Whatever we do, we're always soaked.

By the rain, sweat or fear.

A first attempt to share humidity.

A wet dog often shakes itself just a little too close to us.

To question the distance between actors and observers.

Because until that moment we thought we were nice and dry.

A first attempt with a divided, nibbled and chewed performance space.

Because a dog shut in for too long ends up baring its teeth.

A first attempt to present a danced installation.

Première on 22th November 2002 in Le Manège-Maubeuge -  Mabeuge -  France

Questions of meaning

Michèle Anne De Mey examines the very particular condition of restless wandering. A state typified by being in limbo, by encounters, by unexpected setbacks and often by struggle.

The unexpected is inherent to restless wandering. It's a state of watchfulness where we are constantly on our guard. It's a sometimes violent confrontation with rules, conventions and walls which enclose, delimit and mark out boundaries once and for all.

It's a state where meaning has no importance.

To the left or right, it doesn't really matter. To do this or that, why bother?

Because wandering carries the unknown we avoid looking it right in the eye. We keep our distance as we would with a wet dog.

How should we approach this very real subject matter? How can we make it ours and tame it?

Why not like any other subject? Why not with a series of movements?

Questions of movement

What are these bodies telling us which traverse space without any particular destination, in their own worlds, exposed to what surrounds them, struggling against each other?

What are these movements saying once they are in performance? Are they still abstract? Or, on the contrary, do they each bear witness to a particular story?

And what if they are not on stage, but right next to you, or even on the ground?

Is it the same? Are you still "nice and dry"?

What is your relationship to restless wandering, the unknown and things which attack?

Are you getting up close? Or keeping your distance?

Michèle Anne De Mey is using this trial as a pretext for tearing certain performance codes to shreds: firstly, the concept of the stage has been rejected, as has a forward-facing performance, thus forcing the audience to define their own relationship to what they're watching.

The meaning of the choreography is not immediately obvious. It's up to the audience to find a viewing angle which pleases them, to wander about, to seek.

The relationship with what is presented is also redefined because the choreography is perfectly adapted to the place in which it is performed.

The staging and lighting, which are more like an art installation than stage design to serve a dance, frame the project and create the link between a particular space and a piece of choreography.

Architecture within architecture, a recurring staging idea is the "Dog Box", which acts as a nerve centre. In the centre of this closed black box is a platform, surrounded by narrow corridors designed for the audience, both standing and seated.

Around this dark monolith, the choreography evolves, fragments and re-appropriates the space, playing with the structures in place.

The art installations of Simon Siegmann are a starting point. Like the musical production and sound constructions, the lighting suggestions develop autonomously, carried along by their internal dynamics. All these elements randomly provoke, confront, meet and accompany each other.

Michèle Anne De Mey has used 35 versions of "Gloomy Sunday" for this "Raining Dogs" production.

A soundtrack close to the project's basic concept which resonates in contrast with the dance, and returns like a leitmotiv, sometimes barely audible.

This creates a "zapping" effect which never carries the dance but accompanies it softly in the background to create a particular atmosphere.

"Gloomy Sunday" was written in 1933 in Hungary by Rezso Seress (music) and Laszlo Javor (words). Associated with a wave of suicides (several people were found dead with the words in their hands, or with the record still playing on the turntable), it was banned by the Hungarian government in 1936.

Translated into English by Sam M. Lewis, it became one of the most recorded songs of all time. The most famous versions are those of Artie Shaw (1940) and Billie Holliday (1941). But again, although the popularity of the song continued to grow, it was also banned from the airwaves by the biggest radio stations throughout the world which found it too depressing to be broadcast.

Despite this ban, the song continues to be recorded and people continue to buy it. Some commit suicide.

The song's author, Rezso Seress, threw himself out of a window in 1968.

Sunday is gloomy, my hours are slumberless.

Dearest, the shadows I live with are numberless.

Little white flowers will never awaken you,

Not where the black coach of sorrow has taken you.

Angels have no thought of ever returning you.

Would they be angry if thought of joining you?

Gloomy Sunday.

Gloomy is Sunday; with shadows I spend it all.

My heart and I have decided to end it all.

Soon there'll be candles and prayers that are sad, I know.

Death is no dream, for in death I'm caressing you.

With the last breath of my soul I'll be blessing you.

Gloomy Sunday.