Diamond. Liz Lea and colleagues

My review of Diamond was published online by CBR CityNews on 7 August 2026, following its opening performance in Canberra on 6 August The review below is a slightly enlarged version of the CityNews post. Follow this link to the CityNews review.

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6 August 2026. The Q Theatre, Queabeyan

Diamonds are indestructible; people are not. No matter what media statements might and do say about the brilliance and dazzling complexity of womanhood, for me the idea of destructibility, and its opposite, lies at the heart of Liz Lea’s latest show, Diamond.

Diamond is the second part of a projected dance trilogy. The first was Lea’s 2012 show Red, which took us on a journey through Lea’s career as a dancer battling endometriosis. It had an exceptional reception both in Australia and overseas. Diamond takes us through a new, later stage in Lea’s life, one in which she struggled with the physical and emotional issues she encountered during and after menopause.

The dancing in Diamond was distinctively varied. The show opened with Lea standing centre stage in a sparkling costume—one from the series that has been used everywhere, over and over, as advertisement for the show. During this opening sequence, Lea moved slowly with expressive arms, which nevertheless suggested that age had diminished her ability to undertake complex choreography. She danced with stronger movements at other points throughout the show but much of her input involved sitting on a chair, in a simple, black, body-hugging costume, and speaking about her difficulties as she faced the inevitability of living with an ageing body.

Liz Lea explaining in words some of the issues she encountered during menopause. *Diamond*, Canberra 2026. Photo: © Olivia Wikner, O&J Wikner Photography

She pulled no punches as she explained those difficulties, with frequent reference to vaginal problems and the life consequences that developed as a result of such issues. From this point of view, Diamond was certainly a courageous show.

The most dancerly moments, however, came from the High Kix dancers from Canberra’s Born Funk studios. These dancers are comparatively young women and they looked fabulous in their blue, feathery outfits, and later dressed in white. They consistently moved beautifully, even with what was relatively simple choreography, and their role in the show allowed us to look back at Lea’s early career as a cabaret dancer.

High Kix dancers performing in *Diamond*, Canberra 2026. Photo: © Olivia Wikner, O&J Wikner Photography

Then, towards the end of the production, dancers from Canberra Dance Theatre’s GOLD company took the stage, adding dancers older than Lea to the situation. They moved around the stage making attractive groupings rather than dancing anything complex. They too looked fabulous in decorative black and white costumes, including somewhat startling hats. There were even two men involved.

Diamond was stunningly put together as a multi-faceted production. It had exceptional lighting by Karen Norris, as usually happens when Norris is involved. Her input into Diamond was engaging from the beginning, even on the empty stage before the actual performance had started, to the end where an object was placed on the floor and sent out diamond-like rays of light into the auditorium. The diamond rather than the person lives on.

There was also some strikingly structured film input from cinematographer James Hiscutt. It included an absolutely absorbing section where Lea appeared on the backcloth/screen as autumn leaves fell around her body. It was beautifully related to a story Lea spoke about in relation to a request she had from a person who was using her house as a B&B guest. ‘May I sweep up your autumn leaves?’, he asked.

But as a whole Diamond was a production that opened up an area of a woman’s life that perhaps needs not to be made so public, or not with so much confronting speech. Dance can do it without words, or at least on this occasion with fewer words. Then perhaps I am ageing as I disliked the way the subject was constantly and unnecessarily frank in its text? Just dance!

Who knows what the third part of the trilogy will involve?

Michelle Potter, 7 August 2026

Featured image: Liz Lea in the opening moments of Diamond. Queabeyan, 2026. Photo: © Olivia Wikner, O&J Wikner Photography

I was a guest of Liz Lea Productions at this performance.

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Return to the Strange Land. DocEdge Film Festival

26 July 2026, Wellington
reviewed by Jennifer Shennan

This film, directed by Olga Malířová, traces the life and work of one of the world’s foremost choreographers, Jiří Kylián, but is at the same time far more than just a conventional documentary. Rather it is an exquisitely sequenced portrayal of the rich artistic rapport between Kylián and his muse, the wonderful dancer Sabine Kupferberg. The pair pace and dance and are filmed on the sand hills, across the shoreline and into the sea along the north coast of The Netherlands.

