The stage was bare except for a small pile of dead brown leaves set downstage right. Sutherland entered costumed in a flowing short dress coloured with browns, yellows and reds. A large screen on the back wall brightened with clips of trees and grass, as birdsong and wind began to play. Quickly, the video switched to burnt tree stubs as hands gripped at the black bark. Sutherland pulled all the leaves across the front of the stage in a perfect line and crumpled on top of them. Twitching at first, she was methodical and deliberate as she began to move. A soundscape of fire grew in intensity, starting with soft cracks building into a raging blaze. As she followed the trail of leaves, a single light illuminated a sharp line across the stage as she contorted herself into the embodiment of fire. Ravenous, she pawed at everything, consumed the leaves as she crumpled them into dust. She was exquisitely controlled in her movements, delighting in the destruction. 

Samantha Sutherland in ʔa·kinq̓ uku, photograph by Alick Tsui

The roaring fire quieted, and Sutherland collapsed before regaining movement, reshaping her body while shedding the fire dress. She exposed a blue-green bodysuit with branches; however, I feel her performance was strong enough to represent this transformation without literal depiction. 

She reached long and wide, embracing the idea of new life through the ashes of her previous deconstruction. She bathed herself in the dead leaves, drinking them in with gentleness and an air of new birth and resurrection. 

Following Sutherland was the large local group The Big Steppers with their piece Thulli: The Journey of a Drop. They boast a vibrant and energetic stage presence performing Kuthu, a South Indian street dance that is recognized for its lightning speed and expressive nature. 

The piece opened with a soft voice over about the nature of water as always beginning again, never disappearing, and only changing. The screen on the back wall displayed videos of coastal Newfoundland, lakes, ponds, and streams. The dancers filed onto the stage and the sound of a storm washed over them with flashing lights, as upbeat South Indian music blasted through the speakers. The group moved together with precision and cohesive timing while pummelling the stage as they represented the power of a storm with their bodies. 

One dancer in particular, Gayathri Prem, stole the spotlight with her razor-sharp expertise in the traditional Kuthu dance. She stepped with such fastidiousness and break-neck speed, mastering the dance and commanding the stage. As a community dance troupe, The Big Steppers may not always be perfectly polished, however they perform with such passion and authenticity that their joy is infectious.

The Big Steppers performing Thulli: The Journey of a Drop, photo by Alick Tsui

 The third and final performance of the evening was Weathering Chapter 4 by Robyn Breen. Sounds of heavy wind and rain could be heard as four dancers moved in unison, fluidly gliding together with dissatisfaction on their faces. Suddenly, the lights changed to a warm glow of orange and “Here Comes the Sun” by The Beatles played. Blending improvisation and choreography, the dancers moved in sync crawling over and under one another, all with strong composed faces. The juxtaposition of their seriousness with the upbeat music and loose movements made their delivery ridiculously silly as if they were making a commentary on how dance is supposed to be severe but is inherently jubilant. 

The cleverness of this performance resides within its comedic devices such as incorporating clearing the stage into the show; purposefully using the lyrics of the music to drive the comedy (e.g. the word “drizzle” repeats and dancers were sprayed with a single spritz of water); putting a bright red wig on a dancer who had no hair to blow in the wind created by the stage hands with fans; and constantly pulling out surprises, like copious numbers of props hidden under the dancers’ costumes. 

Robyn Breen’s Weathering Chapter 4, photo by Alick Tsui

Ending in a puddle on the floor and literally getting swept off stage by a broom, Weathering Chapter 4 closed the evening with belly laughs and the satisfaction of a wonderfully performed piece. 

I also had the pleasure of attending the festival’s closing performances starting with PLAY by Jacinte Armstong. This piece was staged in a small gymnasium with four performers in neon costumes, lime green, hot pink, electric blue, bright yellow, and large foam blocks of various shapes scattered around the area, also vibrant in colour. They introduced themselves to the audience and invited us to participate, letting us know that there is no wrong way to join in. The performers lead by example for every activity. Crafting an atmosphere of lighthearted fun, it was easy to get swept up in the childlike wonder and curiosity around how we move, how the objects in the room can inform our movement, and how we can be present together in this moment creating alongside one another.  At one point in the show, nearly all the audience members were on stage playing and discovering together, using the props freely and interacting naturally.

Peppered in at the end, Armstrong displayed her talent as a choreographer with a beautiful, haunting piece in which the performers lifted a large black inflatable couch above their heads with all the colourful props piled on top. They struggled as the pieces kept falling to the ground and they desperately tried to pick them back up. Eventually, they succumbed to the absurdity of trying to balance it all and flopped on top of the inflatable, popping the plug, deflating with it. In a world full of uncertainty and solemnity, PLAY curated a space that existed purely to foster collective creation and community and reminded us how vital playing is to our nature.

Later in the evening was the dynamic CHAMPIONESS by SaMel Tanz. Rooted in Western contemporary, street, and Latin dance, CHAMPIONESS blended these dance forms with the sharp precise footwork and drills of modern boxing, telling a compelling story of the struggles and successes women experience in sport and in life. 

The show began with two dancers facing each other, dressed in sportswear, sturdy in their stances, mirroring one another. Several pairs of boxing gloves hung stage right as the dancers began to move back and forth in drill style movements. They were graceful and commanding, wrapping their bodies around one another, spinning, fists to the sky, observing their hands as tools for their sport. They bound their hands with boxing tape which became a significant symbol throughout the show.  

Four more dancers joined them as the lights and sound transformed the stage into a raucous arena of cheering, commentary, and the classic sound of the boxing ring bell. They all moved together in a rigorous training session, sharp and confident. Precise with their footwork, bouncing back and forth and challenging each other in the ring, there was an air of camaraderie and encouragement, as one dancer fell, the rest gathered around her with assertions to keep going. 

Sharp inhales and exhales, sucking air through gritted teeth, and the harsh smack of gloves became the soundscape as the lights above depicted a complex array of patterns on the floor. The dancers grew weary and the exhaustion was palpable, but they kept going through the pain with resilience and determination. The unforgiving journey of winning to losing knocked them back as they collapsed, sprawled out on the stage. It was arresting to see their chests heaving as they continued to try and reach their gloved hands up into formation. 

In the penultimate scene, three large squares of light were projected on the back wall as the dancers struggled together desperately to remove their gloves and bindings. They were frantic like caged animals until the relief of freeing their hands, each one helping the other. The final dancer was the most profound as she resisted with ferocity verging on violence. The dancers all rallied around her but, crucially, she removed the gloves herself, a powerful ode to inner strength.

Having freed themselves the dancers rediscovered a certain lightness and joy as they moved effortlessly with freedom and vitality. As the music faded, they fell back into formation and bounced together, refuelled and ready for the next fight.

Melissa Williams is a writer, theatre, and dance artist from St. John’s, Newfoundland. She is a graduate of Memorial University’s Grenfell Campus Theatre Performance program and has spent nearly a decade studying and working in Toronto. Her most recent play FEVER focuses on the exploration of womanhood, trauma, neurodivergence and death.