The Matsena brothers triumph with fractured fraternity in the dark and anxious 'KABEL'

Image: Anthony & Kel Matsena in KABEL | Photographer: Laurentina Miksys

Blood red reflection, black stage and two brothers. The brothers Matsena’s KABEL slowly opens to their two figures standing in a red circle pooled around them. Telling the biblical story of humanity’s first murder, Anthony and Kel Matsena become Cain and Abel, two close but opposing forces in gentility and violence.

KABEL’s set is minimal, red lighting morphing into circles or lines to connect the physical stage with the spiritual. The way the light responds to quick changing scenes and the dynamic of the brothers feels otherworldly. The only other set piece on stage is a group of red ropes dangling from the ceiling, retreating and emerging throughout the work. Combined with singing birds, their shadows cast across the floor are reminiscent of a mangrove, a natural paradise. It’s the human element that taints this place.

Picking apart Cain and Abel’s fraternal bond, we see fraternal peace being gradually overtaken by conflict as time goes on. What starts off as play through a dance battle or contact work, becomes tinged with an unsettling edge. Hip-hop meets African dance with bouncing feet and stop-start motions as the brothers try to outdo each other, the tension building with the speed and intensity of movement. The Matsenas don’t let the dancing do all the talking, however. Spoken word is essential here, their conversations steering the plot. What can start as an amiable scene based on trust can switch to something beyond repair, flawed and strikingly real as the pair start to argue. When Abel expresses how much he wishes to be like his older brother Cain, for example, the conversation sours as Cain brushes him off. They are sat back-to-back, half wrapped in red rope, which gathers in a twist shaped like a tree trunk. Their interaction hits a point where they give up, and the red rope tree unravels and is abandoned. Their bond lies in the rope, an organic thing that Cain will eventually reach for to strangle Abel. Indeed, the relationship between dancer and object, human and nature, is entwined into KABEL and aids in growing Cain’s animosity towards Abel. He turns their surroundings into a weapon against Abel. Relevant to our times, it makes you wonder how we might continue to turn what is perceived as “good” against ourselves, whether it is nature or each other.

As KABEL goes on, its mood is underpinned by a stream of anxiety. The only relief is Abel’s sweet nature. His gentle flow becomes obvious when he dances solo, joints loose and body moulding obediently between movements. The building threat from Cain sets a constant expectation for everything to suddenly snap, and when it does after the murder, the story is tragic. Loneliness takes over with the mist that overcasts the stage as Cain wanders aimlessly,  a voiceover of Abel sounding out regret. To simplify the brothers’ story would be to label Cain as a villain, but his remorse complicates his character alongside rough fraternal love. The result is something that summarises the impulsive horrors of humanity with a touch of forgiveness. Being a biblical tale, KABEL risks leaning towards the tediously moral but far from this inclination, it is an emotional retelling well fitted to modern times.