The resonance of imagery in the film’s setting is extraordinary—the sands of time, an ocean of love, a game of chess at a picnic on the beach, a choreographer with a megaphone and a dancer whose stiletto heels keep subsiding into the sand, a wild couple frantically exchanging coats, who wear hats but cannot always keep their hats on, who stride towards each other from afar but miss the meeting, who struggle to climb a sandhill but can only slide backwards down the slope, who grow older but remember their past all the more clearly for that, who share their personal stories of exile and immigration, of upbringing in an orphanage, in an essay of time and tide, set against murmurations of seabirds—gliding gulls and migrating godwits. The scenography is as beautiful as any I’ve seen, or expect to see.

The film encompasses wider themes of loyalty and betrayal at both national and personal levels, of loss and love, of ageing and fulfilment and fate, and the rapture in the very reality of being alive, while keeping close to memories of those who have passed. There are almost unbearably poignant scenes of Kylián being invited back to his homeland after some years of enforced exile. The film points to the power and web of politics that marked so much of life in 20th century Europe.

Early in his career Kylián was in the company of John Cranko in Stuttgart; it’s worth noting that John Neumeier also gained his early career opportunities with Cranko. How fertile that legacy has proved. From their earliest dance collaboration the mutual inspiration passing between Jiri and Sabine resulted in a torrent of choreography over decades (too numerous to list all the titles here—easy for you to check Jiří Kylián‘s stylish website for that wealth of information).

Excerpts from the archive of Jiří Kylián’s choreographies are interwoven into the film, but only make you wish you could see each of the complete works. It has to be an unmatched achievement in world dance that Kylián not only put Nederlands Dans Theater on the world map but also formed a second company, NDT2, for dancers others might consider too young, then a third company, ND3, for dancers others might consider too old.

Back in 1980s Kylián ventured into outback Australia to search for the significance in Aboriginal people’s dance practice. The resulting film, Road to the Stamping Ground, stays in the memory of all who saw it.

This new film, screened here as the world premiere, also acts as a memory trigger for us of Kylián‘s powerful Soldatenmis, to Martinu’s Mass for the Unknown Soldier—memorably performed in 1990s by Royal New Zealand Ballet then under the direction of the late Matz Skoog. That proved one of the strongest works in their repertoire over decades. Also memorable was the visit of NDT to the International New Zealand Festival of Arts when they performed the moving Requiem, to Mozart’s incomparable music. A work like that can help someone who might be stuck in grief.

Local readers who may have missed the single film screening here can purchase online streaming access for the next two weeks. Sad to report viewing from outside New Zealand is not possible. That must incentivise festival programmers elsewhere to book it for their schedules. The only weak point about the film is that its title does not alert viewers to its subject. There should at least be a sub-title—Jiri Kylián, master choreographer.

Jennifer Shennan, 27 July 2026

Images courtesy of DocEdge

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Mettle. Quantum Leap Australia

My review of Mettle was published online by CBR CityNews on 25 July 2026, following its opening performance in Canberra on 24 July. The review below is a slightly enlarged version of the CityNews post. Follow this link to the CityNews review.

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24 July, 2026. The Vault, Dairy Road Precinct, Fyshwick (Canberra)

‘It’s time to test your mettle,’ says media advertising for the latest production from Quantum Leap Australia. Mettle, the production, had choreography by the current director of Quantum Leap Australia and Jack Ziesing, with a soundscape by Sascha Budimski, visuals from Creswick Collective and lighting from Holland, Zeising, Ninian Donald and Owen Davis.

The venue was The Vault, located in the Dairy Road Precinct in Fyshwick, an industrial area of Canberra. The Vault is often referred to as a ‘cave’ or ‘concrete bunker’ as a result of its somewhat vast, windowless space without any theatrical trappings. In fact, it was originally a space used to store coins, and later beer, and it has become an ideal space for immersive productions with the audience usually surrounded on three sides by various aspects of the production.

But rather than having a strongly felt immersive aspect to it, the production of Mettle was more like watching dancing on a knife’s edge. While the soundscape, the lighting and the changing visuals were there to be noticed, the focus was more on what would happen next. How would the dancers manage what seemed from the beginning to be a challenging situation for them?

Thirteen dancers of varying ages began quietly in a line at the back of the performing space and walked slowly forward. But one by one they fell to the floor and began twisting and turning, standing and falling, separately and then together in various combinations. The choreography was highly complex and mostly fast-moving with some sections quite acrobatic and others, such as movements of the fingers, quite small but clear and intense.

Groupings in the early stages looked unstructured as bodies seemed to fall on top of each other in a jumble. Some of the connections between dancers, such as a duet between the two male members of the cast, even looked full of hostility.

