The last time I drove to the Mangere Arts Centre was for its opening a decade ago. I still remember the excitement around what it would mean for Manukau youth and how this space would harness the untapped creative potential.  As a teen in from West Auckland, in 1995 it was a time where Pacific anything including ‘dance’ was at the cusp of breaking out of its infancy -growing exponentially with the rapid rise of RnB Music and fashion into pop culture across the Globe.  Prior to the mid-90s,  Secondary School Polyfest and Pasefika Festival were the extent of mainstream Kiwis to brown performing arts.  Parris Goebel was a toddler and Neil Ieremia’s Black Grace had just started building momentum in the underground movement of the few pioneers who until then were limited to Urban Pacific Church Youth groups and School Talent shows.

A short delay as staff needed more seating to meet the demand of a sold-out show. I found a vacant seat end of the second row facing the open or thrust stage. I immediately felt a more intimate experience, my eye drawn to the almost invisible person in the centre of the stage. 

The program synopsis I read in the carpark half hour earlier was my only context and keeps my viewing experience free from bias. As an observer the Festival is about giving brown choreographers and dancers the opportunity for their unique creative lens to be the focus- their talanoa heard and voice (reo) be amplified to a wider community. An annual commitment designed to  harness emerging  talent, and help develop their creative muscle and see Pacific perspectives flourish and be taken seriously.

Over the next hour I was challenged to recall my friendships in my adolescence, reminded to dream those impossible dreams again. I was compelled to revisit my family relationships and culture and identity. Unfulfilled potential and unsettling conversations yet to take place.  In a time where cancel culture, social justice and political correctness are compulsory, each of the solo dancers echoed the struggles that we all face in adolescence.  Faces of Nature had dancers from Manurewa High School. At one point teens filled the space with a five minute kaleidoscope of freestyle movement like a fresh new zest attracting good company. Their cascade of optimism and teen joy brought to mind 2000 movie Billy Elliot, auditioning for the Royal Balelt School he’s asked “…what does it feel like when you’re dancing?”  his answer I’ve memorised  “ …I forget everything and sort of disappear, I can feel a change in my whole body there’s a fire in my body I’m just there flyin like a bird, like electricity.”

Jahra Wasasala is undoubtedly at her best, a talent and contemporary voice with an impressive stand out performance from start to finish.  Bula vinaaakaaaaaahaa haah mimicking a distorted recording was an endearing effective introduction to a stunning solo piece that showcased her physical ability and emotional maturity, seamlessly captivating all those watching.  Faith Schuster’s Poly dance fusion was equally engaging. Ten minutes into the performance, our first female of the evening, highlighted her graceful Samoan roots which she juxtaposed and combined with urban pop n lock – a smart palatable inclusion for the mixed audience and any first-time visitors to this space. (Which there were many) 

Ooshcon Masseurs unpacked his soul and reminded us of a new generations pre-disposed distortion surrounding that familiar utterance we all struggle with “I love You”. A young person’s rite of passage, the meaning of ‘love’ is acutely felt more so in brown millennials in traditional families with conservative Pacific patriarchs.  Positioned off centre up-stage he moved little off mark yet moved powerfully, his silhouette and shadow magnified the sense of isolation and its familiarity for onlookers.  Our collective empathy building with his frustration and emotion – those present willing telepathically his voice box to ON his tongue liberated to speak that word.

The jolly poly was a brilliant introduction to all of the unmistakable magnified laughter and jester like talents you become accustomed to when in the company of Polynesians. A few decibels louder than our non-Pacific kin, Tavai Fa’asavalu was intentional and unashamedly self-deprecating in word and movement.  A measured demonstrative dancer who deserves special mention for his choice to speak in his indigenous language 95% of the time – a bold call with a diverse crowd. However my seat allowed me a sweeping panorama of the 200 + crowd and quickly disposed of my apprehensions and concern of any disconnect.  A fun tone and delivery alongside a few well-placed transliteration like Hellochopter helped any loss in translation. Coupled with a well-timed lively use of the space, the solo provided the necessary lift and variation needed. It’s noteworthy that a healthy contrast always helps elevate the thematic intent of a choreographer and in this case provide substance.  A risk that fortunately landed and complimented the diversity of talent.  

Those on stage and the Pacific stories they represent share a collective dissatisfaction of the future their impatience with injustice. This evening magnified again the urgency to speak to our vulnerabilities and be heard.  I  suppose most times an aspiring Pacific Kiwi has that one life lesson to face daily.  That endless clash of two realities, two languages, two worldviews, two identities!  Faces of Nature shared this raw and complicated battle in one authentic hour of dance. An undeniable endorsement and clear hat tip to all those who made the Pacific Dance Festival possible. May it be guarded with wisdom and celebrated fearlessly into the future.

