3 July 2026. Hannah Playhouse, Wellington reviewed by Jennifer Shennan
Fever/Dream is a program of five works performed by the current members of Ballet Collective Aotearoa. Turid Revfeim has for some years now established and directed this independent collective, offering regular classes and creating opportunities for free-lance dancers to perform and choreograph. Their work is of consistently high standard and brings much of interest to our stages.
(See my earlier reviews on On Dancing of their Subtle Dances with NZTrio musicians playing live on stage, touring nationally to many arts festivals on the circuit here; Bartok’sThe Miraculous Mandarin with Orchestra Wellington; and most memorably Schoenberg’s Transfigured Night with NZ String Quartet in a Chamber Music NZ project). They do small-scale and local shows as well.
Effectively BCA is a private ballet company. It’s been a long time since Ida Rubinstein used her considerable fortune to set up one of those in Paris, and to commission choreographies in which she herself performed the central (if not too demanding) roles. Money talks but it doesn’t usually say much. But Revfeim is no Rubinstein. Quite how she keeps BCA going, with no Board and no budget is something of a mystery, probably as much to her as to the rest of us, but there it is, and we should salute them.
The opening work, Fever, choreographed by Lyndon Foley, is a small masterpiece, beautifully crafted. Remember his name and hope he can continue choreographing. A tight group of six dancers deliver a faultless phenomenon of a million movements many of them mechanical, a few of them poignant, without ever losing the central thrust. The piece echoes the themes in Charlie Chaplin’s Modern Times, and Gertrud Bodenwieser’s The Demon Machine — so of course also resonates with the AI scenario that hovers over our heads today. One dancer is a conscientious objector for about 30 seconds but we do not miss it. Later there’s a short-lived motif of someone down on the floor swimming — for dear life, I guess. Aren’t we all?
Then follows Fever to Dream, a video by Hanna Harris and Olivia Duncan. Four dancers are caught cavorting among the roses at the local Botanical Gardens, then In Lambton Quay, then at Oriental Bay so there was no doubt what city we were in. A skilled poem, one word to a line, ran down the side of the screen — Fever, Lever, Lover, Loves, Loses, Loser, Laser … and so on till the final line, reached by a single letter change from Dread to Dream. The poem was reproduced in the printed program (hooray that there was one) and gave a spine to all the other works on the program.
Paths Cross, directed by Turid Revfeim, grew from a beginning in improvisation. Contrasting dance styles from each performer gave the work an interesting and impressive texture. Grit-S a solo performed by Zoe White, accompanied by Jefferson Chen on stage singing and playing keyboard. Unfortunately in the performance I attended the volume was very loud, which made it difficult to hear and to follow the subtleties that were obviously present.
(D)rea(m)lity, choreographed by Zoe White, makęs a striking and dramatic final work, playing off awake and asleep states, a somewhat terrifying dream sequence, then an inspired lighting trick to assure us all is well. Then follows an ambiguous ending that could be seen as a challenge to that assurance. This is what theatre is for.
Postscript: Several of the pieces used a haze machine, which, next to strobe lighting, is my least favourite trick from the tech crew. If a hazy effect is required then choreograph it I say, don’t turn on a mindless machine as you risk at least some of the audience closing their eyes, which means they might miss really important and intelligent choreography.
A conversation between Kirby Selchow and Jennifer Shennan on the International Draft Works program held in April 2026, Linbury Theatre, London
The Royal New Zealand Ballet was one of the nine companies invited to take part in the Royal Ballet UK’s International Draft Works in an April 2026 season at Linbury Theatre, London. The initiative for this project—to assemble draft or new works from emerging choreographers within select companies, for shared performances and following workshops—was first proposed back in 2020 when Amanda Skoog was on the staff at Royal Ballet UK. The project back then had to be cancelled at the very last minute due to Covid lockdowns. Now these six years later, it has been revived by the Royal Ballet and is back on track. Dancers are nothing if not resilient.
The participating companies were Northern Ballet, Ballet d’Jérri (from Jersey Island), Royal Danish Ballet, the National Ballet of Japan, Paris Opera Ballet, the National Ballet of Canada, the Royal Ballet, Norwegian National Ballet, and Royal New Zealand Ballet. That’s quite a line-up, bringing together citizens of what I like to think of as the country called Ballet. It may not be geographically defined by national boundaries, but nonetheless shares so many connections between key players, teachers, choreographers, as to earn them passports to an international community. The world could do with more of those.
I spoke with Kirby Selchow, one of the four RNZB dancers involved (the others were Ana Gallardo Lobaina, Joshua Guillemot-Rodgerson and Kihiro Kusukami).They performed Ultra Folly, choreographed by Sarah Foster-Sproull, to the music of La Folia, recorded by Jordi Savall with Hesperion XXI. (The same work will also form part of the triple bill to be performed mid-year in a New Zealand national tour).
Kirby was intrigued when I showed her the baroque dance notation of Folies d’Espagne, choreographed in 1704 by Louis Pécour, to music by Jean-Baptise Lully—which in turn had inspired the choreography of Ultra Folly. Kirby hopes some day to learn that original dance, and is game to take on playing the castanets that will also entail. Another item that caught her eye as we were sitting in the dance library at The Long Hall was the seminar booklet given to me by Charles Mudry, formerly guest ballet-master at RNZB back in Matz Skoog’s era. The impeccably prepared notes of his gradated series of classes from first to fifth year of ballet training was an eye-opener to Kirby as she began to devour it. ‘Of course you can borrow the book Kirby—that’s why Charles bothered to write it down in the first place’).