A group of dancers in *Mettle,* Quantum Leap Australia, 2026. Photo: © Olivia Wikner, O&J Wikner Photography

As the work moved along, however, there were moments when the jumbled look gave way to a structure that was more ordered and even a little symmetrical. As the end approached, the choreography continued its speed and power and, after a solo by one dancer, a stillness as we had seen at the beginning returned. Had the mettle been tested and had resilience emerged?

Solo dancer in *Mettle*, Quantum Leap Australia, 2026. Photo: © Olivia Wikner, O&J Wikner Photography

Costumes by Aleisa Jelbart were the strongest collaborative element. Jelbart had created thirteen different designs, one for each dancer. They consisted of black and grey items—tops, pants (some short and tight, some long and loose), socks and leggings, arm coverings and other elements. Some items of costuming looked grungy and torn, others fashionable in a present-day style. They added an excellent element to the production and to the diversity of the dancers, a diversity of age, size and experience.

Mettle was a production that must have been quite exhausting for the dancers. It was an hour of almost continuous movement from every dancer. They attacked the choreography, with its continuing and spectacular twists and turns, and its ongoing interpersonal connections, with determination and skill. They demonstrated clearly that dancing on a knife’s edge has a strength and ultimately an influence on an audience.

Michelle Potter, 25 July 2026

Featured image: A moment from Mettle, Quantum Leap Australia, 2026. Photo: © Olivia Wikner, O&J Wikner Photography

I was a guest of Quantum Leap Australia at this performance.

Winter Season. Royal New Zealand Ballet

16 July 2026. St.James Theatre, Wellington
reviewed by Jennifer Shennan

This triple bill showcases the impressive versatility of Royal New Zealand Ballet dancers. Within a 90 minute time-frame, they perform Frederick Ashton’s Birthday Offering, a 70 year old work of highly demanding classical style, imported from England; Sarah Foster-Sproull’s Ultra Folly, a clever and quirky home-grown piece commissioned by the Company in 2020; and Andrea Schermoly’s Stand to Reason, a searingly powerful dramatic work, also an RNZB commission in 2018, from a South African choreographer but on a New Zealand subject. A number of the dancers perform in every work, revealing the wide range of their artistic and technical skills, as well as the heroic stamina demanded of them. There’s not a weak moment in the entire performance.

The much-esteemed Matz Skoog, former artistic director of RNZB, has died recently and this season is dedicated to his memory. Matz often spoke of the challenge an artistic director faces in assembling a triple bill. (It’s much ‘easier’ to stage a single complete work—start with Act One, continue on till you reach Act Four and then stop). So, what to commission and what to re-stage? to combine with what, the old and the new, the tried and the true? then in what sequence? (get this wrong and you can spoil the evening). Beauty, poetry, drama/comedy, abstract, narrative/traditional, modernist, political? and all within a credible budget. The choices made reveal the true measure of an artistic director, and with this program Ty King-Wall proves equal to the challenge.

Birthday Offering is a period piece from 1956 but even then was styled after a much earlier period of ballet’s classicism. Seven couples at a celebration perform défilés in several directions, then six of the women dance filigree solos, each styled with a hint of contrasting personality between them. The technical demands of these solos are intense but to the credit of each performer they are danced with great assurance, grace and meticulous timing. The male partners stand as pillars across the back of the stage for what seems like ages, but that’s the choreography so you can’t go changing it in Wellington. The lead couple, Mayu Tanigaito and Laurynas Véjalis give their exquisite pas de deux a deeply affecting quality, using port de bras in such a loving way that humanises the formal classicism of the movements involved. A pity that the Glazounov recording seems so muddy and uncelebratory—even though Robert Irving, arguably the best ballet conductor of his time, was involved in scoring the arrangements. (I once heard Irving conduct Ravel’s Tzigane at New York City Ballet, where in some kind of alchemy he merged the composition and choreography into one). Birthday Offering, staged here by England’s Royal Ballet, is meticulously faithful to the original. For some in our audience this will have been their favourite work of the evening.

Mayu Tanigaito and Laurynas Véjalis in a moment from *Birthday Offering*. Royal New Zealand Ballet, 2026. Photo: © Stephen A’Court

Ultra Folly, first commissioned here in 2018, was recently performed in London when RNZB was invited to participate the International Draft Works (IDW) season (see my earlier review on On Dancing…). Foster-Sproull has two couples in a bright and quirky commoedic play on manners, dancing with spoof and sauce, delivered with impeccable timing.

Jemima Scott and Kirby Selchow in a scene from Ultra Folly. Royal New Zealand Ballet, 2026. Photo: © Stephen A’Court

It’s a far cry in style from the driving passion in the music, La Folie d’Espagne & Variations from 17th century chamber music here played by Jordi Savall and Hesperion XX1.

