Bizarro:

And in about 30 years, we’ll still be inviting people to come watch us dance at country parsonages. The slightly embarrassed pastor, scratching his reddened ears, will explain to the congregation that we – the oldest couple in the area, devoted fans of Johnny Cash and Anna Halprin – created this show more than 30 years ago as a warning to young married couples.

Ryszkiewicz:

That might not pass. In 30 years I’ll be in my fifties but you’ll be in your eighties! We won’t be very credible as a couple.

Bizarro:

Aha, and here we come to the core of our project; in fact, to its second bottom. I will allow myself to be frozen until you reach my age and then I will come back to marry you.

Ryszkiewicz:

Like Walt Disney !

Bizarro:

He wants to marry you too?

Ryszkiewicz:

No, he’s frozen too.

…

Histoire de… is a proposal of mating dance and danse macabre in one.

Not so far away and not so long ago, in the wild west of our projections, two characters get into trouble, lose their heads, get excited at the sight of vegetable gardens, play the harmonica on all fours, long for and try to meet each other.

The scene this couple inhabits has not a single recognizable element that coalesces into a meaningful whole. It is sometimes a real space, sometimes an imaginary one. Without building a point of support for either the dancers or the audience, it does not frame or contextualize, offering only a series of empty possibilities of reference or recollection.

Tossed between black holes, musical artifacts, pumpkins growing out of beds of yoga mats, and their own desires, the slightly Beckettian protagonists of Histoire de… sing bravely under their breath Where is my mind. And they probably herald only the end of the world.

At least the end of the Wild West world.