RNZB had performed at the Linbury Theatre back in 2015 when on tour with Francesco Ventriglia as director, with A Midsummer Night’s Dream as well as a triple bill, on a tour to Italy, and UK including Scotland… so it was something of déjà vu for Kirby to be performing there again. She was thrilled to be involved and enjoyed stimulating interactions with the dancers of other companies. On a tour of Royal Ballet studios she by happy chance sighted her close colleague New Zealander Loughlan Prior, formerly with RNZB, choreographing on fellow-Australian dancer Steven McRae (see A Resilient Man—a documentary worth watching).
Participating dancers in International Draft Works were also invited to watch Alchemies, a triple bill of works by Wayne McGregor—further resonance there, since Kirby had been cast in a leading role in McGregor’s Infra, which RNZB performed here in 2024. (I had reviewed that program for Dance Europe, so it proved another bonus that the Opera House bookshop had the current issue of Dance Europe on display, this one with my review of RNZB in Alice Topp’s Macbeth from earlier this year. Big world, small world, in that country called Ballet.
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Kirby was born in Perth in 1992. Ballet, jazz and tap classes in young childhood was followed by vocational training in a secondary school of the performing arts, then five years at Australian Ballet School in Melbourne. Upon graduation, Ethan Stiefel offered her a contract with RNZB which she joined in 2014. She has been here ever since and is now a leading soloist in the Company.
Kirby’s latest challenge was to be cast as Banquo in Alice Topp’s Macbeth. A female Banquo? Well, why not. Are there not some females in high places in politics, who have the ear if not the trust of the King, at least until things start to go horribly wrong? I did not see her perform in that role but Ian Lochhead of Christchurch was most impressed by her interpretation, saying he was convinced by a female Banquo from her first appearance, as though Shakespeare had written it so.
Kirby has long been a stand-out member of RNZB, and she remains one to watch for her technical strengths and dramatic mastery of character. The role of her dreams would be Manon, and you can believe that.
29 May 2026. Hannah Playhouse, Wellington reviewed by Jennifer Shennan
Voyages was a stimulating new venture by RNZB—a program of seven short works, five of which were choreographed by Company dancers. In recent years these have been studio showings of similar programs of new or draft works, but here the chance to dance on a stage, albeit an intimate size in the Hannah Playhouse, with the added benefit of lighting, provided another welcome sign that the Company with every season is returning to its former strength and confident identity under the artistic directorship of Ty King-Wall. The happiness that engenders on both sides of the footlights is palpable. The return to a modest printed program including a cast list is more welcome to a reviewer than mere thanks can convey, and also honours those who make and deliver the dance. The record will thus stay in the archive forever, whereas digital files are not nearly so easily accessed after curtain down, let alone in years to come.
Each of the seven dance-makers offered fresh ideas and styles, and we can look forward to seeing more from each of them. Katherine Minor’s Marga’s Dance had a delightfully fresh quality as two couples ‘stopped their work, meeting a dance to fill the air’ … youthful friendship, in a fine choice to open the program.
Somewhere, by Branden Reiners, a duo of two men—’a memory of brotherhood and love’ was a charged yearning for intimacy impressively performed by Timothy Ching and Jake Gisby.
Who Came to Be, by Gretchen Steimle, had a large cast of ten dancers whose many entrances and exits, solos, duos and groups, very effectively served her theme—’Some of us grow into the spaces others leave behind’.
Phase II, by Breyah Takitimu, had another large cast of eight dancers who ‘explore the tension between the desire for control and the inevitability of change’, another very well-shaped work which included jokes about ballet technique given a sassy twist.
Weathered, by Joshua Douglas had six female dancers dressed in airy and soft grey, supporting his theme of emotional endurance ‘finding strength not through resistance but through continuation’. This was a thoughtfully shaped work.
Jeremy Beck as guest choreographer provided welcome humour in Soft Reset, a clever satire that showed the dancers might take their work but not necessarily themselves seriously. Comedy is harder to play than tragedy and this proved a hoot of a closing piece to a gem of a program.
The dancers all delivered impeccable performances, the more impressive as the audience were at very close range and any slip would have been apparent. There were no slips.
A duet, Swan Song by Shaun James Kelly, inspired by Swan Lake, used Tchaikovsky’s music to explore the personal emotion within the roles. It was exquisitely danced by Mayu Tanigaito and Laurynas Véjalis and you could have heard a feather drop. This was all the more poignant as it marked Shaun’s retirement from performing after twelve years with the Company, though it’s not entirely farewell and thank you as he will continue as resident choreographer with the Company. Lucky us.
Matz Skoog was instrumental in strengthening and developing the art and profession of dance in New Zealand during his term as Artistic Director of Royal New Zealand Ballet (1996–2001). His wife, New Zealander Amanda Skoog, was General Manager (2006–2015) and Matz was at times ballet master or rehearsal director during that term as well. There is a fine tribute to him on RNZB website.
A major interview in 2022 in the Dance Legends series hosted by English dance critic Ismene Brown (on Youtube) covers Matz’ childhood vocational training at the Royal Swedish Ballet school, his studies at the Kirov Ballet in St.Petersburg, his performing career with RSB then with English National Ballet (ENB), with Nederlands Dans Theater, Rambert Dance Company, and in several projects with Rudolf Nureyev and with Mary Skeaping. Following his term with RNZB, he was Artistic Director back at ENB from 2001–2005.
In New Zealand Matz took on management challenges with a sense of adventure while masking the hard work entailed. He always acknowledged a team effort, giving generous credit to John Page and then Sue Paterson as General Managers, and Kit Toogood as Chair of the Board. The shift to a permanent home in purpose-renovated premises of the St.James Theatre marked a milestone, and the move to direct Government funding, away from the previous Arts Council application-based funding, enabled a new era in the company’s long-term planning.
