Through The Orphic Circles

Iceland Dance Company’s latest show is a layer cake — easier to devour than to explain

My car rolls by Borgarleikhúsið on a Friday night, and — what the hell is this? — a gigantic line snakes around the building. No, Sigur Rós isn’t playing a surprise gig. There’s no craft beer festival causing the commotion. It’s not even a line to grab the last Christmas ham at Bónus on Þorláksmessa. Just two theatre premieres happening simultaneously as if Reykjavík suddenly fancies itself as London’s West End. The parking lot is packed to the brim, and as I circle around for the fourth time hunting for an empty spot, I briefly contemplate just giving up and heading home to Netflix. A queue? For theatre? In Iceland? Curious to see how this big night for the theatre culminates, I decide to stick around. Spoiler alert: I don’t regret a thing.

“Much like Orpheus, who had the ability to hypnotise all living things with his music, Andrean captivates the audience with his movements.”

One of the shows happening in the house tonight is Hringir Orfeusar og Annað Slúður (The Orphic Circles and Other Gossip in English), choreographed by Erna Ómarsdóttir in her last role as Iceland’s Dance Company artistic director before Lovísa Ósk Gunnarsdóttir takes over.

Greek mythology has never been my strongest suit, but when the show starts and Andrean Sigurgeirsson introduces himself as Orpheus, some of the pieces start to fall into place. Partly because the myth of Orpheus has been revisited again and again in popular culture, and partly because I just binge-watched a TV series which retells the same myth (thanks Netflix).

Orpheus, the musician, poet and prophet, goes to the underworld to save his wife Eurydice, and… almost succeeds. Hringir Orfeusar transforms the ancient story into something weirdly current, throwing in even older myths, like Demeter’s grief for Persephone, who was taken by Hades, into its mythological cauldron. What emerges isn’t a straightforward narrative but a chaotic, beautiful cycle of creation and decay.

Photo: Owen Fiene

Much like Orpheus, who had the ability to hypnotise all living things with his music, Andrean captivates the audience with his movements, carrying a presence that seems almost divine.  I’ve never sat as close to the stage in the big hall of Borgarleikhúsið, and I’ve never appreciated the seats more. As the show unfolds, I can see the muscles of the dancers tighten and almost feel their sweat misting the front rows. The “Orphic circles” aren’t just metaphors — they materialise as actual round trampolines used in countless creative ways throughout the show. Circular shapes and movements become a recurring visual motif, but dance is far from being the only medium at play. The production is definitely a challenge for the performers as choreography is just one of their responsibilities — the dancers transform into actors and musicians before our eyes, communicating in an ambitious cocktail of Icelandic, English, Ancient Greek and even Icelandic Sign Language. While it’s not always clear where the language mix is going, classic hits such as Kiss’s “I Was Made For Lovin’ You” act as a universal cultural anchor.

“Is there any occasion an Icelandic brass band can’t elevate?”

Visually, there’s definitely a lot going on, which critics have already pounced on as interfering with an overall cohesive picture. But for me, each lull in the performance merely serves as the inhale before an exhale of what comes next. Each segment offers an aesthetic feast of its own — be it dead souls in the underworld trying to communicate through eyeless white sheet morph suits, Elín Signý’s face-melting performance on what seems to be an altar, dancers narcissistically gazing into multiple mirrors (the only moment I regret sitting so close to the stage), or the “Golden Fleece” sequence.

While I personally love Iceland Dance Company’s work with fabric, it’s hardly breaking new ground. As visually striking as it is, it reminds me too much of their previous productions I’d seen, like Black Marrow and Romeo & Juliet. Rather than immersing myself in the moment, I can’t stop thinking about when and where I’ve seen this before.

Photo: Owen Fiene

Almost at the end, there’s a moment when dancers, each on their own trampoline, jump silently for what feels like forever. At first subtle, the jumps gradually intensify, evolving into a rhythmic cadence. For a few long minutes, the only sounds that cut through the silence of the theatre hall are the dancers’ breaths and the soft squeaks of their feet meeting the trampolines — one, two, one, two, one, two. I start to wonder, is this how the show will end?

Ending on a note like this would be perfectly reasonable, but Iceland Dance Company has much more in store. Just as I’m bracing for the curtains to draw, a kids’ brass band starts marching onto the stage — ten, twenty, thirty… until a hundred kids from Vesturbær and Miðbær School Bands fill the stage, joining the ten dancers for a performance of F.R. David’s “Words.”

Photo: Owen Fiene

As I clap along with this gigantic crowd playing “Words don’t come easy… Words don’t come easy to me. This is the only way for me to say I love you… Words don’t come easy,” I find myself wondering: Is there any occasion an Icelandic brass band can’t elevate? I’ve seen brass bands in this country materialise out of thin air during a Sigur Rós show, at documentary festival closing ceremonies, as the reliable staple of every 17. júní parade, and now at a dance show. On every single one of these occasions, they always feel like the cherry on top — a very Icelandic way of bringing an emotional oomph.

Hringir Orfeusar og Annað Slúður premiered at Borgarleikhúsið on March 28th