The State of Dance: 2024-2025

DON'T FREEZE

In a multi-year collaboration between the Nederlandse Dansdagen and Theaterkrant, a new edition of The State of Dance looks back on the past season each year. What stands out, what hurts, what gives courage? At our request, critic Annette Embrechts kicks off this collaboration with her State of Dance: 2024-2025. She misses mentors, notices that many creators are listening to the voices of their ancestors, sees how companies are excitingly revitalizing classics, but gets lost in the enormous number of formats for young talent.

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Mentors wanted

She lay as peaceful as she was motionless in an open coffin on the stage of the main auditorium of the Internationaal Theater Amsterdam. Understandably so, she was dead. Her hands, which she had so often clenched into fists in her choreographies, lay folded on her silent chest. In early June, a packed theater bid a moving farewell to Dutch-Hungarian choreographer Krisztina de Châtel (1943-2025). She had made (enough) history with her impressive oeuvre of dance performances full of seemingly endless repetitions of mathematical movement sequences, each time with that intoxicating motor skills battling artistic obstacles.

She was passionate and stubborn, tenacious and demanding, but also involved, curious, and committed. A tiger who fought for her dancers, a mentor who came to the aid of young choreographers. Always curious about new talent: dancers, artists, musicians, choreographers. That is why she was so often in the audience or in that hall where she now lay in state. That is also why it was so special that, at her farewell, that hall was filled with many generations, from recent graduates to those approaching ninety, from young creators to established artists, from reviewers to directors. Former dancer and choreographer Ann Van den Broek praised De Châtel as a great source of inspiration and recalled the loving struggle with her primal mother: a mentor without whom she would never have dared to create her own work.

Another such person, who embodied mentorship during his lifetime and who passed away far too early at the end of last year, was Jan Zoet (1958-2024), Knight of the Order of Arts and Letters. Newspaper pages filled with obituaries testified to the fact that this theater man had worked tirelessly for the overarching interests of the cultural sector. On social media, it was striking how many people in the performing arts explicitly referred to him as a mentor. This was mainly because he always made time, wherever he was, for sincere and engaged conversations, for help, tips, advice, commentary, introductions to networks, opening doors, and pointing out opportunities.

It is this informal mentorship that is gaining enormous influence and importance in dance and that the hip-hop community, for example, knows well in people such as Lloyd Marengo, Andrey ‘Drosha’ Grekhov, Marco Gerris, Alida Dors, and Shailesh Bahoran (to name a few without detracting from others).

Big gaps

Last season, the harsh consequences of the four-year subsidy round for the dance sector became apparent. Almost everyone performed that demanding, exhausting, and this time more than ever ‘paper’ pirouette in order to get through the complex revolving door system of multi-year arts plan subsidies. In that round dance, a painful number of mid-career makers have fallen by the wayside, and an organic and diverse flow through the dance sector is proving increasingly difficult, as has often been noted. There are major gaps in what is referred to in policy language as the ‘chain’ and what should ideally be a well-functioning ecosystem: from training to creator, from young talent to (inter)national top, from home to company, from education to participation, from youth to amateur, from production to festival, and from stage to audience. A call to action from the united dance sector identifies the problems, rings alarm bells, and tries to sound the alarm, but unfortunately, there has been no constructive response from politicians, funds, and financiers. Ironically, these are apparently not the bodies from which much can be expected in the short term, given the harsh climate. In the long term, pressure must continue to be exerted to enforce a better and more stable infrastructure for culture and a vital dance scene. But for now, we are forced to look primarily at what the dance field itself can do, for example by supporting each other more outside the beaten track and strengthening ties between us. A practical and effective means, however small, could be the informal mentoring mentioned above.

Clogged revolving door

The diverse and vibrant dance scene, which by definition exists by virtue of its dynamism and movement, is increasingly taking on the shape of a clogged funnel. Creators who have invested years in establishing a stable foundation for experimentation and development have been put on hold or left behind. The number of choreographers who can serve theaters with large auditoriums can be counted on one hand. The number of young creators continues to increase visibly, thanks in part to the Regeling voor Nieuwe Makers (Regulation for New Creators), while the path to real progress is narrowing and narrowing. Where should all these creators—many of whom are no longer beginners—whose work was featured in a “double” or “triple bill” last season go in the near future on their own strength or name?