The IDW project is a heartening demonstration of how international co-operation in ballet is possible, and one wishes there could be more of that since ballet is not a sports code requiring one team to win and the other to lose. All are winners. Eight companies were invited to participate, so a source of pride for us all that RNZB was included. For some in our audience this will have been their favourite work of the evening.

Then comes the knockout—Stand to Reason. This is a powerful tribute to the courage and struggles in the pioneering suffragette movement led here by Kate Sheppard. Take your right to vote for granted by all means, don’t waste it, find a politician you can trust (good luck) but never forget that New Zealand led the world in that path to universal suffrage. Schermoly’s work has driven movement, with design and lighting faultlessly integrated, to the superbly motivating music of Marin Marais (such good dance music that baroque composers have left for choreographers of later generations to explore). Rarely is the theme of any dance work so intensely stitched in to every move by every dancer —here in the large cast, solely female. The solo created specially for Kirby Selchow is danced with stunning strength and commitment, and one can only salute and remember that. How good would it be to make a film of this work.

A moment from *Stand to Reason*. Royal New Zealand Ballet, 2026. Photo: © Stephen A’Court

I cannot help but be reminded of Soldatenmis, by Jiří Kylián, one of the world’s leading choreographers programmed here in the 1990s by Matz Skoog. That had a large cast, solely male, unless a female (Joan of Arc) had to step up at the last minute to replace an injured player, as did, most memorably, happen here in both of the seasons Skoog staged.

(Local readers, take note of the film in the current Documentary Film Festival—Return to the Strange Land, by and about Kylian—a single screening only, Sunday 27 July, at The Roxy, in a small theatre, inexplicably not yet sold out twice over).

A young audience member quietly said after seeing this work—’That’s the first ballet I’ve seen that doesn’t sexualise a woman waiting and waiting for some man to come and put his hands around her waist and twirl her round and round on the spot. It reminds me of karate. That was amazing.’

For some in the audience this will have been their favourite work of the evening. Count me in.

Jennifer Shennan, 21 July 2026

Featured image: A moment from Stand to Reason. Royal New Zealand Ballet, 2026. Photo: © Stephen A’Court .

Fever/Dream. Ballet Collective Aotearoa

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’s The 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.

Zoe White in a moment from *Grit*. Ballet Collective Aotearoa, 2026. Photo: © Gabriella Hawke

(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.

A moment from *(D)rea(m)lity*. Ballet Collective Aotearoa, 2026. Photo: © Gabriella Hawke

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.

Jennifer Shennan, 8 July 2026

Featured image: A moment from Fever. Ballet Collective Aotearoa, 2026. Photo: © Gabriella Hawke

Engine. Sydney Dance Company

My review of Engine was published online by Canberra City News on 25 June 2026, following its opening performance in Sydney on 24 June. The review below is a slightly enlarged version of the City News post. Follow this link to the City News review.

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24 June 2026. Drama Theatre, Sydney Opera House

Sydney Dance Company’s latest production, Engine, is a triple bill with works from Canberra-trained Melanie Lane, with a return of her acclaimed work Love Lock; Berlin-based, Spanish choreographer Fran Diaz, with the Australian premiere of The Mass Ornament; and Rafael Bonachela, artistic director of Sydney Dance Company, with a new work, The Journey Itself is Home.

The evening opened with Love Lock, which I first saw back in 2024 when it was part of Sydney Dance Company’s Twofold program. Then I was transfixed by the notion and nature of the love lock (a padlock that represents everlasting love), and its role in people’s connections with those who share their life. This time I was able to focus more on the choreography, which was like nothing I have seen from any other choreographer. Lane’s approach to movement was quite eccentric with its angularity from individual dancers set beside unity of groupings of bodies.

Costumes were by Akira Isogawa. He started out with plain black pants and tops in various lengths and shapes, but his exceptional additions made across the course of Love Lock eventually contributed to the individuality that characterised the work. A pounding score from [Chris] Clark, which he describes as ‘a dense collage of percussion/cello/synthesisers/voices/flutes’, and atmospheric lighting from Damien Cooper, also made exceptional contributions to the production.

