Sydney Dance Company’s New Breed is an annual December showcase of Sydney’s newest dance makers, this year featuring four emerging choreographers.
First up was Piran Scott’s work Breath. Scott’s backstory and inspiration, is his journey from growing up in Far North Queensland, Australia, as a ballet boy who loved the beach. His dance career then took him to Europe, where he danced with Leipzig and Basel Ballet. In 2022, he was tanz magazine’s Dancer of the Year. Despite relishing his dance career and Europe, after a decade away, he yearned for home.
It's this nostalgia, and specifically the wonders of the Australian coastline, that fuels Scott’s choreography. Given this theme, he was less interested in narrative than creating a particular atmosphere, and immersing the audience in his vision: “I wanted to do a piece that translated a little bit more poetically through the body…. elements with a lot of fluidity, a liquid quality. I’m playing with that duality of the ocean, the beauty but also the violent nature of the waves.”
Naiara De Matos and Ryan Pearson, in particular, shine at embodying the liquid quality that Scott wanted. De Matos’ solo showcases her usual emotional integrity and artistry. The acoustic guitar of the soundtrack, John Butler’s Ocean, serves the theme. The piece would have benefited from slightly more contrast: between all the loose white linen costumes, languid movement, and coastal themes, I got the occasional flash that Nicole Kidman was about to pop up with some exposition on her latest tele series, involving a seaside village and her wealthy, philandering husband.
Scott has a clear vision for where he wants to take Australian dance, and I love that he’s returned home, bringing his passion and wealth of experience – definitely one to watch.
Say it Again, by Siobhan McKenna, and Amber McCartney’s Leech, both had a flavour of ‘interesting concept but execution needs work.’
The thesis of Say it Again is a key one in an overstimulated world: the act of listening. McKenna’s piece had no soundtrack. However, many of the dancers were wearing large, puffy features on their upper arms, which created rustling sounds when they moved. The choreography was heavy on windmill movements. The performers engaged in a rhythmic chant of “Ah, um, hmmm, shhh” and by the end broke into a full nursery rhyme-esque monologue, which I found quite soothing (I’m starting to realise the vocalising trend isn’t going anywhere, so I had better get on board). There were many ‘call and response’ actions between the dancers, emphasising the juxtaposition between movement and stillness. Pieces like this make me reflect on the connection between sign language and dance; movement as language over “performance.” I liked that McKenna made us stop, think, and was prepared to ‘hold space’ in an excessively busy world.
Likewise, Leech – inspired by science fiction and horror – had much to get excited about, including moments of real power, but despite building tension, lacked an overall momentum. After much of the work spent in a form of darkness (heavy lighting, the dancers costumed largely in black), Luke Heyward emerging, semi-nude in white underwear, both vulnerable and powerful, followed by Emily Seymour, was revelatory.
The standout of the night was Dean Elliott’s Full In/Half Out. It was hard to believe this was Elliot’s first-time choreographing: it was mind-blowingly good – explosive, funny, quirky, original. Elliot, whose introduction to movement was gymnastics, explores the intersection between artistry and athleticism, and the delicate interplay between elegance and power. “I’m inspired by the power and the beauty of women’s gymnastics, how it combines intense acrobatics with dance. I think there’s something quite touching about watching someone be in the zone and focus on a task.”
Elliot’s piece is playful and intelligent, with – as promised – lots of nods to gymnastics and physical culture, with the Sharon Eyal/Gaga tiptoe walks, elongated salutes, and sassy diagonal shoulders, à la Simone Biles dismounting the beam. The gymnastics theme also manifests in the fabulous, glittering red unitards (Aleisha Jelbert).
In terms of the movement vocabulary, Full In/Half Out is a dynamic ride, with exhilaratingly rapid and powerful floor rolls, contortion, dramatic catwalk marching, and even a bit of Raygun breakdancing. It’s not just giggles and sparkles though, there’s depth and layers to Elliot’s vision. Later in the piece, the dancers start parading around the stage in a fabulous pack, looking at the audience and muttering at us, like they’re in on some kind of secret. Normally, I would find this a little off-putting, but Elliot’s determined playfulness transforms something that would otherwise be intimidating into endearing; he manages to make the audience feel inside the joke, even when it’s ostensibly on us. Full In/Half Out demonstrates the best of New Breed, by giving emerging choreographers the finest contemporary dancers to showcase their work: Emily Seymour and Chloe Young are a powerhouse combination in this piece.
There’s something for everyone in this year’s New Breed, and the future of Australian contemporary dance is in exciting hands.