Théâtre National de Bretagne
Direction Arthur Nauzyciel
Text by Joëlle Gayot / Translation by Jonas Parson
You did not get to see Chroma at 18:00 on 14th November in the Grand Logis. As such, attempting to summon Bruno Geslin’s adaptation of Derek Jarman’s autobiographic tale with the following quote is an open betrayal. Two lines that might bring back school-bench memories: "Black A, white E, red I, green U, blue O: you vowels / Some day I'll tell the tale of where your mystery lies."
You wouldn’t have heard these words in the show, had it taken place. They weren’t written by Jarman but by the French poet Rimbaud. Jarman, a real person whose fictional combustion on stage would have matched the powerful surge of words, voices and music, went about in exact opposition to the poet, and pinned down the birth of colours through words. Or rather their dissolution. It was a time of urgency. He was losing his sight. Dying of AIDS (as was his case) wasn’t dire enough. The reds, greens, blues, purples, pinks and lilacs were also slowly fading from his sight.
We can easily picture the abyss swallowing the author, condemning his film-making, painting and gardening. We can imagine his pressing desire to commit the vitality of colours to the page before the sanction of darkness. His need to capture them a paragraph at a time, just as you would, taking a photo, develop the film roll in a darkroom, bathing it in a chemical solution, waiting, examining what will be printed (we hope) for ever on the photographic paper.
Swapping this "for ever" for the fleetingness of theatre, Bruno Geslin works in similar way when he makes shows. He chooses a subject, draws its portrait, organises the exposure of its monography and composes the space, lighting, gestures, voices and music. He fixes (would have fixed, had you been there) Derek Jerman onto the photosensitive surface of the stage. Leading up to this, he would have orchestrated a dance of colours from which would have emerged a series of blacks and whites. Because, as he explains, "colour is something you can barely share. And the beautiful thing with Jarman is that he never imposes anything."
The last minutes of the show would have ended with this serpentine sequence: actress Emilie Beauvais would have delivered a short text as dancer Nicolas Fayol cycled around her on a green bike whose lights would have sporadically lit up actor Olivier Normand, sat in a bathtub typing on a typewriter. Chroma should have been exactly that : the irruption of the conditional in the desolate fields of our indicatives, and under our eyes turned to lasers, the x-rayed DNA of an artist who attempted to "photograph the wind".
The epitome, you will concur, of the poetic act.
—
Adjacent texts sent by Bruno Geslin in an email dated 11th November at 17:27
"I thought that ghosts were silent
As glow-worm lamps that spark
Opalescent creatures
Of shadow and the dark
Oh how they chatter
Debutantes on crystal stairs
Iridescent matter
Flaring glassy chandeliers
They dance a tinsel quick-step
Pianola phantoms
Swaying seaweed
Sarabands.
As she disappears
I toast my ghost
In acqua vite
Luminous presence
Here and gone."
– Chroma, Derek Jarman
"This text won’t have an illustration, only the hook of a blank film. And the text would not be had the photo not been taken. The image would be there in front of me, possibly framed, perfect and fake, unreal, more so than a picture of youth: the proof, the crime of a near-diabolical deed. More than sleight of hand or an illusion: a machine to stop time. This text is the despair of the image, worse than a blurred or clouded image: a phantom image…”
– The Phantom Image, Hervé Guibert
SPECTACLES Théâtre
19 jan
— 29 jan 2022
CHROMA
DEREK JARMAN / BRUNO GESLIN
THE CONDITIONAL APPARITION OF "FILMS FANTOMES"
(PHANTOM FILMS)
A CONDITIONAL APPARITION "DE LA DISPARITION DES LARMES"
(The disappearance of tears)
THE CONDITIONAL APPARITION OF "AKILA – LE TISSU D’ANTIGONE"
(AKILA – ANTIGONE’S CLOTH)