Dancers from Sydney Dance Company in a scene from *Love Lock*, 2026. Photo: © Wendell Teodoro

After a brief pause while the stage was being reset, Fran Diaz’s The Mass Ornament, with very plain costumes in dark green satin-like material, also designed by Diaz, took us into a world that focused on a new look at, or changed approach to, popular music hall entertainment. With its relatively simplistic use of movement and groupings, it reflected a certain unison characteristic of early popular entertainment. But it nevertheless embodied an individuality from the dancers and suggested we look beyond superficiality at inherent emotional connections. The Mass Ornament was not my favourite work on the program, but was interesting as perhaps an example of an early German Expressionist approach to art? Then, after some thought, I accepted the title of the work, especially the Ornament aspect of that title, as being a subtle comment on the nature of popular entertainment.

Dancers from Sydney Dance Company in a scene from *The Mass Ornament*, 2026. Photo: © Wendell Teodoro

The evening concluded with Bonachela’s brand new The Journey Itself is Home danced to a score by Bryce Dessner and lit by Damien Cooper. Compared with the other two works, Bonachela’s choreography looked quite unusual, or at least more like Western contemporary dance as we tend to know it. The work certainly showed Bonachela’s choreographic fluidity and approach to connections between dancers. A section that was basically a series of duets, one duet replacing the previous one, was admirable.

Dancers from Sydney Dance Company in a duet from *The Journey Itself is Home*, 2026. Photo: © Wendell Teodoro

But what stood out for me in this work was the manner in which Bonachela had used unison dancing and had made it quite fast-paced. It carried the work forward in an unexpected manner.

Before the show began, I wondered why the program had the somewhat unusual title of Engine. It was quite clear, however, from Lane’s opening piece that the title referred to an intensity of movement seen in the full-on, engine-like physicality that characterised all three works. The triple bill format is always an intriguing arrangement and opens up a wealth of possibilities. This program opened up one very clear aspect of the evening’s presentation: the powerful manner in which dance can deliver its inherent physicality and connectivity.

But an engine-like visual effect was just one aspect of what we saw onstage. For a start, the dancers were breathtakingly brilliant in every work. Then the costumes and lighting were outstanding in the way in which they contributed to the different approaches of each of the three choreographers—from the idiosyncratic nature of Lane’s work, through the hard-core expression from Diaz, and on to the more gentle and predictable nature of Bonachela’s contribution.

Engine was a stunning show and well deserving of the standing ovation and loud cheers and exclamations that concluded the evening.

Michelle Potter, 28 June 2026

Featured image: Dancers from Sydney Dance Company in a scene from Love Lock, 2026, with a view of some of Akira Isolgawa’s additions to the costumes. Photo: © Wendell Teodoro

I was a guest of Sydney Dance Company at this performance.

The comment from Clark about the music for Love Lock comes his notes on the work as published in the program for Engine.

Kontakthof—Echoes of ’78.

7-11 April 2026. Sadler’s Wells Theatre London
reviewed by Sonia York-Pryce

Meryl Tankard—dancer, choreographer, filmmaker, and former dancer with Tanztheater Wuppertal—has recently offered her version of Pina Bausch’s Kontakthof, originally performed in 1978, giving it another unexpected life. Conceived and directed by Tankard, this production is accompanied by the archival film footage, set design and costumes of Bausch’s collaborator Rolf Borzik (1944–1980). Tankard’s restaging follows on from previous successful iterations, but this unique production brings together nine of the 20 original 1978 cast members.

This version, titled Kontakthof – Images of ’78, includes Australians Josephine Ann Endicott and Tankard with fellow cast members Elisabeth Clarke, Lutz Förster, John Giffin, Ed Kortlandt, Beatrice Libonati, Anne Martin, Arthur Rosenfeld, all aged between 70 and 80 years of age, and reprising their roles 45 years later. We are indeed seeing ‘age on stage’—living archives with intimate embodied knowledge of Bausch’s Kontakthof and her unique movement language and theatricality. This remarkable happening was not lost on the audiences. Over four nights at Sadler’s Wells Theatre, the performances were the hottest ticket in town, with many disappointed that seats were sold out. During the run, it was poignant to have Pina’s son Salomon Bausch in attendance at Sadler’s Wells.

My full review is below..

Sonia York-Pryce, 15 June 2026

Featured image: A moment from Kantakthof—’Echoes of ’78. Photo: © Ursula Kaufmann

Kontakthof—Echoes of ’78

In dance academia, Bausch’s Kontakthof is a signature work portraying desire and loneliness as it has lived many iterations. Among them were amateur seniors aged over 65 from Wuppertal, who delivered their own distinctive and highly successful interpretation in 2000; school students from Wuppertal aged over 14 in 2008; young dance students from Tanztheater in 2021; ballet dancers of the Paris Opéra in 2022; and now the re-staging with the original cast of the 1978 production. The fact that Kontakthof “continues to move people decades later is proof of its timeless aesthetic”, states Bausch’s biographer Marion Meyer. Endicott has been principal repetiteur of Kontakthof and other Bausch works, but had never imagined she would be reprising her varied roles in this seminal work as a 75-year-old dancer. In an interview at Sadler’s Wells between performances, Endicott told me:

It is magical. It is a kind of transformation that when you go on stage, I am dropping hopefully about 30 years of ageing just from the moment I open the curtain, and I can do that dance.