It is clear that his European training and experiences had given Matz a secure understanding of how dance heritage could contribute in contemporary times, without holding on to old history for its own sake and in this he was a both/and not an either/or man. He had no time for the ‘Control & Command’ management of some world ballet companies or schools, adopting instead an ‘Engage and Encourage’ approach in his own style of directing. He dropped the Company’s rankings of Principal, Soloist, etc., preferring to encourage the dancers to develop their individual qualities and strengths. He always wanted virtuosity to serve expression, not vice versa, and lamented that extremes of technique often replaced the poetry of alignment and épaulement.
Matz found a deep rapport in Russell Kerr whose choreographic vision and output he greatly respected. He explains in the Legends interview why he and Russell found the old divide between ‘Classical’ and ‘Contemporary’ no longer necessary or helpful for dancers today, insisting that ‘Excellence’ was the only goal. This was borne out in the broadened repertoire of new works Matz commissioned from New Zealand choreographers—not only Russell Kerr but also Douglas Wright, Michael Parmenter, Shona McCullagh, and from Eric Languet. Many Company dancers were encouraged to make work for emerging choreographic seasons.
The indelibly powerful Soldatenmis, by Jiri Kylian, to Martinu’s Mass for an Unknown Soldier, proved one of the strongest works the company ever performed. The cast requires all the company’s male dancers in full muster, a kind of resonance with the haka taparahi of Maori tradition. [When one of the male dancers was injured, Matz cast the petite and wonderful Pieter Symonds as replacement, which brought echoes of Elizabeth 1, or Joan of Arc, to the stage. In a later return season, again an injured male dancer was replaced, this time by Laura Saxon-Jones, who proved memorable in the role.]
Matz himself was an inspiring teacher but also invited his long-standing friend and colleague Charles Mudry for teaching residencies at RNZB. (They both understood why a dance critic might want to study the forging of dancers in daily class in the studio rather than rely solely on fleeting performances in the theatre so, lucky me, I was invited to watch those masterclasses every day for a month. Mudry might be the best ballet master in Europe, certainly the most musical, so, even luckier me, I later watched him teach at Royal Danish Ballet in Copenhagen—different dancers, same gem of a class, meticulous attention to every gesture and every note of music, immaculately prepared, luminously communicated. We watched RDB perform Neumeier’s heart-rending ballet The Little Mermaid, but when I asked Charles which choreographer in any time or place had moved him most, his reply was instant—‘Pina Bausch of course’.) Charles and Matz were as brothers.
Other highlights of Matz’ term, all illustrated on RNZB’s website, included the national Tutus on Tour programmes which re-traced the countrywide itineraries of the Company’s early years under founding director Poul Gnatt in 1950s. The powerful Dracula gave stellar roles to leading dancers Ou Lu and Pieter Symonds, and audiences cried for more. The spirited season of Ihi FreNZy combined the Maori cultural group, Te Mātārae i Orehu, as Act One, with Mark Baldwin’s choreography to a set of songs by Split Enz, as Act Two. The project had involved a stay on the marae in Rotorua for the whole company which was an impressive step in the development of bi-cultural awareness and respect in a dance context. In the resulting performance, at the end of a forceful first act, Te Mātārae’s leader moved forward with careful steps of takahia to place a kiwi feather downstage centre just as the curtain fell. It was a small gesture but a poignant one, birds of a feather (it was probably swept up in the curtain hem, it might be still there for all we know) but in the combined haka of all Te Mātārae and RNZB at the final curtain call, you couldn’t tell by the end of the tour which dancer was from which troupe. (I see Shannon Dawson and Geordan Wilcox among them yet).
Matz continued to stay in touch with many dancers and colleagues years after he had worked with them, and remained ready to offer help and advice in his later years as coach and mentor.
The Legends interview includes an excerpt from Swansong by Christopher Bruce in which Matz had created the role of The Interrogator, in a chilling portrayal of the psychological torture to which many individuals are subjected in a range of political and social situations. He is mesmerising in the role. (I watched it on the day that the cause of Navalny’s death was revealed to the world—and the day that Obama spoke to oppose ICE and in support of protestors in Minneapolis. The theme of a choreography like Swansong is, unfortunately, always contemporary).
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I penned five different paragraphs to begin this obituary but deleted them all, since a cv full of dates and place names can’t begin to do justice to the ready smile and twinkling eye, the wit, friendship and optimism in the man. He was lively, spirited, and so generously ready to help. He respected the work of others and would tell them as much, making the world a better place. He coached Baroque dance in The Long Hall, intrigued that we were working from centuries-old dance notations, and coaxed a 400-year-old sarabande from a bud into a bloom. How can he be dead?
Matz’ last ‘letter to the world’ that he emailed to friends and colleagues only a fortnight before he died was poignant, honest, gracious, grateful, heartbreaking but not heart-broken, and still managed to carry the hallmark humour he was renowned for. In it he accepted the inevitable, but also quoted from Peter Pan, the brilliant ballet he had commissioned for RNZB from Russell Kerr—‘I do believe in fairies, I do believe in fairies.’ We could have replied ‘You don’t need to believe in fairies. They exist’ as Matz is now one of the spirit people hovering to remind us of all that he did, and to remember him for a long time to come.
One can only send heartfelt and deepest sympathies to his wife Amanda, and sons Sam and Louis, in the untimely loss of such a loved husband and father—and to his many worldwide friends and colleagues who respected and appreciated him immeasurably, none more so than in Aotearoa New Zealand.
Haere rā, e hoa mā, haere haere atu. Kua hinga te tõtara i te wao nui a Tāne. (Farewell, dear friend, go now. A tōtara tree has fallen in the great forest of Tāne).
