Dublin Dance Festival 2025: Scorched Earth

Scorched Earth, Image, Patricio Cassinoni

****

Projected slides establish Scorched Earth’s focus on land based crimes, its particular concern a ten year old, cold case murder. Black and white images bleeding into dancers Luke Murphy, Ryan O’Neill, Sarah Dowling, Tyler Carney-Faleatua and Will Thompson physicalising the projector’s click frame process. Swirling deftly in and out of fleeting tableaux, dancers foreshadow key scenes whilst highlighting the giant behind Luke Murphy's Attic Projects latest production. The giant in question being John B.Keane’s The Field, whose premise of returning generations buying up fields homegrown locals have worked for decades provides Scorched Earth with a weak narrative. Even though peppered with references to The Field, Scorched Earth is never properly seasoned, lacking Keane’s memorable characters, along with the play’s tension and suspense. Murphy’s exhilarating choreography almost forgiving everything, but not quite. For though dance is divine, and its claustrophobic theatrics intriguing, drama falls completely flat. Scorched Earth not so much standing on the shoulders of its narrative giant as being completely eclipsed by their shadow. Even as themes of property developers battling invested locals has huge current resonance.

Scorched Earth, Image, Patricio Cassinoni

If Scorched Earth finally gets to where it’s going, it makes for a circuitous journey, gets stuck in traffic and deliberately avoids the scenic route. Scenery, by way of Alyson Cummins’s troubled set, resembling a handball alley designed by the Stasi based on German coastal bunkers from World War Two. Lifeless, soul sucking grey sapping energy whilst being tediously dull on the gaze, which feels like it’s being encased in concrete. Against which Stephen Dodd’s lights lose much of their lustre. Cleverly orchestrated transitions between an interrogation room, bar, radio station or phone box are smartly synchronised, with the desk design a stroke of genius. Against which choreographic flourishes frequently delight, despite the colourless vacuum. Ryan O’Neill’s torchlit solo, Will Thompson’s excellent rag doll routines, and a terrific line dancing sequence reviving flagging energy. Meanwhile, story crawls away to curl up and die in a traffic jam. Its crime drama narrative amounting to a wasteful interrogation of an under developed character. Wasteful because you don’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to determine whether they did it. The real crime a pointless interrogation device offering less and less till finally going exactly where you knew it would go. Heart, soul and depth found in stirring choreographic moments strung on a flimsy narrative thread, which a more vibrant, economic narrative with complex characters might have better served.

Scorched Earth, Image, Patricio Cassinoni

Throughout, Rob Moloney’s compositions and sound design try inject tension and energy, often succeeding, but just as often overcompensating and, on occasion, being overly intrusive; sounds similar to machine gun fire or helicopter blades competing with key dialogue at one point. Valentina Gambardella grass suit might facilitate a superb duet/solo between the accused and God‘s green earth, but you have to see past it as a Sesame Street muppet first. Or, later, as a sniper team in Ghillie suits. Then there’s a donkey, whose disappearance offers a far more intriguing, if equally unresolved story. Problem visuals resolved as the set is struck whilst Murphy flails like a raver on high grade drugs. Cummins’s stunning second set unfolding, revealing what could have been all along. Moonlit green, its back inclined, awash in the smell of earth; we come full circle as one becomes five in an exhilarating whirling dervish. Passion and violence made visceral through interweaving, almost organic choreography as dancers run, climb, fall, slide and begin again, pushed to exhausting limits. The answer to “shut up and kiss me” a goodnight kiss that sets you swooning. Leaving you wishing Scorched Earth had talked a lot less and kissed a lot more.

Scorched Earth, Image, Patricio Cassinoni

As dance theatre goes, Scorched Earth’s concomitant parts don’t always fit. Narratively, it makes for a dull affair. Visually, its prison grey tone doesn’t do it any favours beyond offering an expensive contrast with the land. Choreographically, as is always the case with Murphy’s movement sequences, be they solos, duets or group, Scorched Earth is visceral and sensational, taking your breath away during peaks and never less than intriguing during throughs. Ensuring there’s plenty of meat on Scorched Earth’s choreographic bones to warrant anyone's attendance. Along with that goodnight kiss.

Scorched Earth by Luke Murphy's Attic Projects runs at The Abbey Theatre as part of Dublin Dance Festival 2025 until May 24.

For more information visit The Abbey Theatre or Dublin Dance Festival 2025