Notturno – ital. “nocturnal” – plunges into the memories and narratives of coma patients. The piece, by choreographer Veronika Riz, is being performed on 20 and 21 February at Uferstudios.
I am seized by the topic, envisioning surreal dream worlds but also struggles and pain. I ask myself whether or to what extent bedside discussions permeate the world of those afflicted. Before the
performance begins, I read the words of coma patients in the program. I am surprised by the positive tone of the quotes. The experiences seem bizarre, but also as if new worlds and expanses were explored in the coma state. Completely disconnected from the physical self.
The performance starts with a video whose images and impressions remind me of the quotes from the program. Water, underwater, fields, forest, birdsong. Visiting places devoid (at that moment) of people. I like the underwater sounds. I reflect on the various layers of being underwater: at once both weightless and oppressive. The movements of the dancer in the video are beautiful to me. But at the same time I find myself waiting for the stage to be filled with movement. As I am lost in this thought, I miss the movements of the first dancer who appears to crawl out of the fog onto the stage close to the floor, with her face covered by hair. It reminds me of a horror film. The screen in the background now shows abstract artistic images of a lung (and later other organs) designed by Alberto Scodro. We explore the inner world of the coma patients, literal and imaginary. The four dancers are captivating with their expressive movement qualities. I have a desire to join them, to participate in these staccato movements and transcribe these mundane, yet beautifully performed, movements being endlessly projected in the space in my own body.
And yet I can not fully immerse myself in what is happening. The costumes, props, the lifts, and the levels on which the dancers move seems starkly gendered. The two female dancers are wearing dresses and short, tight clothing while the male performers don wide shirts and pants. Again and again, there are scenes with two dancers with beautiful and well executed lifts, but the roles are seldom reversed. I see women climbing on men, men dancing with sticks while women slither on the floor on fur throws. One scene which I found particularly beautiful, which also transferred the lightness of the quotes in the program to the stage, feels as if the dancers are being blown away by wind. But here, too, I see men jumping while the women are completely missing from the stage. I enjoy the individual moments and movement quality, but I find it hard to see and feel the stories of female coma patients since the gender-specific stereotypes are distracting me.
Events seem to be dragging on. Several organs have been worked through and I am waiting for a new perspective. And it arrives unexpectedly, in the form of a huge blanket, on stage. The dancers find comfort, but also discomfort, a cave and soft ground, offered by the blanket. Small, ball-like watermelons create an absurd contrast. The transformation of events on stage makes me wonder how one ends a piece about coma patients. Should they return to “reality”? Are they perhaps already there, but everything still feels slightly askew?
Notturno answers my question with a hard shell, which when broken reveals a fleshy fruit that can be happily devoured.
English translation by Melissa Maldonado
Notturno, by Veronika Riz, was shown from 20 to 21 February 2026 at Uferstudios.