Sources: Amanda Skoog, RNZB, Anne Rowse, Keith McEwing, Ismene Brown, Daniel Belton, Lily Bones
Numerous illustrations of works mentioned are in A Time to Dance Jennifer Shennan [Royal New Zealand Ballet, 2003], and Royal New Zealand Ballet at 60 Jennifer Shennan & Anne Rowse (eds) [Victoria University Press, 2013]. A digital version of both titles is also available.
19 and 20 November, Te Whaea, Wellington reviewed by Jennifer Shennan
The NZSD end of year performance season has reverted to separate classical and contemporary programs alternating across a ten-day period.
The first night, classical program, opened with a suite of dances from La Sylphide, staged with care by Nadine Tyson (a former graduate of the School, dancer with RNZB, and a classical tutor on the faculty). The Sylph was danced by Kaiserin Darongsuwan (Mook) flirting gently with James, Hui Ho Yin (Mike) who performed with lively elevation. The 12 lyrical sylphs gave the realm of spirits in the forest at night a gentle atmosphere.
The Bournonville legacy from Denmark is a longstanding one in this country, thanks to Poul Gnatt’s founding of New Zealand Ballet in 1953 and the repertoire he introduced. It remains a vivacious and distinctive style within the balletic canon, challenging performers to harness the striking energy contained within the body, rather than striving for an extended alignment common to other styles of ballet. (A number of New Zealanders rose to international recognition for their mastery of the Bournonville style—Jon Trimmer, Patricia Rianne, Adrienne Matheson and Martin James leading them).
The second work, Curious Alchemy, is by Loughlan Prior (now a free-lance choreographer, following his earlier career dancing with RNZB, and also a graduate of the school). The style of movement in this piece is quirky with torsos and limbs moving in segmented isolations that certainly earn the first part of the work’s title. The choice of Beethoven and Saint-Saens compositions, set at unusually loud volume, made further contrast to the staccato moves of the four performers—Liezl Herrera, Ella Marshall, Lin Xi-Yuan (Ian) and Hiroki So.
Façade, choreographed by Jeffrey Tan, staged by Robert Mills, and set to Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings, is a pas de deux of emotional connection between the two performers, Ella Marshall and Lin Xi-Yuan (Ian). The rapport between them was strongly forged yet built to an unusual ending where the distance between them was emphasised and well-captured.
Esquisses, by Christopher Hampson, staged by Turid Revfeim, (also a graduate of the school, with a long and substantial career at RNZB and subsequently as director of Ballet Collective Aotearoa) is set to an energising (mainly piano) composition by Valentin-Alkan. Costume design is by Gary Harris, former director of RNZB who shared a spirited rapport with Hampson back in the day (Hampson’s Romeo & Juliet remains one of the strongest memories of the company’s powerful theatrical repertoire from that time).
The tutu design by Harris is striking and cleverly used, there is élan, cheeky humour and whimsy in the choreography throughout, designed specifically for young dancers, until the male solo adagio by Hui Ho Yin (Mike) emerges and becomes quite the most beautiful, musical and poetic highlight of the evening, an embryo of the art of dance.
The contemporary program the next evening had five works, all world premieres, so an altogether different energy in the venue. The opening piece titled You Cannot Make a Deal with a Tiger, choreographed by Riley Fitzgerald, should be renamed You Can Make a Deal with a Tiger, since that’s what the dancers seemed to achieve—facing the fear, finding support from another, putting up the fight and surviving, with an ending that echoed the opening image.
God is in the Room, by Tristan Carter, had a loopy zany vibe with smiling and playing games, making like animals, then moving to a frenetic sequences of shouting and group movement but not involving all individuals equally. Deliberate non-sequiturs in the movement, and quite random dress for individual dancers, underlined the program note ‘Energy never dies, it only transforms’.
Crybabies never Pelu, by ‘IsopeAkau’ola, draws on Tongan themes of resilience and support within a community. Pele is Tongan for ‘fold’ and the title here implies folding rather than breaking. The opening guitar sounds brought aural clarity to the line-up of black clad martial artists who used the discipline of stylised moves to get the dance up and running. The late great Futa Helu said that the Tongan definition of dance is ‘keeping time’—in that wonderful pun we can recognise here features of hand and foot movements from old Tongan ways of dancing, welded in to the new sequences for this focussed group dance that had gravitas, dignity and a contemplative quality to support a theme both contemporary and timeless.
Anatomy of Entanglement by Aitu Matsuda for a group of dancers clad in matching light and darker grey, explored the theme of the many moving parts within a larger entity, and had a compelling quality.
The Space Between, by Raewyn Hill, to an original score by Eden Mulholland, gave this two-program season the cadence and resolution it needed. A driving triple time beat was used as grounding for the sizeable group of dancers to build and grow beautiful waves of movement throughout the dance which became the great Waltz of Time. Some bars and some dancers alternated that waltz with a sarabande rhythm, still in triple time but with the accent instead on the second beat in each bar, keeping us mesmerised throughout…where will it go? where will it take us?
The work builds its strength as the entire cast stays on stage throughout. They became an entire community garbed in glorious colours, a dancer here and another there lifted aloft, to float or fly, then safely lowered to join the group, irresistibly happy dancers smiling, not because they’d been told to smile but simply because the work offered them such an uplifting quality of hope, and who’s to say that isn’t what graduating dancers need and deserve. It’s no surprise that Raewyn Hill, herself an illustrious graduate of this school in earlier times, came up with this treasure and it’s very good to see it sitting so well on these dancers.
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I am certainly not alone in the audience thinking that a single program combining classical and contemporary works, rather than setting them apart as separate realms, would allow the audience to see the fullness of the NZSD’s strengths, the range of professional opportunities awaiting the graduates, and enhance rather than isolate the ways in which all choreographers and dancers share the same goals of communicating themes and expressing moods and emotions through movement, albeit of differing styles.
