Maguy Marin's latest work is controversial, but the choreographer says she is asking the same questions she always did - just in a more focused way. Watch and learn, writes Michael Seaver.

There are a few Maguy Marins. There's the choreographer who created a charming version of Cinderella with Lyon Ballet set in a doll's house; the director of a French National Choreographic Centre in a disadvantaged suburb of Lyon; the euro-conceptualist who puzzles American audiences; or the creator of a trendy film version of Coppelia set in a French social housing project.

Those who have been seduced by Marin's work at any of these junctures feel a connection to the choreographer that can cause dismay as she takes another turn in her ever-changing career. That's probably one of the reasons for the near-riot at the opening of Umwelt in Lyon late last year.

Well, near-riot may be a slight exaggeration, but it was certainly a tumultuous evening when emotions ran high. After 20 minutes the first walkouts began. Ten minutes later the first argument was audible over Denis Mariotte's deafening music and soon a steady trickle towards the exit was accompanied by tuts, slamming doors and ripped-up ticket stubs thrown towards the stage.

And any smug feeling of personal safety I felt sitting in a corral of fellow critics disappeared when an audience member rounded on one critic in front for the obvious sin of praising this type of work in the past. After remonstrating for a good five minutes, he vacated his seat with all the urgency of a butoh dancer so that he could block everyone's view for as long as possible. To balance this dissent, those who stayed cheered and stood applauding long after the end.

"I was not surprised with the reaction, but I was surprised with some of the aggression of some of those who left. I know that some people still expect me to keep making Cinderella and want to see a story and nice dance steps. But that was 20 years ago."

It's the next morning in a quiet calm hotel in Lyon and Marin is trying to explain the claims that are still made on her by those who have discovered something in her long career and wish she would constantly recreate it. The protests are more personal disappointment than ideological or aesthetic outrage.

So why the walkouts? It's not nudity (although there is some), violence (there are hints) or obscenity. There is no urination onstage to invoke legal action as with fellow French choreographer Jérôme Bel's work in Dublin almost three years ago. Instead giant fans offstage blow shivering steel screens as performers appear and disappear presenting simple images of life.

It's a simple convention that continues for about an hour, and by the end the stage is littered with discarded rubbish such as half-eaten food or buckets of rocks thrown to the ground. Some of those who left might have been bored with the convention but many just mightn't have liked what they saw as Marin placed a metaphorical mirror in front of us and said, "this is who we are".

Her work seems to awaken similarly strong feelings from supporters. I couldn't eavesdrop the enthusiastic interviewer from French radio as I sipped coffee waiting to talk with Marin, but his excited questions seemed far longer than her answers.

"What is sad is not that they didn't like it," she explains, "but that they annoyed the others who were staying. We live in such a violent world and this morning I feel this almost invisible violence between artist and the audience. If the artist doesn't give them what they want then they behave like a baby."

But she is happy to expose herself to nights like this. There's no one target in Umwelt and it finds connections to so much around us: war, the environment, body culture. The simplicity in the gestural language allows so many issues to emerge, each one potent and immediate. In casting the work she chose performers with different experiences rather than dancers, as she is disheartened by the traditional choreographer/dancer relationship where the dancers feel they are there to serve the choreographer.

"All of the performers decided on the images with me. I naturally had my own thoughts but was interested to see what they were thinking. So we talked a lot, listened to things and read together, and then they tried out some ideas. It was like that for about two months. At the end of that period we began to organise the material with the performers physically on stage and so for the first time I was left alone in the traditional role of choreographer.

"Even then not everyone was onstage together, so I would find one or two of them sitting next to me watching the rehearsal. I could turn to them and include them in the decision-making. And because they had been involved in the dialogue right from the start they weren't afraid to contradict me or say, 'That doesn't work'."

She rattles off the type of gestures that emerged. "There are images of eating and drinking. We kill animals to eat and so the idea of killing to live came up, and how mankind thinks it controls the world, when in fact it is destroying the world. There are images of kings as they are eating, talking and defecating. There's even a poor king. War is there, that's important. And, of course, love. Religion also appears and how we are killing each other over religions, whether Muslim, Jew or Christian."

Denis Mariotte is a long-time collaborator with Marin and his loud raucous music seems an essential part of the overall statement.

"Actually we first thought that the piece might be in silence, but after assembling the bits of material we felt that it really needed some sound. With no music it looked too realistic, just everyday movement. But when we added the music those movements turned into poetry."

The abrasive sounds also cuts through the cocoons that Marin feels many of us have wrapped ourselves in, unaware of the pain and suffering that is happening in other parts of our society. She also doesn't think it is good enough to avoid eye contact, give money and move on, a Western solution to assuage guilt and avoid personal and political responsibility, whether for a homeless person or the Sudan.

Some statements she made eight years ago stake down these beliefs. In the words of press material, it is her view that "creativity is a precious good that each must be allowed to cultivate in order to construct his or her own social identity, confirm his of her view of the world, develop aspirations, talents and language".

So far, so mission statement. But she has acted on it. In 1998 her company left the Centre Chorégraphique National at Créteil and moved to a new space in Rillieux-la-Pape. A residential tower block in the disadvantaged area of La Velette was converted to a community space "to help break the residents' sense of isolation through encounters and exchanges with creative expression.

"I feel the need to 'act together' with other artists, dancers, choreographers, musicians; the need for our work to be confronted by the population, an urgency to retain our place in public space, to celebrate the wealth of difference and the fulfilling game of creation," she says.

More than a right-on mini-manifesto this is a deeply felt credo. She wants a response to her work from everyone who comes into contact with it, whoever they are and however they feel.

"I'm the same choreographer as the one who made Cinderella, it's just that time has passed. The questions I am asking now were always in my work, but just not very obvious. As time passes my focus gets narrower and narrower. No diversions, just go straight to the question."

With collaborative performers and by siting herself in a community setting, Marin is placing a value on the interaction between people. For her, artistic expression must address itself to all and respect human and social diversity. "As an artist and as a person, I want all of us to reflect on our values. I know that most of us can't stop the pain or injustice in the world, but a lot of us can do a little. With a lotof us doing a little, there's a lot that can be achieved."

Umwelt is on February 25th at the Cork Opera House as part of Fête de la Danse