The brilliance of Tankard to incorporate Rolf Borzik’s archive film documentation cannot be overstated. It accomplishes a perfect juxtaposition of ‘youth versus ageing’, plus the merging of the present-day with the bygone. Tankard’s documentary film experience compounded with the vast Borzik Kontakthof film archive meant that edited footage could be used to mirror and illuminate the youthful 1978 cast, while giving precedence to those cast members no longer present. Tankard’s Kontakthof–Echoes of ’78 opens with the nine remaining performers reprising their roles, accompanied by Borzik’s archival black-and-white film projections of the cast from 1978. The projections are screened onto a vast gauze curtain by the proscenium, which acts like a palimpsest, intersecting the past with the present. The missing monochrome dancers—Arnaldo Alvarez, Fernando Cortizo, Gary Austin Crocker, Mari Di Lena, Silvia Kesselheim, Luis P Layag, Jan Minarík, Vivienne Newport, Monika Sagon, Heinz Samm and Christian Trouillas—loom like mythical giants, the antithesis of the seemingly minute but lifesized older dancers of today. The setting is haunting, with the passage of time illuminated. The scene is set with the nine performers seated on some of the numerous chairs skirting the sides of the dance hall, ready as a refuge for the weary, uninterested or the missing, and a piano. One by one, the dancers walk downstage and go through a series of movements, gestures, baring their teeth, adjusting their bodies, each performer making the motifs more bizarre. This is mirrored by the projections. We feel the presence and acknowledge the absence of the performers who are no longer alive or able to reinterpret their roles. Strangely, these vanished dancers make for greater poignancy to the original work, as there is an extreme sense of melancholy and loss as we watch the nine remaining perform alongside their monochrome youthful selves. The imagery is beautiful, emotive, and at times amusing. Could this production be considered a memento mori for Bausch, Borzik and the absent dancers? There were moments where I found myself close to tears and I noted that the production had a profound effect on others in the audience too.

These nine remaining performers are the last bodies of knowledge to breathe and regenerate life into Bausch’s Kontakthof, as they have lived and embodied the life experience of the roles. The evocative German songs of the 1920s/30s that accompanied by the performers swathed in elegant silk dresses and sharp suits give us an insight into a dance hall of the period, a place to make contacts, for couples to confront, and others to reach out.

Through the dancers in the ‘contact hall’, we experience the human condition, relationships that exhibit frustration, love, hate, sadness, loneliness, coyness, irritation, humour, despair, disruptions and curiosities that Bausch observed in her works. It’s a gathering for couples in a community space to dance, talk, observe, or fight. We view strained relationships, emotional expectations, and awkward situations. All reactions are present. The audience is placed as the voyeur, experiences that some can identify with, yet cannot look away. Bausch continues to confront us in death. The mere stamina of the cast is incredible and appears at odds with their current ages. Before the interval, the performers assemble centre stage, sit on chairs and introduce themselves one by one to the audience. It is an endearing and intimate moment, where the audience is invited to learn something about these wonderful performers.

The second half takes on more emotional tangents. Borzik’s archival footage is now projected more boldly onto the syce behind the performers; the imagery appears more prominent, almost like a portal into the past. Endicott embodies many roles, one that requires literal crying for about five minutes, then groaning ‘Aua’ into a microphone, comical but unsettling as it seems endless. Why? No one knows. Then Tankard and Endicott reappear as beguiling little girls—‘all frills and bows’—moving totally in synch with each other, mirrored against the archival footage of themselves behind them. They are intriguing to watch as both their youthful and mature bodies merge with hardly a hairs whisper in either duplication of movements. How is this possible? There is a section where the archival footage displays members of the original cast as slow dancing couples enveloped in tight embraces. We see one couple and Endicott alone holding an invisible/absent partner; it is a tender tragic moment and reminds us that we are all mere mortals. Ironically for those absent, the footage gives them an immortality, never to grow old. And so it goes on, more tragi-comic moments interspersed with men poking, groping and aggravating an expressionless Tankard. It is hard to watch. At times, the cast intersperse with wry knowing smiles, a juxtaposition to the emotional detritus scattered about the stage and screen.

