect to see.