It is almost impossible, even for a curious critic, to keep track of the large number of formats in which emerging dance makers can profile themselves. The overview is lost. It goes without saying that it is important to develop unique talent as well and as solidly as possible, to showcase the bold performers of today, and to give young choreographers a chance to discover their own signature style. Of course, reviewers want to follow this closely. But how? Who do you choose to give press attention to? What is someone's long-term perspective? Won't that cycling fan of diversity crash again in three years' time on that stiff revolving door with its squeaky hinges? And who will be allowed or required to play gatekeeper again?

A selection of last season's almost dizzying formats, which were rarely mentioned in newspapers: Fringe Festivals, New Moves by the Dutch National Ballet and the Junior Company, Here we Live and Now by Korzo and Nederlands Dans Theater (NDT), Danslokaal by Conny Janssen Danst in collaboration with Dansateliers and Korzo, the traveling festival Moving Futures, the Poetic Disasters Club by NITE and Club Guy & Roni, Vier x Vier by Theater aan de Rijn, Right About Now Inc, Festival Cement, Afrovibes, Next by ICK Amsterdam, Julidans Next, Breakdance Convention, DansClick, CaDance Festival, Jonge Harten, SALLY’S Danslab on Tour, Generation2, India Dance Festival, Co-Lab, Talent On The Move, Young Creatives, associate artists, finalists and production prize winners of Rotterdam International Duet Choreography Competition, and then there are the newcomers via festivals such as Spring, Nederlandse Dansdagen, Summer Dance Forever, O., Theaterfestival Boulevard, What You See, Holland Dance Festival, Noorderzon, schrit_tmacher, Cultura Nova, Urban Dansdagen, IBE, Haarlemse Dansdagen, Made in Rotterdam by Scapino Ballet Rotterdam, and so on. The list is even longer when crossovers with other art disciplines are included, such as those presented at circus and (music) theater festivals, with lots of live music on top of that. To begin with, don't we also need more reviewers to be able to critically assess all of this?

Individually, these formats all contribute to creating space for a robust diversity of talent, from self-taught to trained. But if we don't dare to choose, how can this potential ever find its way into a healthy practice of sufficient (festival) performances, audiences, press, and stages? Artistic directors of companies certainly take their responsibility seriously, take people like Conny Janssen, Ed Wubbe, Ted Brandsen, Roel Voorintholt, Emily Molnar, Marco Gerris, Alida Dors, Guy Weizman & Roni Haver, to name but a few without doing others an injustice. But could they, for example when they retire, perhaps take on that informal mentorship role? How else can we ensure that the much-needed movement does not freeze? Do we still remember how Alida Dors took on both the State of Dance and the State of Theater in 2022, embodying her message with her performance by being in constant motion? “We must move, with complete dedication,” she emphasized: “We move!”

Sharing space

The same task also applies to theater and dance journalism. Certainly in dance, the influx of new writers is not keeping pace with the increase in new perspectives. Here too, the responsibility for critical reflection rests on too few shoulders, and too few voices determine the discourse in the press. Here too, informal mentorship is important, as is the willingness to share scarce space, even if it is small and it is difficult to earn a living from it. However, the same applies here: sharing increases. Take a voice like Mina in de Volkskrant, for example. She writes from a different perspective and brings not only rejuvenation but also enrichment, plus a promise of continuity in the future. A healthy curiosity about each other's findings and professional practice, combined with informal mentoring, can also make a difference here. And yes, this is also a call to other experienced journalists to share important positions where possible. And yes, this is also a call to the hip-hop community to train writers and reviewers themselves. Who will take up the gauntlet to provide their own community with criticism, reflection, and archiving as a committed critic? How can we, following in the footsteps of, for example, good old Janny Donker, put enough shoulders behind this shared responsibility?

