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| The cast of Dance Nation at Red Stitch Photo: Teresa Noble photography |
Ashlee, Zuzu, Luke, Sofia, Maeve, Amina, Connie and Vanessa are
a dance group of pre-teens on the cusp of puberty, dreaming of success as a dance
competition takes them all across the United States. Dance Teacher Pat runs a
tight ship, walking a fine line between being encouraging and squeezing all the
enthusiasm out of his troupe. But this isn’t just a show about making your
dreams come true, it’s about dealing with the pain of hormones and the physical
strain of dancing, even at a young age.
We’re thrust into their world with a tap routine that even professionals
would find strenuous – and it claims its first victim, with Vanessa’s leg
shattered beyond repair. The visual is so striking and repulsive that it’s
viscerally shocking and laugh-out-loud funny. Dance Nation is satire, yes, but at its heart it is a clear drama
about growing up and becoming comfortable with your own body – as you learn its
power and its weakness.
Director Maude Davey puts the ensemble through its paces, directing a
freight train of a show, which hardly ever stops to catch its breath. The music
is loud, the dance is frenetic and the young characters are so full of joy and the
jumping beans of youth, it’s hilarious until it become awkward; and even as it
slides into the pain and struggle of growing up, it becomes funny again.
The entire cast is great – a big group for the small space
of Red Stitch, but it seems fitting for the piece; a dance group jammed
together in a pressure cooker, their routines a kind of escape from what these
kids are going through in life.
There’s some predictable stage mother stuff, but as all The
Moms, Shayne Francis shows us wide variety of demanding and compassion with her
various kids. Zoe Boesen’s Zuzu is the one who suffers the most, struggling
with an eating disorder, even at one stage tearing at her skin with her teeth.
Tariro Mavondo’s Amina is the quiet one in the back of the class, who slips
onto centre stage and leaps ahead of the rest. Caroline Lee’s Ashlee has a
monologue that will blow your socks off. Brett Cousins struts around the stage
as Pat, at times seeming like a mentor and in moments stalking the girls like a
predator.
Clare Springett’s Lighting and Peter Farnan’s Sound put you
on stage with the troupe, dazzled by the lights, overwhelmed by the music.
Adrienne Chisholm’s costumes understand these characters so well that there’s a
layer of humour and understanding in just seeing them slouch onto stage with a
backpack over the shoulder or sucking on a slurpee.
Clare Barron’s play is an hilarious and poignant look at the
pain of puberty and the pain of dance; touching and affectionate, smart and
completely off-the-wall. So awesome.
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