"Scorie" is a journey into the world of signs, of writing. But it’s a journey backwards. Imagine that, as in Ray Bradbury's famous novel "Fahrenheit 451," absolute power burns all books. Humanity would be forced to reinvent writing and slowly retrace the evolutionary path of millions of years. But it could do so without paper and pen, using instead music, colors, mimetic gestures. This is what Koinè proposes: a stage writing made of movements, colors, shapes, a series of hieroglyphs upon which our imagination is free to work.
The strategy of the performance announces itself from the beginning: "the opera begins with two blank pages. All works begin with two blank pages." An insinuating paradox that gains momentum in the following five scenes. Images flow smoothly. A black hill in a hypnotic dawn, with an alphabetical idol atop it, a typewriter, teasingly shown from all sides, contested by frenetic hands. A backdrop populated like a page of graffiti and ideograms is gently crossed by the actors. A photocopier leaves traces on bodies and clothes, while a little further, the fervent determination of Mamdhari women on pilgrimage to Himalayan shrines and the abdominal languages of the Mediterranean basin mix in a hybrid dance. The erection of a great dolmen, bearing the famous mouth of Man Ray, heralds the alphabetical chaos of the final scene. Here, words jump out of meaning, disappear into the mouth, surrender to emotion and memory. In this path liberated from aesthetic conformity, the Koinè group moves with elegance and ingenuity, gaining skill and daring, without betraying history and subtly playing on the present.
Carlo Infante