Ancestors found

Where support for the future is sought, it has been found remarkably often in the past during the past season. Countless performances testified to the importance of looking ahead by standing on the shoulders of giants and circling back in time, whether by revitalizing classics or amplifying the unheard voices of (fore)parents. In (Sur)render at Theater Rotterdam, Alida Dors delved into the roots of her foremother, after bringing a painful colonial history to light a year earlier with the dance concert Closed Eyes. In Jah!, nominated for a Zwaan for the most impressive dance performance, socially conscious choreographer Dalton Jansen examined his complex relationship with his father in a performance about the mores of Rastafarian culture, an attitude to life based on unity, love, and resistance to the imposed system. Junadry Leocaria created Mi Pret’i Wowo, a duet with her father—a former professional dancer—as a polyphonic quest for forgiveness, connection, compassion, healing, and love. Roshanak Morrowatian and Mami Izumi, as contrasting dance personalities in the glowing Alphabets of flesh, explored what displacement means, how a sense of home is nurtured, and what a body ‘in diaspora’ carries with it.

This artistic and often personally driven interest in (ancestral) traditions often draws on non-verbal, collective, pre-modern knowledge, usually in the form of performances, rituals, invocations, or ceremonies. What disciplines lend themselves better to this than dance and music, one might say? At the same time, challenging questions arise: whose ancestors are being invoked and for what purpose?

Critics find it challenging to put these performances into words. Sometimes they are overwhelming, sometimes anti-aesthetic, sometimes painful, sometimes spiritual. This ancestral avant-garde (a term coined by British art historian and critic Claire Bishop) often stems from the systematic oppression of non-white, black, or indigenous bodies. The limited perspective of Western rationalism clouds the reporting on this. This makes communication difficult. Let us develop a critical vocabulary together for a careful approach to these performances, which break ingrained viewing habits and often require an openness to the spiritual and sometimes also to participation.

Living history

In a different way, last season saw a remarkable search for the past, in the light of the present, with an eye to the future. A striking number of dance classics were revived, not only choreographies from the important oeuvre of great masters such as Hans van Manen and Jiří Kylián (incidentally, it was not NDT but a Norwegian company that signed up for a major retrospective of the latter's work). The wind machines – a recurring prop last season! – from Krisztina de Châtel's Typhoon (1986) unleashed a new storm of energy in the militant human being some forty years later, in an acclaimed performance by Introdans. Forty years after the world premiere of Dubbelspoor (1986), dancers Beppie Blankert (1949) and Caroline Dokter (1957) showed how a strong performance concept can take on new meaning time and again. In 1986, this female duet on a deserted station bench seemed to be about the hesitation to embrace life. A male version later became an ode to the courage to pause for emotional reflection. Still later, a male-female interpretation breathed the fragility of a vulnerable love relationship. And in 2025, Blankert and Dokter, now considerably older, turned it into a light-hearted reflection on the loss of vitality. That's how you keep a dance history alive.

The eerily good expansion from seven to 28 dark dancing souls of Sharon Eyal's choreography Into the Hairy (2023), an XL version performed by S-E-D and Nederlands Dans Theater (NDT), also turned out beautifully last season. The group, which seemed to be staring an ominous monster in the mouth, achieved a first: for the first time, 28 dancers were nominated together for a single Swan for the most impressive dance performance. This shows how a strong dance concept does not need to have an expiration date, provided that it is not just dusted off as a museum piece but preferably also revitalized in a contemporary context (see the importance of performing the archive: transforming the cultural archive into a contemporary, vibrant performing art).

