Moving expression of the maternal feeling in ‘Kloek’

The soothing cadence of clinking dishes in the background: who doesn’t cherish warm memories of it? In this performance, the soundtrack of growing up consists of clinking pots, pans and springform tins, or the soft rumble of a table that keeps being set.

Music theater group BOT joins in Stalwart an attempt to express the maternal feeling. The stage exudes a homely atmosphere: a messy interior full of household appliances, weathered furniture and an almost constantly ticking Frisian tail clock.

But those who are familiar with the universe of BOT know that there is a musical instrument in everything. Here an ironing board is equipped with bass guitar strings and is played with a bow and bolt, a hair dryer blows itself buzzingly through the room, teaspoons jingle cheerfully against the porcelain crockery.

The company is known for their visual, associative theater language and as a spectator your eyes and ears are too short to perceive all the details in image and sound. The mother is presented in various ways throughout the performance. Initially she is an almost divine presence, later a strong, warm woman, finally a fragile lady.

Read also: BOT plays tail bell, ironing board bass and sink

Moving images

You can recognize the hand of director Moniek Merkx in the beautiful amalgamations of music, language and poetic images. It is a pity that the structure of the performance is very predictable: the makers neatly treat life from birth (the moment when a woman becomes a mother) to death (when the child is orphaned). Fortunately, this is amply compensated for by the inventive set of instruments, often sprouted from scrap material, which makes this short performance (of less than an hour) a true journey of discovery for both player and spectator.

This often produces moving images, for example when the four players seek shelter under the dress of a Marian figure, just as you could hide under your mother’s skirt as a child. “Hold me in your arms”, they sing, and that singing gradually becomes screaming, roaring. That’s how it goes: the mother figure remains the same, but the child changes, rebels against her. Then her well-intentioned questions suddenly become a rhythmic catalyst for increasing irritation: “Are you sleeping well, are you being careful, are you coming home sometime?”

The silent ending is beautiful: the last image of the mother is a rattling walker, spluttering and shockingly rolling across the now empty stage floor towards the wings, until – always unexpectedly – the rattling suddenly stops. The last sound of the mother is an unavoidable silence.

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