Director: Michael Keegan-Dolan
Perhaps the strangest event to grace the Sadler’s Wells stage this year, Irish company Teac Damsa’s Nobadaddy is a messy mix of dance and song supposedly inspired by a William Blake poem. There’s no narrative as such, but the songs – beautifully sung by Sam Amidon – are all about final journeys and death, one so poignant that even an onstage musician becomes overwhelmed with emotion. These 18th and 19th Century Irish and American folk laments are the best part of the show; in comparison, the dancing seems a little uninspired.
Nobadaddy is a demon of destruction, and at the start of the show, he seems to have done his work; a woman lies on the floor in a hospital. The two orderlies refuse to pick her up, explaining gruffly that their insurance and training don’t allow for such interventions. A man, who could be her son or her husband, walks into the room, arms heavy with groceries, and is left to comfort that woman on the floor. The rest of the 105 minutes is a fever dream of music and memory that stretches back centuries, but those looking for a story will be disappointed.
It’s best just to enjoy the images the performers create and the songs they sing. They whirl around the stage while others play violins and cellos. Musicians are pushed towards the front of the stage on little daises and then pushed back again while, every so often, guns spew out bubbles. One performer at the top of a stepladder prays to God before falling back onto a mattress after another man has smeared his almost naked body with butter. A single hanging lightbulb is swung above the audience; a quartet of dancers jerk their bodies to an electronic beat.
No scene is repeated, and no song is reprised, with the result being that the show feels unstructured, almost like a 1960s happening. Of course, in reality, it’s tightly choreographed, but its lack of thematic strands seems flabby and disordered. It’s better when the performers come to the front of the stage, seated in a row, to sing their sad dirges. The mournful timbre of Amidon’s voice conjures up tales of famine and migration. One song about death is performed in a wooden box, the performers joining him one by one as if they, too, have reached the end of their lives. This moment should finish the show, but alas, there is more running around the stage and more bubbles to come.
At the start, the performers wear Doey Lüthi’s grey suits, their lovely purple lining adding a splash of colour. These costumes are reminiscent of the wedding/wake suits seen in Michael Keegan-Dolan’s far superior MÁM. However, over the course of Nobodaddy, these suits are discarded for red tunics and frilly shirts, which stubbornly become untucked as the performers swoop and jig across the stage. While this change in outfits may suggest links between the folk music of Ireland and America, it certainly allows for some striking images- all red and white, blood and bone.
The energy of the multitalented performers – they almost all sing and dance – is commendable; there’s not a dead moment at all. But the show makes little sense. Perhaps without the absurd humour and the cavorting around, the sorrowful songs would stand out less. Their dark, keening lyrics are at the heart of the show, although they are framed by an excess of bubbles and butter.
Runs until 30 November 2024