It is clear that many of the graduates can look forward to fruitful and rewarding careers in dance, and we wish them all the very best in that.
21 November, 2025. Civic Theatre, Auckland reviewed by Jennifer Shennan
The program opens with the premiere of If There Ever Was a Time, choreographed by Neil Ieremia, artistic director of Black Grace, the company he founded in 1995, so the company is 30 years old and counting. Then follows Esplanade, choreographed by Paul Taylor for his New York dance company in 1975, so the choreography is 50 years old and counting.
Ieremia takes the stage at the start of the performance and addresses the audience with the skill of a Polynesian orator, a theme here, a thought there, his plans for the years to come, a joke, an aside, a wink, then a bombshell in the form of an epic poem … ‘just something I wrote in the dressing-room an hour ago…’ (yeah right) whereas its message, in truth, has been 40 years in the making.
Here is his program note in full since there’s no point in my paraphrasing it…
Iconsider myself a hopeful optimist. Like many Pacific Islanders, I was raised in the church, carried along by its stories, its hymns, its promises. I have been losing my religion for the last forty years. This work is my response to what I see as the weaponisation of faith, how religious and spiritual belief systems are used to steal from the poor, erase culture and indigenous knowing, shout down freedom of choice, and justify unimaginable brutality. It’s a pattern repeated throughout history and I imagine it will continue for as long as greedy hands keep rubbing together. So, if ever there was a time for rebellion, for action, for hope, for humanity, for love—it’s probably now
Echoing writings of author Albert Wendt, Ieremia is calling out Samoan churches in the home islands and in New Zealand, many of them known for the oppressive demands of tithes imposed on their congregations. There’s also the widespread perception that much-needed programs of health education and community welfare that the churches could lead are meantime woefully neglected. (Black Grace plans to support a new health programme to target the worryingly high rate of rheumatic fever in Pasifika children in New Zealand, a cause near to Ieremia’s heart, as it were).
The choreography opens with a centrestage pile of bodies that struggle to emerge from shadows, like some giant octopus slowly rising from ocean depths. A giant bright moon is suspended but doesn’t seem to shed much light on those below. A huge billowing cloud of cloth hangs above the stage. Will it open then descend to suffocate everything beneath it? There is loud and challenging drumming combined with rap-like singing that conveys urgency, but the texts are not easy to follow. The fast and furious pace of dancing is fuelled by this accompaniment, and the performers have to find phenomenal stamina to sustain long sequences of movement derived from break dance or martial arts, interlaced with cameo images referencing fragments of traditional Samoan dances that barely survive.
A young girl manically skips with an electric blue rope for what seems like a lifetime, but we have to imagine for ourselves what her story is. From left field in the shadowy background an unlikely quartet dances the cygnets from Swan Lake, with snatches of Tchaikovsky’s accompaniment hidden beneath and between layers of drum and song.
A couple longing to be together, to marry, are instead blindfolded, blocked and constrained by forces of family? society? church? all in the name of god knows what and he’s not telling.
A crowd of protestors wave an enormous banner, white with a central red cross held—so it’s now more than Polynesian religious denominations being called out, but has grown to reference a global emergency, putting up a desperate cry for help. Although not specifically detailed in the choreography, it doesn’t take much for us to be reminded of current infamous world ‘news’ (such as the recent image of Zelensky fronting up to a press conference when he had clearly spent all night weeping in despair. Well, wouldn’t you?). You don’t need reminders of what’s wrong in a too often brutal, selfish, greedy world where much human life seems to have lost sanctity, and the dollar is the only measure of value or worth. Was it ever thus? Will we ever, or never, be pulled along by love instead of by greed?
Ieremia’s choreography is a lament for all of that, and in case we think troubles only happen in a hemisphere well to the north of here, may I remind us that our Minister of Defence recently admitted that a New Zealand company is doing very well indeed with export trade of 3-D printed guns and she has no plans to intervene because their profits are up so it’s ‘better for the economy’. Would we export chemical warfare germs in test tubes if the profit was high enough? Is there no bottom line to shame? ‘Don’t be despondent, don’t be cynical, just get out there and vote,’ as Don McGlashan would say.
You’d think it would take more than a hopeful optimist to climb out from under all this, but Ieremia offers hints of resilience in shaping the motifs of siva, fa’ataupati and taualuga, Samoan traditional dances, that cadence the final sequence. So this uncompromising choreography is dark with a shaft of light. Will it be performed in 50 years time? How will it and the world be seen then?
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Before the performance, during the interval and after the performance there is throughout the theatre amplified continuous pumping beat ‘music’. Is this the company’s choice? or the theatre’s? muzak within the ticket price? We certainly don’t need it since our heads and hearts are quite full enough with what we witness on stage, the need to think about the themes, and what possible responses there could be to this call to action. Pull the plug on the muzak I say, it cancels thought and conversation.
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Esplanade is staged here by Richard Chen See who safeguards the legacy of Paul Taylor. Performed to Bach violin concertos, it allows the performers to surf on all the waves of rhythms Bach drew from the baroque dance repertoire. There’s walking and there’s running, lots of both, patterns and play, leaping and catching, with the joyously coloured costumes of the eight dancers contributing to that exuberance. It is a committed and spirited work that suits the company well.
The work is light with a shaft of dark. There’s a quiet theme of one group within the cast whose members are not quite so engaged. As the program note tells:
An adagio for a family whose members never touch reflects life’s sombre side…a woman standing tenderly atop her lover’s prone body suggests that love can hurt as well as soothe. The final section has dancers careering fearlessly across the stage… the littlest of them—the daughter who had not been acknowledged by her family—is left alone on stage, triumphant: the meek inheriting the earth.
