A profound meditation on identity – if a slightly indulgent one: Akram Khan's DESH at Sadler's Wells
DESH
Akram Khan Company
Sadler's Wells
Second Circle SG19, £9.60
2 June 2017
Sadler's Wells page
In thinking about what I think about DESH I've been trying to get to the bottom of what bothers me about works I blithely describe as self-indulgent. Why shouldn't an artist draw on their own life experience in creating art? Isn't it a fair assumption that, as the audience has chosen to experience the art of that artist, they will be interested in what the artist has to say about his own experience? Yet despite the many excellent components of DESH, and despite my ambivalence, I've concluded that I really did think DESH was a bit self-indulgent, whatever that means.
Those objectively excellent components, then. One: Khan is a terrific mover. This is very absolutely the case. His natural grace combined with the muscular liquid precision he has developed through his training make him a beautiful body to watch. Khan cleaning a toilet would probably be beautiful to watch. In this impressively long solo piece we get a variety of Khans to admire, from contemporary to clowning to physical storytelling to mime to Kathak. It's a tour de force, no question.
Two: the set is beautiful, the projections astonishing (and purposeful) and in general this is one slick show. I was initially sceptical of the projected diorama Khan uses for a fantasy episode, but I shouldn't have been – they were enchanting and mostly apt, aside from the odd doubtful bee. A stage picture towards the end, of flown-in fabric forests hung by gradation to create a sort of upside-down grassland, is breathtakingly lovely. In fact the only element of the production that didn't enchant me was the music, a sort of syncretic catholic mass setting that was cool in concept but pretty square in execution.
Three: the elements of the story, seemingly disparate on first encounter, are satisfyingly united in the work's closing act. This is the most powerful counterweight to my suspicions of self-indulgence. In its final moments DESH is revealed to be a sound meditation on life in a globalized world, on migration, on home, on fitting in, on standing out, on cultural ownership and on shared cultural experience. On identity, on what makes one person different from another and on what makes us the same.
So perhaps this self-indulgence thing is just my problem. Certainly the audience seemed to enjoy it, with no reservation. But. I was distracted throughout DESH by unwelcome memories of Hofesh Shechter's direful Barbarians and its pseudo (or not pseudo, who cares) confessions. The all-consuming anger I felt then is in DESH more of a lingering resentment. I guess of all people to see have an imaginary conversation with the recorded voice of their daughter, or to re-create teenage arguments, I would chose Akram Khan. But I'd rather see a different menu.
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