Basso Ostinato

Creation 2006

By Caterina Sagna 

“Grand Prix du Syndicat de la Critique” pour la saison 2006-2007


crédit photo Caroline Albain.

Choreography Caterina Sagna
With Alessandro Bernardeschi, Antonio Montanile, Mauro Paccagnella 
Dramaturgy Roberto Fratini Serafide
Light Philippe Gladieux 
Music by Luca Berni 
Stage manager Frank Condat

Administration Bureau Cassiopée 
Production Creation Association Next / Tours Association Al Dente 
Co-production Théâtre de la Bastille (Paris) and Théâtre de l’Agora – Scène Nationale d’Evry et de l’Essonne within the range of artistic residences financed by the  Ile-de-France Region, Théâtre Nationale de Bretagne (Rennes) – European Centre for Theatrical and Choreographic Production, Pôle Sud (Strasbourg) – Scène conventionnée danse

Acknowledgements I would like to thank Marie-Pierre Ariztia for providing the setting where at 1.54 p.m. of October 5th 2005 Obstinate Bassbegan to take shape; I am also grateful to the Victoria and Vooruit theatres in Gent, and the Needcompany and Raffinerie of Bruxelles, for their hospitality; the Brigittines in Bruxelles for providing us with the additional canvasses; last but not least I thank all my collaborators for their presence and skill, and especially Alessandro, Antonio and Mauro for giving much more than just their muscles.


Basso Ostinato (Ostinato Bass) : (mus.) A variant of the Continuous Bass. Melodic and rhythmical combination committed to the lowest part of a score, incessantly repeating itself from the beginning to the end of the musical piece, and resting on which the other parts can move freely.

At the end of a meal. The remnants of a conversation. Shallow talks about anyone, about dance, about nothing. Doesn’t matter if it’s all so cheerless, they are in it, and they laugh.
The joints are moving all through the empty chat, they bring a glass to the mouth in order to ingest something that may be of any help in digesting the one thing that is ever more indigestible. Ha, ha, how funny.
Here is the obstinate bass.
A “low” dialogue, with left over motions and remnants of laughter  obstinately recurring.
They can’t do anymore, because there’s nothing left to do.
And it’s worse every time.
The air grows stuffy. Objects loose their comfortable stability. All is sinking, one cannot trust.
It’s useless putting up resistance: one can just assent to the decay which scrapes through the rubbish it produces; which digests itself, and regenerates. Then one gives up, without catching the drift of such an obstinate slipping down. But a drift still exists: the air is saturated with its smell.
It almost makes one sick.
Much better to take something and swallow, to flatter oneself about removing the symptoms, and get anaesthetized; to forget and move on; to feel gorged and without memory.
Once more they forage in the masticated pieces of that first dialogue, looking for a way out. Once more they ransack that stomach where everything transforms itself, where will is impotent but things proceed, out of that which is visible.
Which is, in fact, inside it.
And it’s good that way, too.