These performers bring a whole new precedence and meaning to Kontakthof. To return to such an iconic work as older dancers enhanced with wisdom and longevity brings to reality a concept Bausch had once expressed to Tankard decades ago.

Sadly, Kontakthof – Echoes of ’78 will not be touring Australia.

Dancing through Time: Returning to Pina Bausch’s Kontakthof https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rtFEAAIydWM

World Premiere
26.11.2024 Opernhaus Wuppertal Kontakthof Echoes of ‘78 is co-produced with Amare (The Hague), LAC Lugano Arte e Cultura, Festspielhaus St. Pölten, and China Shanghai International Arts Festival and supported as a contribution to the preparation of the Pina Bausch Centre with funds from the Federal Government Commissioner for Culture and the Media, the Ministry of Culture and Science of the State of North Rhine-Westphalia and the City of Wuppertal.

Voyages. Royal New Zealand Ballet

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.

Soloist Dane Head and Scholar Charlotte Willis In a moment from Katherine Minor’s *Marga’s Dance* from *Voyages*. Royal New Zealand Ballet, 2026. Photo: © Stagebox Photography

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’.

A scene from Gretchen Steimle’s *Who came to be* from *Voyages*. Royal New Zealand Ballet, 2026. Photo: © Stagebox Photography

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.

Mayu Tanigaito and Laurynas Véjalis in two moments from Shaun James Kelly’s *Swan Song*. Royal New Zealand Ballet, 2026. Photo: © Stagebox Photography

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.

Jennifer Shennan, 5 June 2026

Featured image: Timothy Ching and Jake Gisby in Branden Reiner’s Somewhere from Voyages. Royal New Zealand Ballet, 2026. Photo: © Stagebox Photography

Opera Gala. Snow Concert Hall

My review of Opera Gala was published online by Limelight Magazine on 1 June 2026, following its opening performance in Canberra on 29 May. The review below is a slightly enlarged version of the Limelight post. Follow this link to the Limelight review.

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For many, a gala is a large-scale event. Opera Gala, however, was a performance by just three artists, soprano Cathy-Di Zhang, mezzo-soprano Helen Sherman, and pianist Thomas Victor Johnson. It was curated and presented by Ana de la Vega, artistic director of Canberra’s relatively new, exceptionally designed Snow Concert Hall.

The program consisted of arias and duets from a range of operas including Il barbiere di Siviglia (The Barber of Seville, Rossini), Cosi fan tutte (Women are like that, Mozart), Madama Butterfly (Madame Butterfly, Puccini), Carmen (Bizet), Rusalka (Dvorak), and La clemenza di Tito (The clemency of Titus, Mozart). In addition, the aria fromMadama Butterfly was preceded by a short solo from the pianist. He played the Prelude to Act III of Madama Butterfly.

While Sherman and Zhang both sang beautifully throughout the evening, two items stood out for me. Zhang gave a moving rendition of ‘One Fine Day’ from Madame Butterfly. There was no extravagant acting as she sang, just a feeling of hope for the return of the man she loved, US Naval Officer Lieutenant Pinkerton, which we in the audience knew would not happen. It was an extremely poignant performance.

Secondly, I enjoyed the duet from Norma in which two female characters, Norma and Adalgisa, interact with each other when Norma learns she has been betrayed by her lover. But Norma and Adalgisa pledge solidarity with each other and there was strong interaction between the two women, which drew me into the story very easily.

I was also especially impressed with the work of pianist Thomas Victor Johnson. From his approach to the music of the first aria, Una voce poco fa from The Barber of Seville, to the final moments of the gala, an encore, his expressive playing filled the auditorium and added beautifully to the unfolding of the singing. He wasn’t simply an accompanist but a thrilling part of every aria and duet.

For those who were not familiar with the specific narratives that surrounded the arias and duets, Zhang and Sherman took turns in outlining the role played in each opera before performing each musical number. There was also a lovely moment following one of the arias from Cosi fan tutte when Zhang mentioned the reason why Mozart had given the aria such a wide pitch range. It had to do with Mozart’s interest in the way the singer, for whom the aria was originally created, moved her head in relation to varying sound. The audience loved the story! It was also interesting to see a different side of the singers as they explained what each song was about.

Over the four or so years of its existence the Snow Concert Hall, with its excellent acoustic properties, has become an exceptional Canberra performing venue. I can only say congratulations to Ana de la Vega for her magnificent ongoing curatorship, for which Opera Gala was a more than worthy item.