That littlest dancer turns to face the audience, beams broadly and opens her arms wide as if to embrace us all. We are being assured that hopeful optimism is possible. I guess the rest is up to us.
30 October 2025. St. James Theatre, Wellington with New Zealand Symphony Orchestra reviewed by Jennifer Shennan
Royal New Zealand Ballet’s Artistic Director, Ty King-Wall, has created a new production of The Nutcracker, a fun-filled frolicking entertainment set among images of New Zealand landscape, flora and fauna, childhood summer holidays in the bach, games on the beach, with sweets and treats for a major sugar rush and lashings of nostalgia.
The choreography is more than that though, and stitches in themes and sequences from the traditional story and productions as it traces the family context for the coming of age of Clara, the young girl growing to sense and glimpse the adult world. There are poignant undertones as the present is braided with an older family member’s memory of the past, the younger one’s glimpse of the future, and parents’ moment of danger when a child goes missing.
A key figure is Aunt Drosselmeyer, a famous dancer who returns from abroad with mysterious powers plus gifts for the family, including a Nutcracker doll for Clara, and a snow globe for brother Fritz. She also brings a film projector to show the children a cameo of a Commedia dell’Arte performance, which opens a door away from the everyday and into the faraway, wherever a child’s imagination will take us. The power and colour of Tchaikovsky’s large scale orchestral score, conducted by the invincible Hamish McKeich, feeds these forces and fills the theatre with atmosphere.
Inventive design by Tracy Grant-Lord and POW studios begins with the overture—a front curtain of a 1950s postcard (you possibly still have one in the attic?) a painting of native flowers and trees—kōwhai, mānuka, pōhutukawa, rātā, harakeke, tī and ponga. But wait, that kōwhai blossom moves in the gentlest of breezes, and then a mānuka flower shimmers. Now from behind a bush, a creature, part honey-bee part buzzy-bee, emerges in search of nectar. Better keep an eye on that as later in the ballet it will become a ski-plane to transport you to a mountainous kingdom of snow in our very own Southern Alps. It’s an inspired visual effect to show the country’s landscape from the plane’s windows as we travel.
There are numerous other design transformations—small tree grows into a giant forest, complete with red-eyed predators, possums, stoats and weasels to be exterminated. Smart soldiers from the Nutcracker army need additional help from Clara as she fires a weapon that exterminates the biggest bully Mouse King (I’d have called him a Rat as he falls into the foundations of the ballroom he was planning to build).
A ruru sounds a convincing call of warning, and gives me the shivers.
There are a number of standout performances on opening night, though it’s noteworthy that several alternative soloist casts are billed for the extended Wellington season and following national tour—testament to the company’s strengths. Caterina Estevez-Collins plays a charming and sensitive Clara. Laurynas Vejalis as the Nutcracker-turned-Prince dances with remarkable virtuosic technique but is able to overlay that with a lyricism that rides the music with meaning. Mayu Tanigaito as the Sugar Plum Fairy makes a most welcome return to the stage, and the pas de deux she and Vejalis dance is of rich quality and harmony, an act of love, and the highpoint of the evening.
Character roles include Kirby Selchow as Aunt Drosselmeyer, carrying that with great style. Shaun James Kelly as a drunken kereru makes an amusing mess of trying to fly. Kihiro Kusukami as the powerful Storm Master dances up an impressive wind in the Land of Snow.
I have recently read The Dreaming Land—a memoir by Martin Edmond of his childhood in Ohakune in the 1950s. He writes of ‘the existence of a world of Maoridom about which most Pakeha knew nothing … there was simply no awareness among the people I knew that we lived cheek by jowl with a strong, coherent and richly complex culture. It is a lack I profoundly regret.’ This new choreography poignantly encompasses that notion by including the small but noteworthy role of Koro, the Maori grandfather of Clara, with Moana Nepia and Taiaroa Royal alternating in the part. Koro gifts a blanket to his granddaughter, and comforts her when she needs that. He dances for a fleeting moment with the memory of his late wife, a kind of ghost of Christmases past.
There is much energy in the band of children, and the ensembles of snowflakes, flowers and somewhat over-dressed confectionery, to make this a production that will draw enthusiastic crowds as it tours the country. Haere rā to them all.
24 July 2025, St James Theatre, Wellington reviewed by Jennifer Shennan
The Way Alone—Stephen Baynes/P. Tchaikovsky Chrysalis—Shaun James Kelly/Philip Glass Home, Land and Sea—Moss Te Ururangi Patterson/Shayne Carter
This triple bill hits the mark in more ways than three. Production values and galvanised performances reveal the company in high morale, with the artistic management in steady yet adventurous command. The dancers and the audience are stimulated by the contrasts of aesthetics, musicality and substance of the three works.
Choreographer Stephen Baynes has a career-long association with Australian Ballet, although his works are also in repertoires of companies worldwide. The Way Alone was commissioned in 2008 by Hong Kong Ballet for an all-Tchaikovsky program, and uses excerpts from lesser known compositions of choral, organ and piano forces that create a meditative atmosphere. 13 dancers form the ensemble, which divides into duos and trios and an occasional solo, where Katherine Minor has a notable role. The theme is clued in the title—members may be part of a large group but at the same time remain as individuals, as in a church congregation for example, or a theatre audience, together alone. There is a lyrical and serene quality to the movement, all effort is hidden, with lifts and upreaching gestures suggesting that gravity has no hold here. Eye contact is made with the audience only at the end. The work is beautifully danced throughout, and the lighting design by Jon Buswell shines beams of soft light from on high, to heavenly effect.
