Moving into Dance Mophatong in Robyn Orlin’s We wear our wheels with pride
Robyn Orlin’s ‘We wear our wheels with pride’ takes its inspiration from flamboyant Zulu rickshaw drivers of the 1950s and 60s…
Moving into Dance Mophatong in Robyn Orlin’s ‘We wear our wheels with pride’ © Jérôme Séron
Moving into Dance Mophatong
Robyn Orlin’s We wear our wheels with pride
★★★✰✰
London, Queen Elizabeth Hall
22 March 2025
midance.co.za
www.robynorlin.com
www.southbankcentre.co.uk
Part of the Dance Reflections by Van Cleef & Arpels Festival
When so much contemporary dance can come across as rather po-faced and deeply, deeply thoughtful, full marks to the Dance Reflections by Van Cleef & Arpels Festival for showcasing some contemporary exuberance from South Africa, complete with much happy audience participation and a standing ovation at the end.
Nominally, Robyn Orlin’s We wear our wheels with pride is inspired by flamboyant Zulu rickshaw drivers from South Africa’s past; if amazingly there isn’t a rickshaw or even a wheel to be seen in it. It’s a work that celebrates the free spirit of a colonised nation and has the full title “We wear our wheels with pride and slap your streets with color… We said ‘bonjour’ to satan in 1820.” The latter is a reference to the arrival of UK and European settlers in the early 1800s. It serves as a reminder of the terrible racial backdrop, although you might not necessarily pick that up directly from the work itself.
Johannesburg-based Moving into Dance Mophatong is a small company of six dancers (sadly rather unbalanced with five men and one woman) and a house style described as Afrofusion: “The combination of African ritual, music, and dancing with Western forms of contemporary dance…” And, in this case, there is also a good dose of hip-hop. However, the dance is really just a minor component of a bigger entertainment, where the dancers’ personalities often lead, supported by wonderfully ebullient live musicians and particularly garish projections filling the entire back of the stage. It’s not a restful show; it’s loud and brash.
To some considerable degree, it is the two musicians who set the show’s engaging bonhomie — Anelisa Stuurman’s vocals (a mix of South African tribal and Western) really grabs you from the off, and then she smiles and ups the ante, wickedly demanding you clap along. To say Stuurman is very charismatic, would be a huge understatement. Her musical partner is Yogin Sullaphen, who kicks up a storm with drums, keyboards and many other instruments. At times they are also entertainingly part of the dancing.
The live projections offer a different perspective on the dance and feature old-school afterimages of the action, big-time multiplying the dancers on stage. There is also much blue screen work overlaying video on the live feed and unsubtle animations — very much non-stop dazzle. And all the while we are waving our bodies around and clapping to various beats. This was all too much for one person in the row in front, who walked out rather than get sucked in. Over the show’s 80 minutes, it could benefit from some less hectic moments. There was also a very long section where each dancer would assemble a video background projection for themselves, combining a highly coloured cloth with the amazing headdresses they each wear, and then perform out front what could seem a pretty mediocre solo — if delivered with huge fizz and personality. After seeing two dancers do the sequence, the realisation that four more were inevitably about to follow felt a bit too artistically predictable.
In the closing minutes of We wear our wheels we do actually see the motivation behind the show in a tiny black-and-white grainy film of an elaborately clothed Zulu man pulling a fully laden rickshaw and prancing at the same time - it’s an astounding sight. And yes, the show does convey the bonkers spirit and liveliness on display, often in what can feel an endearingly ad hoc and over-the-top way. This is feel-good entertainment, but its inspiration lingers long in the mind.