We have seen After all Springville

Words fail to describe Miet Warlop's universe. One could describe what was seen on the Parvis stage last Monday and Tuesday. But what would be the point? An electrical cabinet exploding like a persistent hiccup, a table stripped of gilt by a wandering bouquet of flowers, a moving box advancing in small steps, a giant in a tracksuit, a cardboard house that one enters through the window as much as through the door. It all ends like a giant octopus overflowing the stage and even the auditorium to extend its tentacles into the Parvis corridors. It says nothing about what happened on stage. Barely enough to speak to the audience members present. And it leaves other readers perplexed, torn between the vision of a chaotic spectacle and a description that casts doubt on the state of the person writing it. Clearly, the universe of this Belgian visual artist and performer resists. Perhaps that's precisely how the performance is meant to be. No words to describe, no words on stage. A stroll through Miet Warlop's hazy mind, populated by images. Distant memories of cartoons for toddlers, somewhere near Azalea, the pink-spotted cow from The Magic Roundabout, and her sidekick Zebulon who leaps from his box. Ghosts of Jacques Tati's slapstick. Madness that subverts the mechanics of suspense, like tentacles that could have sprung from an Alien reimagined by Miyazaki. By remaining silent, the show leaves free rein to the spectator's imagination, which then gives voice to the performance. Ultimately, it matters little whether it is the show or the spectator who imbues it with a meaning that touches them so deeply.