Current events and inclusion

Themes surrounding postcolonialism and gender and identity politics found their way onto the dance stage in many forms last season. The global climate crisis also clearly did not escape the attention of choreographers. Choreographer Crystal Pite and director Simon McBurney completed their award-winning trilogy Figures in Extinction, a co-production of Nederlands Dans Theater and the British theater collective Complicité, in which they expressed their concerns about the climate catastrophe in an exciting narrative form combining text, music, movement, and lip-syncing. Nicole Beutler wrote an optimistic final chapter to her trilogy Rituals of Transformation with the dance opera Now we are Earth/ An Orchestra. Keren Levi set herself in motion against the backdrop of disturbing climate change in a dryly comical Hot Walk. And then there was the overwhelming Nachtwacht (Night Watch) by NITE, HIIIT, Asko|Schönberg, and NKK NXT: compelling total theater about something as dry as bureaucracy in healthcare. In the hands of Guy Weizman and Roni Haver, falling into a black hole and dying in a nursing home almost becomes a party, or at least a rave party. Finally, under the motto ‘the floor is yours’, Connor Schumacher gave a hip twist to the therapeutic power of social dancing with his ecstatic Raging Against Various Elements, nominated for a Zwaan for the most impressive dance production. And two Dutch figureheads of thinking about inclusivity in dance experienced an international breakthrough: Introdans—in the person of choreographer Adriaan Luteijn—appeared at the World Expo in Osaka with an inclusive group of dancers with and without physical disabilities and their parents. And Jordy Dik made A Bird Named Mansour, a movingly beautiful film about the exchange between the colorful collection of dancers from his inclusive Compagnie Tiuri and the British Shechter II, the youth branch of the renowned Hofesh Shechter Company in London.

Lack of protest

But... to be fair: despite the approach to the above themes, another question buzzing around current events in dance is: why does protest in dance against political catastrophes and the erosion of democracy and the rule of law lag behind in comparison to a verbal discipline such as theater? The number of performances in which choreographers respond to current geopolitical events, such as the unmissable genocide in Gaza or the violation of citizens' fundamental rights, can be counted on one hand, maybe two (not counting personal participation in red line demonstrations and actions such as Witnesses of Gaza and #wijwerkenhiernietaanmee). This is in stark contrast to productions by theater makers, in which a more emphatic stance is taken and debate is sought. For example, during the applause, a number of theater groups projected the Palestinian flag with the quote that “since 1948, all countries are obliged under international law to help prevent or stop alleged genocide, including Belgium and the Netherlands,” often to loud applause. Did a dance company also project such a message afterwards? Had I missed it, or had there been hardly any Palestinian flags displayed, in contrast to the many times the Ukrainian tricolor had been waved on the dance stage in support of Ukraine and in opposition to the Russian attack on Ukrainian ballet culture? Ukrainian (ballet) dancers have been rightly supported in the Netherlands in a possible preservation of their careers. What about performers from Palestine?

It reminded me of the commotion during the Holland Dance Festival (HDF), after the premiere on February 8, 2024, of part two of the climate trilogy Figures in Extinction by Nederlands Dans Theater (NDT). During the applause, renowned theater director Simon McBurney and his assistant Tim Bell both unveiled keffiyehs, thereby unsolicitedly including sweaty dancers in this protest image. Afterwards, there was considerable grumbling about the action, including from NDT and HDF, who received angry reactions from sponsors, politicians in attendance, and embassy staff. Should McBurney, who visibly enjoyed the commotion, have announced his action in advance and had it approved? Should he have kept the dancers out of the picture? Would NDT have approved? Even ‘my’ newspaper considered the incident too minor to warrant attention. And so one of the first public voices of protest in dance against the genocidal violence in Gaza, which deserved to be emulated, faded away.

Why does dance remain relatively silent? Why does dance, as a potential platform for protest, remain relatively untapped? I myself am unable to answer these questions. What stance do I take as a journalist? How do I express my dismay at the genocide, the attack on fundamental rights, and the erosion of democracy? Do I join in with noisy demonstrations? Do I dare to engage in a profound conversation with Israeli friends who lost their sister-in-law as one of the 136 women murdered by the military wing of Hamas at the Nova Festival on October 7, 2023? How can we express our heavy hearts more collectively?

For years, there has been a card in my cupboard—an advertisement for a trial subscription (in guilders!) to a competing daily newspaper—with a catchy quote on the front from the then popular and politically disobedient comedian Wim Kan (1911-1983): “Dancing is praying with your legs; marching is cursing with your feet.” Perhaps we should add: moving is not freezing with your brain.

Image by: Herman van Bostelen