Michelle Potter, 1 June 2026

Featured image: Helen Sherman (left) and Cathy-Di Zhang with Thomas Johnson at the piano. Opera Gala, Snow Concert Hall, 2026. Photo: © Dalice Trost

Sheltering. Bangarra Dance Theatre

My review of Sheltering was published online by Limelight Magazine on 25 May 2026, following its opening performance in Canberra on 23 May. The review below is a slightly enlarged version of the Limelight post. Follow this link to the Limelight review.

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23 May 2026. Canberra Theatre, Canberra Theatre Centre

Sheltering, Bangarra Dance Theatre’s latest show, set out to present the audience with a reminder of the social and cultural issues that connect people and place. The three works that made up the program spanned just over ten years of Bangarra’s production history. The opening work, Keeping Grounded, with choreography by Glory Tuohy-Daniell, was first shown as part of a Dance Clan program in 2023; the middle piece, Brown Boys, a short film from Daniel Mateo, was also first shown in a Dance Clan program this time in 2024; and the final work, Frances Rings’ Sheoak, was first presented in 2015.

Keeping Grounded stood out largely as a result of the set by Shana O’Brien. It consisted of a large net, fishing-style, with a series of quite large holes scattered across its surface. The net hung from the flies but moved and spread itself out at times, and was manipulated in various ways by the cast of eight. There were moments when the dancers climbed onto the net and walked across it, and they often moved through the holes in an attempt to touch the floor area, which represented their need and efforts to stay grounded. The visual effect was powerful and added a clear understanding of the aim of this work.

The net from *Keeping Grounded*. Photo: © Daniel Boud. (Image from Dance Clan 2023)

The six minute film, Brown Boys, was performed by Daniel Mateo and co-directed by Mateo and Cass Mortimer Eipper. It focused on the stereotypes and stigma that often directed the feelings of acceptance, or non-acceptance, of First Nation’s male youth as they transited through life. It was somewhat confronting, although Mateo says in program notes that he was ‘offering [the work] as a gift to Brown Boys in the hope of supporting them on their journey of becoming.’ It was challenging nevertheless given some aspects of the film, in particular the strong, loud words spoken by Mateo and the close-up images that seemed to crowd out towards the audience as the film unfolded.

The final work, Sheoak from Frances Rings, represented the resilience of First Nation’s people as they engaged with the world in this 21st century. Rings used the symbolism of the endangered sheoak tree to examine the need to protect the culture of her people. Back in 2015, in a review of the program in which Sheoak was first presented, I wrote:

The sheoak tree, the grandmother tree in Indigenous lore, is endangered and, in the opening scene, we see pyramid of dancers gradually collapsing. The metaphor of the tree in Aboriginal society continues, and the keeper of the place in which the tree grows mourns its loss. Societal dysfunction results and the community faces the challenges of operating in a new environment.

A moment from *Sheoak* from its original presentation in 2015. Photo: © Jeff Tan

Sheoak also had a strong visual effect with dancers holding and wielding large sticks representing tree branches, and with its final moments depicting the birth of a spirit portraying hope for change and ongoing development. Jennifer Irwin’s costumes were arresting, especially in the final section when long, diaphanous skirts were decorated with quite intricate, rope-like elements.

Costumes by Jennifer Irwin for the final section of *Sheoak*. Photo: © Daniel Boud

But what continued to plague my thoughts throughout the show was the choreography. Bangarra has always had an exceptional collaborative aspect to its work and Sheltering was no exception given the powerful visual aspects of each of the works. But the choreography varied little from work to work. I began to wonder whether Bangarra had deliberately pursued the development of a particular Bangarra style similar to, say, the way some well-known contemporary choreographers had created a personal style to which they constantly moved: Martha Graham and Merce Cunningham for example. What I saw from Bangarra on this occasion, especially in the opening work, was movement that was highly grounded and filled with upturned feet and bent arms, often along with static or non-fluid moments. I have no objections to such a style but sometimes something more fluid or less angular and jerky would have worked well.

Sheltering was a program honouring David Page, whose contribution to the development of Bangarra was largely but not exclusively through his sound scores. The score for Sheoak was in fact from David Page. This Page brother died in 2016 and the presentation of Sheltering thus marked the tenth anniversary of his death. The printed program contained a double page spread outlining the extent of his contribution. Remarkable really.

David Page discussing his music for *Sheoak*, 2015. Photo: © Tiffany Parker

Michelle Potter, 26 May 2026

I was a guest of Bangarra Dance Theatre on this occasion.