Victor Esses’ The Death & Life of All of Us is a warm and intimate multimedia tribute experience facilitating intergenerational healing and self-growth.
Stepping into the cold, tall lecture space of the Demonstration Room at Summerhall, Esses’ show immediately cultivates warmth and a sense of collectivity, as heavily reverbed guitar by Enrico Eurigemma unifies the environment and settles us in. Meanwhile, Victor is strolling around the space with a headtorch on: he is searching for something.
A strange and disparate journey ensues, following Victor’s relationship with his lost Aunty Marcelle through video interviews, sound bites, dance, audience interaction games, and confessional poetry. At the show’s end, I believe he finds what he was searching for, even if it arrives in a different form than expected. He learns to free himself from the trauma and conflict of his familial, national, and religious history and be himself, whilst still holding onto the elements of them he loves.
At times, the narrative Esses was presenting was hard to follow; the video clips of Marcelle were often hard to hear or difficult to process out of context. I feel this let down the impact of much of what Esses believed he was effectively transmitting. However, his charm and sensitivity held the piece together, his dedication to the project a perpetual symbol of the relationship he shared with Marcelle. Esses’ performance was beautiful in its subtlety; his movement, devised by Jennifer Jackson, continually demanded the audience’s attention in its quiet humour.
The most powerful moments of the show come towards its end, as Esses presents himself in his entirety. In a poignant moment, Esses projects and reads aloud his WhatsApp message history with Marcelle’a daughter Maria. The consequent discordance that so often arises with grief was incredibly well displayed within this text exchange which captures the struggle of both Esses and Maria. This unfiltered ugliness coming from a place of love is difficult to watch.
All of this culminates with a 5-minute dance sequence, which vacillated between traditional choreography and the euphoric movements you would see in a club. There is something deeply uncomfortable about watching someone dance so freely. As I feel when I’m dancing in a similar way, “this is for me”, not for those watching. A similar sentiment can be applied to the whole of Victor’s show – it is very much for him, and not the audience. Yet it is incredibly cathartic to be part of something that is clearly so emotionally significant to someone else, and, through your presence and support you have enabled to happen.
