Even if the form we are looking for is meant to be accessible and light, the goal was always to produce a show that isn’t itself entertainment, but about entertainment. The distinction is vital and deserves our utmost attention

During rehearsals, this project involved the development of a real scenario, in which the overall management of the rhythms of the piece and the telescoping of the information it contained became even more essential. All this juggling consisted in finding out how to manage the transitions from one level to another and then weave them together throughout the piece.

Playing on the in-between , the knife-edge, whilst keeping a light tone.

Refer to the codes of entertainment:
– allusions to musicals, circus, cabaret, magic;
– allusions to our projections on the world of show biz, stars, on the myths of rapid rise to success in this world;
– allusions to what is fabricated for us and to what makes us dream.
Shift these references sideways , with tenderness, without falling into the traps of parody and commentary.
Emphasize the tangible, by the presence of real characters on stage, whose paths we can follow, who allow the audience to follow a narrative thread, or even to identify with them. Together with the performers, we are going to work on a precise definition of these characters, whether it be in terms of their movement or their behavior.

This remains very expressly a dance piece, in which the quest for an appropriate form of writing the movement constitutes one of the major dimensions of the work. It is in this material that the prime source of this lateral shift is forged. Our references concerning the codes of entertainment are always topical, and gradually become more precise. Of course it isn’t a question of imitation nor of parody, but of a sidewise shift in these codes, through dance, movement and situations.

We are Insatiable. Some of us, anyway.
For novelty and security, for recognition and being at the forefront, for thrills and comfort, for exaltation and calm. Totally consumerist, not at all Buddhist. Insatiable, so terribly insatiable that we might suspect our existence of being incomplete and of there being another chasm to ll in. Inside each of us, there is a spare ground, waiting for a genius of an architect to come along.

Philippe Saire, choreographer

I wish I could believe you, or the magic of «little nothings»
The scenery evokes the aftermath of a party: a glitter ball swinging limply next to a spotlight hanging from the ceiling, lighting garlands in disarray and streamers scattered on the floor. All that is left of the illusion is an enormous white rabbit, which, after gorging itself with all the party leftovers it can find, regurgitates them all, choking on so many artifices. Rescued by five dancers – four men, one woman – the objects become once again the instruments for the fabrication of forgetting. A magic trick here, a dance step there, a number here, a slow dance there and the party starts up its eternal whirlwind again… before dying down once more. A lone man advances (Philippe Saire), dressed in dazzling white. Bearing his table and chair as though they were his cross, he settles down before sweeping away the illusion with brushstrokes of his own truth. Then, as he launches into a touching and graceful solo, he reminds us that, behind the mask, beauty is often more intense.
24 Heures (CH), Corinne Jaquiéry, 21st November 2010

Philippe Saire and the White Rabbit
Ah! Musicals, music hall, clowns and tap dancing! In his trilogy about distraction, Philippe Saire takes an ambivalent look at entertainment, that art form both regular as clockwork and so gratifying. From one angle, he underlines the beauty, the glamour. We remember the wasting charm of Anne Delahaye in Could I just draw your attention to the brevity of life? Blondness rehabilitated in a red sequined dress. But what if the levity has been underestimated?, we asked ourselves as we left. Already in that creation, the numbers – acrobatics, magic, dance etc. –fell short, the dream machine was already seizing up. And the threat went on increasing. In I really have to go now (2008), the artists were gagged and taken away in the middle of the performance. This was serial kidnapping on Broadway. And the White Rabbit’s health suffered. In I wish I could believe you, we are in the aftermath of the shipwreck. The spotlights hanging at the end of their cables, the bits of scenery leaning against the walls, bear witness to a recent cataclysm. A very big white rabbit (Philippe Saire) is eating pieces of shiny material, but over indulges and vomits the lot on to the stage floor. Courageously, the troupe of young dancers, a girl and four boys, try to put things right. No easy task: red noses askew, hesitant tap dancing, clumsily executed magic tricks. For half an hour, in a chopped up light and sound universe, a succession of swiftly aborted attempts take place. And then there’s a change of tone, as Philippe Saire, in a white costume, recounts his childhood wounds. His scars. And he dances to Cucurrucucu Paloma, several times, like a teenager. A brief solar parenthesis before the return of the giant rabbit. The animal advances menacingly, and, in a chiaroscuro effect, swallows the dancers. The disappearance of the dancer? This time it’s the irreversible end of the entertainment.
Le Temps (CH), Marie-Pierre Genecand, 11th December 2010