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Faces of Nature, a work from Ta’alili arts group led by Aloalii Tapu and Tori-Manley Tapu, brings a pulse of something vital to a youthful and diverse audience at the Mangere Arts Centre.

More ritual laboratory than performance, with consummate dance artists and students from Manurewa College, the work is bold, inventive and provocative.

Long, very long, rambling hero/antihero solos are interspersed with chorus action. The artists take the convoluted road home to explore their ideas, as if the bodies are chewing, cogitating, investigating – scientists  of the corporeal, psychonauts of the emotional, shamans of the body-based political, krumping Kiwi cyborgs.

The superb chorus are an organic crew of individuals who witness, place, move and react in an alive soup of intrigue. Less humans interacting, more insect like – a ruckus in the ant hill. Moments of despair, displacement, agony, gags, humour – flickers of joy, fleeting smiles and always camaraderie. One becomes all – all becomes one – duality drops away.

Yet who is leading who, soloist or chorus? Roles are reversed when a blindfolded and staggering Joshua Faleatua is protected and guided by the group. The quiet dignity of these guardians drills into the hearts of the audience, as Faleatua searches for a gravitational stability and release from uncertainty in a cypher circle of boneless despondency.

Faith Schuster emerges, quirky, precise, upright, an antidote, delighting in her capacity to ripple and express with startling jumps.

Jahra Wasasala prowls, the two women circle, clasp the other’s neck, whirl then explore the malleableness of negative space.

An hilarious and highly physical monologue – all in Samoan – by Tavai Fa’asavalu is a torrent of trickster energy. Cool moves, a story about too many rooms in a house, something about a giraffe, coffee, weights, a scooter and a prayer for a departed mother, a helicopter and flying over the land. The audience is enthralled, gets all the jokes and laughs uproariously, while his ponytail waggles and he rolls like a crazed ninja across the stage.

‘I love you’ mouthed by Ooshcon Masseurs’s signals the start of his solo. This declaration morphs into a decayed and self-manipulating convulsion which commands the space with power. His body turning in on itself to contaminate reflexes through compelling self-sabotage.  Eventually his ‘face of nature’ implores skyward, arms outstretched a signal for a group section to flourish from this invocation.

The vibrant crew pass compulsions to each other. They speak a curious and opaque body language that unites them in common purpose. Air becomes electric, as magic is conjured and refreshingly it is difficult to name the kind of movement being birthed. A foot stamps into the earth, unleashing a reverberation which travels through the body to pop in the chest, arms hang by the side until the impulse courses into defiant arm gestures. It is a new mode of communication.

Jahra Wasasala takes the centre whilst the chorus sit slumped with branches, leaves wilting, in a circle around her. She glitches as the seams of her self-definition start to unravel. Her rebellious highly articulate body explodes into an astounding distortion of flayed limbs and contorted postures. Her movement is riveting, her capacity to move in and out of the floor with ease, exceptional. 

Branches are threshed, leaves fall, doors open and Aloalii Tapu, director of the performance, crawls in, exhausted and defeated. A deployed parachute, still strapped to his back and dragging behind. A startling image. Saved by the chute but falling into what world? Why the necessity to jump from a great height in the first place? Many questions evoked by this extraordinary work. He is rescued, unclipped and carried by the chorus. The disparate threads start to weave together.

Tavai Fa’asavalu, in a rigid paper suit, is lubricated by the chorus, who pin prick balloons filled with water that cascades over him. He starts to move and the paper disintegrates like wet sushi seaweed leaving him free to move in a sinuous wide ranging siva of great beauty.

The genius of the work is the constant rupturing. When ideas become a recognisable trope, they are turned over, underpinned and dissolved in the most surprising way. The watcher is not allowed to settle but must constantly question what is in view.

Tapu allows events to ripen, he is in no hurry, creating his own version of space and time allowing the eye of the watcher to sharpen. He has curated his collaborators carefully for their choreographic input. Happenings are placed carefully as are pieces of set by Tori Manley-Tapu, three figures like sculpted rock sit totem-like on the stage throughout. Lighting design is by Jo Kilgour and compelling sound design by Eden Mulholland. 

This world is a shifting prism of interlocking components, where despair, unease, loneliness are constantly dispersed and massaged into gentle support by the chorus and combined effort of exceptional soloists. 

In the curtain call, the soloist and creator are in the back row behind the chorus – this says a lot about the intentions of the director, his collaborators and the creative leadership being offered.

[I bring a Palangi perspective to this performance. I am in a minority in this audience, the text is in Samoan, I pick up some meaning. All around me people laugh at jokes I don’t understand – the tables are turned in a work that delves into ‘the turmoils and triumphs of living in a Euro-centric country’. I feel unsettled – it’s good.  This is my reading of the work.]

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