Shaun James Kelly is a dancer and resident choreographer at RNZB. In this premiere, Chrysalis, he collaborates with designer Rory William Docherty to explore the metaphor of layered clothing, what that might say of a person wearing it, or be revealed as layers are removed. The work opens with a tribute to Shaun’s parents and the longevity of their relationship. Hats and coats are styled for 1950s, soon removed then placed on coathangers that are raised high above the stage—suggesting the passing of time and changing of fashions. Party attire is worn and enjoyed … these layers too are removed and lifted away, revealing bodytights in various shades of nacreous lustre. The work is set to piano music by Philip Glass, with minimalist motifs repeated to build effect. Several short passages are danced in silence which suggests that sound too can be layered. Danced connections between couples and friends reference the value in personal freedom and the confidence to express gender identity. The cast of ten dancers move with style and commitment in the combination of familiar and new ballet vocabulary, and Shaun will have been rightly pleased that his work is delivered with such aplomb.
Home, Land and Sea, another premiere, brings the choreography of Moss Patterson to a new level of urgency. Shayne Carter, highly regarded for his performing and composing in a wide-ranging musical scene, has created a richly evocative music score with natural landscapes and Maori cultural references drawn in. His strong composition drives this highly successful collaboration, and his program notes on the experience of working with dancers are among the best you will read.
The cast comprises six RNZB dancers with six members of New Zealand Dance Company in a combination that melds their classical and contemporary dance trainings. These were never opposite techniques but the give and take between them can produce versatility in some dancers, most notably seen here in the intensely invested performances by Zacharie Dun, Kirby Selchow and Ana Gallardo Lobaina.
At times the dance pace is relentless but its effect is always controlled and tempered. It is maintained not because shouting achieves anything but rather, because momentum is everything and there’s important work to be done. There is in the choreography an aspect of polemic against the country’s current troubling political shifts that demote Maori needs, that lessen respect accorded to the Treaty of Waitangi as the nation’s founding reference, that downgrade the status of te reo (language), that disestablish positions of government historians, and more besides.
Politicians we could name should see this work and reflect on the divisive and mean-spirited ways they are trying to attract support for policies that move us backwards not forwards in the essential quest for intercultural respect and connection. It’s doubtful of course if they’d get anything out of it since folk mostly hear only what they want to hear, so better to save the resources and ensure instead that a quality film is made of this work. Alun Bollinger or Chris Graves on camera would know how to capture that. This is choreography that offers dialogue and conversation. Film can reach far beyond a company’s touring itinerary, and ours is not the only country that needs to raise and pursue awareness of such challenges.
Ka nui te aroha mo tēnei tūtaki. (Let’s recognise this title work as an important bi-cultural encounter). The power of haka and the poetry of ballet are complementary and it’s Patterson’s and Carter’s shared triumph to have presented a template for mutual exchange, not confrontation or competition. Jon Buswell’s design uses a set of panels onto which are first projected harakeke/flax weaving patterns, then grasses in the wind, to scenes of the sea, with its foam rising, which discreetly but miraculously slowly turns into a long white cloud, and there you have it, Ao-tea-roa, the name of the country we live in.
There is an interesting list of the times, starting in 1953, that New Zealand’s ballet company has looked for echoes between ballet and Maori dance, but that account lies outside the scope of this review.
I found it very affecting that Patterson uses a dynamic range of movement harnessing at times the power of haka and merging it with the clarity of alignment in classically trained dancers. He waits till near the end to include stylized versions of ringa (hand and arm movement) that characterise Maori dance, delivered in miniature with carved clarity by all the dancers. He then moves towards the work’s peace-making denouement by using the exquisite wiri (the shimmering quivering of arms and hands) that signal the life force in Maori worldview.
The curtain call remains in character—a linked line of dancers rippling as waves of the sea. Such a cadence is worth more to me than perhaps it sounds, and I wish that happened more often. It in turn evokes Wislawa Symborska’s famous poem, Theatre Impressions, in which, despite any preceding scenes of heroic struggle or battle, it’s the curtain call that grabs you by the throat.
Home, Land and Sea, with that talisman curtain call, shows a way that ballet can do its work, in a relevant time and place. Hei konei rā (For here, there).
Jennifer Shennan, 26 July 2025
Postscript: In the interval I learned in a text of the passing of Philippa Ward, well-known and much-loved Wellington pianist and dance aficionado. (She had been rehearsal pianist for the Stravinsky Pulcinella I choreographed 40 years ago, and remembered details of that production all these decades since. Such appreciation of an ephemeral art is rare.) No choreographer could synchronise this timing but Baynes may be moved to learn that Philippa quietly departed as Tchaikovsky piano music was being played in The Way Alone. This is another of the ways ballet can do its work. JS
The Night has a Thousand Eyes is an hour-long work described as a ‘nocturnal dreamscape of movement and mystery’. The first image is of a vast suspended square tent of white muslin, evoking the cloth draped over a baby’s cradle, lit from within, but empty yet. Piano music is gentle, lullaby-like. Soon the dancer moves in amniotic shadow inside the tent, we glimpse a limb, the edge of her torso, her arm gesturing up, then around, and down, the palms of her hands coming forward into focus. There’s a quiet mood of questioning and waiting as the work awakens to this exploration of space and place, and the piano carries us through.
This is Lucy Marinkovich in the first in a series of vignettes shared with Michael Parmenter, mostly solos, occasionally duets, that play with shadows and silhouettes from the dark and into the light that is sourced from side or back or front, with the two dancers’ bodies, especially arms and hands, striking 1, 000 shapes that hint, suggest, tease, whisper and play in the night.
