Pointe taken

Sometimes shocking, always controversial, Dance Umbrella brings passion and beauty to lovers of movement, writes Robyn Sassen

'You don't have to dance on Dance Umbrella," a critic commented recently. "You don't even have to move." She was referring to the more radical pieces this dance festival has seen in its 21 years. It's been quite a journey so far, taking dancers and audiences alike through the politics of permissibility in dance and in South Africa.

Dance Umbrella was conceived by critics Adrienne Sichel and Marilyn Jenkins in 1987. Because it has existed through some of South Africa's crucial political changes, audience demographics have shifted too. At times its audience was old, white and privileged. At times it struggled for audience. These days the people filling the theatres to capacity are polished and educated, hip and young black professionals. They're forcing the hand of Dance Umbrella organisers to keep it local - they aren't easily wowed by international unknowns.

Dance Umbrella is a laat lammetjie to what informed European modernism: from the end of the 19th century, artists, composers and choreographers were beginning to take the formality of art to pieces, supporting an "anything goes" approach to making dance, music or art. In 1907 Marcel Duchamp exhibited a urinal, labelling it Fountain. In 1952 John Cage's 4'33" instructed the pianist to sit, instrument closed, for just over four and a half minutes.

But Dance Umbrella is not only about intellectual tradition; it can get messy.

"Are you trying to censor me again?" became something of shock artist Steven Cohen's refrain to Dance Umbrella organisers as he pushed dance boundaries year after year. In 1999 he alarmed critics with Tradition. From a dizzy height, with the aid of a trapeze and an enema, he shat on stage, and thus on the traditions that confine him - a white, male, gay, Jew. This was one thing (leaving one critic too afraid to see the work before reviewing it). Watching the en pointe ballerinas billed next in the programme slip on the mess was quite another.

It's difficult to give a cut-and-dried picture of what Dance Umbrella is. Sometimes it's about simple protest. Elu, Steven Cohen's partner, two years later dared to bare all in Dance with Nothing But Heart , a work conceptualised by Cohen and choreographed by Elu, which was denied funding. He danced it with no costume, music or set. Just a fresh ox's heart, bouquet-like in hand.

Sometimes it's about being in the right place at the right time. One unforgettable gem was Transports Exceptionnels. Choreographed by Dominique Boivin, Parisian Philippe Priasso danced with a five ton mechanical digger to the strains of Maria Callas singing Puccini's O Mio Babino Caro. It changed the parameters of what dance could be for those who saw it.

Speaking of awareness, on the night in 1999 when Vincent Mantsoe debuted at Dance Umbrella, the mother of this Paris-based choreographer, today internationally lauded for shifting African dance values, was unable to be there. A cleaner at a mall, her employer would not give her time off.

Robyn Orlin is Dance Umbrella's proudest daughter. One of the 16 choreographers who participated in the first Dance Umbrella in 1989, Orlin received the French National Order of Merit last year. She had earned herself the edgy pejorative of being South Africa's "greatest irritation" in her confrontational, upsetting pieces, many of which went on to earn international accolades. Orlin is a dynamic collaborator, setting people like Toni Morkel, Anne Masina and Nelisiwe Xaba afire with potential.

Flames recall nightmare moments for Dance Umbrella's director Georgina Thomson, ones filled with belly dancers. She remembers: "The person who supervised this group's rehearsals didn't realise they were planning to set a huge stand alight in their performance. Well, they did their dreadful thing and made their fire and it fell over. The stage manager was rushed to hospital."

Disasters have set boundaries Thomson hadn't in her wildest dreams imagined necessary. "One choreographer brought a bevy of sangomas. The sangomas went into trance and would not emerge when the piece had ended. The choreographer was helpless."

Jeopardising his life has never deterred choreographer Peter van Heerden. The overture to his work Six Minutes (2006) featured a staged rape in the theatre foyer. It seemed so real, people responded with paralysis, like deer in the headlights. The work, a searing indictment of the perpetration of sexual violence in parochial communities, also involved van Heerden "being born" from a plastic bag of animal entrails, and being crucified upside-down, almost causing him to black out. This is small potatoes: he's pulled a wagon with his penis (or attempted to) and has buried his head in mud, in the name of his work.

