I saw Souleymane Badolo last night at New York Live Arts. He performed two solos, Barack and Buudou, Badoo, Badolo. Both addressed issues of past and present, and both were steeped in a thick sadness that was hard to throw off, even after the evening had ended. What has happened to this man that makes him so profoundly sad, I wondered as I let the theatre? At the same time, he is a remarkable dancer, who can make every muscle in his body dance, down to the tips of his fingers. Here’s my review, for DanceTabs.
And a short excerpt: “It’s a strange image; this compact, muscular man, wearing skin-tight, bright red trousers and a yellow hoodie, open at the chest, bowing slowly at center stage, then stage right, stage left. His face, especially his eyes, express total desolation. Then Edith Piaf’s powerful, rasping voice rings out: “Rien de rien, je ne regrette rien.” I regret nothing. Badolo moves his arms, powerful and vulnerable at once, fluttering, undulating them almost like wings, fingers trembling.”
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