There is more than one potential winner in this show of showrt works competing for awards.  

Three dancers, heads masked, all in a row, each bent at the waist over the back of the one in front, waddle onto the stage in Speaking Tubes (choreographed by Elle Farrar).  They are accompanied by muffled words – as if spoken through speaking tubes?  They include “National”, “Labour”, and then “mine” from each of two as they tussle over the third guy.  The group has a pretend fight, then “hello” as they fall across the floor still in a group.  A fun entertaining piece with interesting well developed movement.

Jess Quaid starts Combdrums in a duet with a chair, accompanied by ticks from a clock.  Despite wearing a playsuit, her movement shows struggle, particularly after dramatic music takes over, when perhaps her well trained body displays “the oddities” of the programme notes.  Quaid articulates an extensive range of strong movement.

An Ocean Within draws soft swaying movement from three liquid dancers, Autumn Marie Dones, Cathy Livermore and another, who enter in a bluish light to the sound of heavy rain.  They alternate unison with solos as they exchange places in the spotlights and then depart in a fading light to the sound of crashing waves.  A lyrical piece.

Jeremy Haxton’s piece, A Measure of success for a measure of freedom, starts with him lying face down side to the audience with a small model of a house on his back.  It turns out that the house is chained to him, which is what his movements grapple with.  He has a patch over his mouth so his words are unclear as he speaks of wanting to feel free, and wishing he could pray.  Not much freedom there?

Body Talks, a duet from Helene Burgstaller and Eve Veglio-White, is about a person’s physical attributes and over preoccupation with these, and opens with a dancer, her bare back to the audience, using her shoulder blades to make amazing shapes and shadows.  Clad and reunited with her mate in flashy high heels, they gradually drop the sexy stuff, and adorn themselves with black furry beards which eventually they pass on to members of the audience.

The one and only Jennifer de Leon in My Son lies face to the floor, head to the audience, where she extends sinewy arms, then legs, with absolute control.  Her back bend, with one straight leg raised, makes a lovely line from toe to hands on the floor.  She personifies effort and heartache, reaching out with strong extensions, but continues to survive loss, ending with a balance on just her forearms, looking at the audience. 

Rongo (who is the Maori God of Agriculture) is described as a short Haka Theatre (Dance) work.  It is performed with one of the group tapping rhythms and shouting calls to the other three.  A strong guy has the active role, supported by two women moving in more traditional ways, but for me, it’s all overdone, and when western music is used, it doesn’t fit.  However when they retreat into the dark to sounds of thunder and rain, the audience squeals with delight – the strongest response of the night.

Again a piece, numero numero, opens with dancers lying face down on the floor.  Rose Philpott and Sophia McIntyre lie side by side, stretching out their arms with sparkles on the fingers, lit from a light in the wings.  The music has a strong beat (and is credited for once).  They move well, happy in a relaxed way, but not so as to shock or surprise.  Perhaps the piece is about enjoying glitter. 

Maya is a story about an Indian girl who finds a book that inspires her just for a moment to see herself as a successful student graduating with a diploma – but just for a moment.  Three dancers tell the story, carrying beer crates to indicate their lowly work, their movements based in classical Indian dance.  Their message is quite clear and tells a poignant tale.

A tall cheval mirror faces the audience mid stage and Virginia Kennard enters (in heels and a short cream draped costume) to look in the mirror – back to the audience.  And there she stays, on her knees, moving up and down, with slow small movements to end face down on the floor.  Is she pleading, has she given up?  For me, Notes on Looking, despite its Butoh inspired attribution, does not ring true.

Philippa Pidgeon choreographed Come Walk With Me for four dancers using a mix of ballet and contemporary dance.  The girls look as if they are playing and having fun and the dance relates to the song with the same title. As an exercise in movement patterns and grouping, it works well, but it is another one that doesn’t really move the audience.

Aruna Po-Ching dances Bended – referring to the reality of a 1970’s P.I woman with bipolar disease, and in my view succeeds wonderfully.  She uses Pacific cultural dance (Hawaiian) to show us the ups and downs of a sufferer, struggling with fright, extrovert interludes, anger and hopelessness.  However she can also enjoy flirting.  The theme is so well depicted using her own dance vocabulary that I voted this piece to go through to the final night.

Four dancers in an excerpt from Mother/Jaw (choreographers Jahra Rager and Grace Woollett) use music and voice in a piece with dark overtones. “We say sorry” is heard more than once, and loss of control, with the need to protect one’s self, are part of the theme.  The dancing is amongst the strongest  in the evening, with striking choreography and the piece draws a strong response from the audience.

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