But Dance Umbrella is not only violence, nudity and prejudice. Crushing boredom can also form part of the repertoire. And self-inflicted mortification. Several years ago, one work - its title and the names of its performers happily lost in the archives - began. It was an appalling concoction involving lit mirrors and dressing tables. Then it stopped. One lass came forward: "Sorry, we did it wrong. We're starting again." Which they did. From the ghastly top.

Then there was the group who created a complicated piece, complete with Powerpoint presentation bearing poetry. The projection was blocked by stage elements, wreaking unintentional havoc with the earnestness of the work, as it censored text hilariously.

Dance Umbrella also showcases beautiful talent like that of Dada Masilo. In 2006 she burst toplessly onto the stage in her interpretation of Saint-Saëns' Dying Swan, and hasn't stopped redefining her boundaries since. Thoriso Magongwa is another example: trained in the Vaganova technique by Martin Schönberg's now defunct Ballet Theatre Afrikan, he gives lie to the belief that you need wings to fly.

Not all Dance Umbrella's dancers are traditionally trained. Companies like Moving Into Dance Mophatong (MIDM) and Sibikwa - the former established 32 years ago by Sylvia Glasser; the latter 11 years later by Phyllis Klotz and Smal Ndaba - are among many contemporary dance establishments which feed Dance Umbrella. MIDM was a direct gesture towards apartheid strictures; Sibikwa was mooted to get kids off the street.

Dance Umbrella also isn't all serious. Attachments 1-6 (2006) by Athena Mazarakis, Craig Morris and Gerard Bester is about love: it's funny, cheeky and delightful. It tells of love gained, love consummated, love lost, in a pared-down set with an old settee and a TV created with clever lighting.

Occasionally, one goes to Dance Umbrella not to laud the critically appraised but to ogle beautiful dancers, like Gustin Makgeledisa. Taken seriously as a choreographer in his own right, this fine young dancer played the Capulet dad in Masilo's Romeo and Juliet, which went where Shakespeare and Tchaikovsky weren't bold enough to go. He's delicious, as is Mcebisi Bhayi. Last year, in a piece choreographed with Joey Chua Poh Yi from Singapore, Bhayi told of his childhood. He's back this year with a commissioned solo piece offering a consideration of how difficult it is to work overseas.

Like any festival, a synchronous sense of what matters is in the ether while choreographers work; often work is similarly themed with newspapers - two years ago, the "corrective" gang rape of lesbian soccer star Eudy Simelane came under the loop of choreographer Mamela Nyamza, who this year has been commissioned to create a new work. Entitled Mendi 2 , it's about the eponymous ship that sunk during World War One, but it's also about "real" men prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice for the good of society.

The international dance community keeps a keen eye on Dance Umbrella. Audiences are never without (sometimes incognito) scouts from companies overseas. Steven Cohen and Elu were head-hunted by Régine Chopinot's Ballet Atlantique in 2001. Described as a "compelling globe-trotting phenomenon", choreographer Greg Maqoma has also featured internationally - as have Sello Pesa, Moeketsi Koena and Boyzie Cekwana, dancers relentlessly reshaping what dance is or should be.

Since 1998, Dance Umbrella has comprised two categories. Stepping Stones is where unknowns can perform, on a first-come-first-served basis. Historically, it's been the starting point for many dancers, including Mantsoe. This year Thomson has an overflow of 60 groups. People are stepping over themselves to be on Stepping Stones. "Some try to wangle into it by lying or just showing up for rehearsal," she says.

The festival features critically selected and commissioned established choreographers - and takes eight months to plan. Budget restraints this year have forced it to be shorter than usual. Thomson said at the time of going to press that she had no idea whether there would be a Dance Umbrella in 2011.

"I'm dealing with complete disinterest from funders. The audiences are huger than they've ever been. There's lots of international interest, and the dance industry is waiting in queues for the opportunity to show work. Corporate funders are dreadfully ignorant. There is dance initiative worthy of sponsorship right under their noses."