Uncertainty and discomfort seem to be constant components of László Fülöp’s work. In Hunting, light bulbs hanging over a clear white stage might – with a bit of imagination – be seen as trees. Who are the three men we see? Rough and determined movements express masculinity, but are they brothers? Enemies? They appear in so many roles that it is hard to decide who they are.
Jarring, out-of-tune music accompanies the rough movements of the dancers. The choreography builds on waves of uncontrolled limbs and civilised gestures such as a hug, tuning a guitar or an awkward attempt to get involved in a game. The dancers clap, spin and climb like playing children – determinedly, but without charm or compassion. Slow but aggressive movements inflame the skin; a light touch causes a disproportionate response. Is this just a game, or do they want to harm each other? Evasion and constant pseudo-aggressive gestures organise the dynamics of the group.
Because of the seriousness and crudeness of the movements, Hunting seems almost like a parody. But it is not funny at all: ignorance and insecurity arouse aggression, and this makes the performance feel very current in Hungary. Suddenly we hear someone knocking on a door – we do not know who it is, but the three men react instinctively with fear and anger to the unknown. They may have a lot of disagreements, but a common enemy forces their unity.
Premiered just before the Hungarian parliamentary elections, when the news was full of politicians’ luxury hunting trips on one side and man-hunting against migrants on the other, it was almost impossible to separate Hunting from its wider context.
