Collective A/Cha Jinyeob, MIIN - Body to Body review ★★★★★

Watching MIIN – Body to Body, the last show in this year's Festival of Korean Dance at The Place, l began wondering how well cultural signifiers travel between far-apart societies. This hour-long work by the South Korean choreographer Cha Jinyeob, performed by her collective A, won the 2017 best dance award of the Korean Association of Dance Critics and Researchers, and it does bring us moments of visual wonder.

However, does its premise come across to Western audiences?

Miin (미인) is the Korean word for ‘beautiful person’, but in everyday use it more commonly denotes a beautiful woman. So, we're told, the choreographer set about considering and challenging notions of beauty, urging women not to succumb to unrealistic expectations.

The stage is a wide circle covered in sand, and as we file into the auditorium a man stands in the centre, looking out impassively, his body at a slight angle, which he varies almost imperceptibly, to assume poses vaguely reminiscent of those of bodybuilders.

To one side three small pink flowers rise from the sand.

After a blackout, blue-tinged lights go up and we see four women in simple white costumes sitting or lounging on the sand. Then Cha Jinyeob slowly takes centre stage, picks up a handful of sand and lets it drain between her fingers. Her body starts a series of diaphragm contractions that look like waves.

She leaves and gradually each of the other four walks to the centre and performs specific gestures seemingly associated with femininity: one creates delicate shapes with arms and hands, another plays with her hair.

So far, so clear. Then one of the performers launches into a long speech about the habits of cuckoos, from which she segues to her right not to have maternal feelings, though she reckons cuckoos do.

Here the starting premise of the show becomes looser, and we’re left with the often hypnotic movement, atmospheric lighting (Kim Ikhyun), and the music, a blend of recorded electronic sound by haihm and live on-stage playing on the geomungo by Sim Eunyong, skilfully plucking the strings to draw out sonorous chords.

Certain passages of MIIN – Body to Body are very very slow, something with at times acquires a hypnotic quality, at others, though, clashes with our Western instinct to rush.

Hair seems to play a key role in Eastern choreography, with ‘hairography’ prominent in works by, for example, the Chinese choreographer Yang Liping. MIIN – Body do Body, too, has a protracted sequence where one dancer, then two, swing their hair around in a frenzied crescendo. It’s impressive, but I’m not entirely sure of its significance.

In short, MIIN – Body to Body is often arresting in its visual imagery and is probably best watched for its surface, without reference to its stated intent.