Impressions are suggested—to wonder at the beauty of an arm outstretched then curved then dissolved—to hold and embrace an infant, perhaps—keeping silent reverie alone beneath a dark sky that shimmers with 1,000 stars, in no specific place but here. Nights are long but the piano, in Lucien Johnson’s driving score, carries us through.
Parmenter dances alternate sections, he too is a silhouette, then moving and flowing, then held in chiselled positions. He will later be the insomniac out in the night streets of Paris, marking out fragments of old tap dance routines, or flashing a thousand tiny lights onto a dark wall, imagining he’s alone but we are watching. These are film-like dream-like sequences, and still the piano carries us through.
The performers are not connected as characters, nor is any specific thematic narrative developed. They move in alternate sequences that build a sympathy and empathy between them as they share the thoughts and things that arrive in the nights—both theirs and ours. A scene comes to seem like a poem, each separate yet belonging together in a selected collection.
The hub of the work is the mesmerising Serpentine Dance reconstructed by Marinkovich after Loie Fuller moving in the earliest stagings of electric light on stage over 100 years ago. Vast swathes of white silk are held aloft with poles to extend the wings into a celestial realm. The carefully chosen moves and curves and swoops bring the silk into its own life, making invisible air now visible, eventually enveloping the dancer, and still the piano carries us through.
So the two dancers, but also the lighting design that in turn brings textiles to life, effectively make a cast of four performers. We cannot take our eyes off any of them.
My wish, although maybe not practical, would have been to see the pianist in low light side-stage, visually holding these vignettes together as indeed the music did throughout.
It’s always a pleasure to mark the end of the year with a rear vision reminder of the dance highlights we saw. 2024 had the best of the old and the new, with RNZB delivering a triumphant trio of seasons. After some important readjustments into new directions in management, the Company’s year opened with Tutus on Tour’s national itinerary of small venues that Poul Gnatt established back in 1950s. In May, Russell Kerr’s pedigree production of Swan Lake was memorably staged with respect and sensitivity by Turid Revfeim.
Their mid-year triple bill included Wayne MacGregor’s Infra, which I found deeply humane and appreciated very much. Sarah Sproull’s spirited To Hold, and Alice Topp’s High Tide had striking choreography and design, and each proved very popular with audiences.
The Company’s end-of-year season—a return of Liam Scarlett’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream—showed yet again what a brilliant concept the 29-year-old choreographer brought to this company back in 2015. His loss will reverberate for years, but this production, shared with Queensland Ballet, and Tracy Grant Lord’s stunning design, ensures that we hold him tight.
New Zealand School of Dance continued to display high performance standards in both Liminal, mid-year, and end of year seasons, when students from both classical and contemporary streams gave committed programs. The highlight for me remains NZSD alumnus Taane Mete’s All Eyes Open.
In Homemade Jam the ever enterprising Turid Revfeim combinedher Ballet Collective Aotearoa with the local Tawa College dance group to energised effect.
Visiting companies to Wellington for the International Arts Festival included a dramatically different Hatupatu, a fusion of Maori legend into a contemporary love story from Tānemahuta Gray. Malia Johnston’s Belle offered striking airborne beauty combining aerialists and dancers. From afar Akram Khan’s company gave a sophisticated The Jungle Book which astonished many first-time dance-goers.
Later in March, Neil Ieremia of Black Grace staged a production of striking dramatic effect and design, under the title Paradise Rumour. It referenced missionary presence in the early settlement of the Pacific.
Jan Bolwell’s impresssive season of Crow’s Feet, Woman, Life, Freedom, to Gorecki, was a moving witness to the struggles of women in Iranian and migrant communities.
2024 was a special year for Vivek Kinra’s Indian dance company Mudra, beginning with an arangetram (astonishingly, by a mature age Pākeha woman of Irish descent. The world can live as one if we want it enough).
In a later season Vivek choreographed a poetic and colourful Vismaya, the seven emotions of nanikas, with a quartet of stunning visiting musicians, in a national tour under the auspices of Chamber Music New Zealand. We could hope for more seasons of music and dance from these adventurous entrepreneurs.
My subscription to Sky Arts channel is always good value—and this year’s film of Dona Nobis Pacem, Neuemeier’s farewell to Hamburg Ballet, was an exquisitely poignant piece in a combination of J S Bach and John Lennon that I will never forget. It was a masterstroke to also screen the documentary of Neumeier’s dancing life in the same week.
Another very striking film was the Royal Ballet production of Christopher Wheeldon’s Like Water for Chocolate. I have family connection to Mexico and it is always welcome to encounter art from that extraordinary country.
This year’s Russell Kerr Lecture in Ballet & Related Arts was a tribute to the late and much lamented Sir Jon Trimmer, following an earlier memorial for him staged by Turid Revfeim in the Opera House. Rowena Jackson’s death was another sad event, but an opportunity to recognise her outstanding personal qualities alongside her celebrated performance and teaching career. I join Michelle Potter in lamenting the passing of Joan Acocella, dance writer of highest calibre, and my valued mentor. Edith Campbell, a stalwart arts and community leader, will be much missed in Wellington, and it was an honour to perform French and English baroque dances at her Memorial Service. Edith would have appreciated the Auld Alliance between Scotland and France that these referenced, as she had an admirable knack of contextualising all art events. She taught Scottish Country Dance for 75 years, up until the fortnight before her passing. Requiescant in pace.
I found myself involved in another performance (who says you’re too old to dance? certainly not Eileen Kramer…) in a piece composed by Alison Isadora for The First Smile Indonesian gamelan, and included on the album we have just recorded to mark 50 years of gamelan in Aotearoa New Zealand. (See Rattle Records website). Keep up the good dancing everyone—and you’ll certainly have a Happy New Year.
