The Big World in Small Spaces

London has very little to do to convince the world of its artiness. It’s often given that eye-roll inducing title of a ‘world city;’ whatever your heart wishes to see will probably, at some point, make its way through London. This is especially true for dance, the city does boast a multitude of excellent dance venues and festivals after all. But as the leaves turn and the dance season launches, my eye was pulled away from the warring opening nights of the Royal and English National Ballets, from the main stage offerings at Sadler’s Wells and its flashy East London counterpart. Instead, I was drawn to four works, both British and international, bringing world class dance to black box spaces.

Performance

Ceyda Tanc's “Kızlar” / Lilian Steiner’s “Siren Dance” / Dam Van Huynh’s “Exquisite Noise”

Place

The Place and the Barbican Centre, London, UK, October, 2025

Words

Eoin Fenton

Ceyda Tanc's “Kızlar.” Photograph courtesy of the artists

First, at the Place, is a work from Brightonian choreographer Ceyda Tanc. “Kızlar,” meaning ‘girls,’ plays with traditional gender roles found in Turkish folk dance. Tanc, who trained between London and Izmir, breaks the divide in “Kızlar” with an all female cast. They are a bonded sorority, embracing each other in the dusty lighting reminiscent of Anatolian dirt roads, a band of serpents on the hunt.

Tanc’s fascination with folk dance pulls from an older source material, but she gives it a fresh kick with references to other styles: voguing, salsa, waacking. Astra Hiroki’s brilliant score marries the mystic tones of Turkish woodwinds with the urban sounds of South England—artists like Massive Attack and Burial come to mind. An enticing blend of the commercial and modern with the folkloric, the ladies alternate between foot-stamping boisterousness and girl group precision, Katseye meets Kafkas. Unapologetic in its femininity, “Kızlar,” much like Türkiye, is full of beautiful contradictions. Eastern and Western, spiritual and secular. It’s hypnotic stuff.

Lilian Steiner’s “Siren Dance.” Photograph by Gregory Lorenzutti

Over at the Barbican Centre’s Pit Theatre is “Change Tempo,” presented by the international festival Dance Umbrella—perhaps the ‘world city’ title is deserved. The double bill opens with the Australian Lilian Steiner’s “Siren Dance,” a moody musing on desire. Steiner, dressed in a frilly tulle and lace number, glides over every inch of the floor en pointe, marking her territory with each step. Fluttering in a bourrée, she throws out anguished gestures with increasing frustration: cracking whips, blowing kisses, and pulling ropes. When it all bubbles over an amplified shriek reverberates through the space like a sonic boom. She sheds her dainty costume for something which looks a bit like sea slug drag, with some clumps of shower drain hair thrown in for extra measure. She shudders her slimy body around the floor, dragging a fishing net cloak and luring us with the jewels she’s plundered.

The solo’s allusions to seduction and downfall are compelling, if a little sparse. That is before a projected text more plainly spells out what this “Siren Dance” investigates. What draws us in is Steiner’s stage presence, with a stare that pierces right through you and spooky, uncanny movements that delightfully subvert the classical. Classical forms are played with further in the following piece “Random Taranto” by the Spaniard María del Mar Suárez. La Chachi, as she is known, has a blended background of flamenco and contemporary dance.

This two-hander begins like an Iberian “Waiting for Godot,” two friends sat on park chairs chewing on sunflower seeds and rolling cigarettes. They hum a tune together, remembering the lyrics bit by bit. Before we know it, singer Lola Dolores wails out lilting Andalusian melodies from deep within. The duo rise and begin to play a percussive game of cat and mouse with the Taranto form, posing each other new ways of messing with its strict 2/4 meter. It’s hilarious, silly stuff. La Chachi is especially funny when she fails to contain her excitement at their new innovations. She has a clownish physicality, she lets out little yelps and squeaks, she jerks around awkwardly between her virtuosic stamping. Dolores too finds absurdity in the passion, sustaining notes until they curdle into a creaky, groaning whimper. It’s an unashamedly feel-good piece that has you wishing to see it all over again.

Dam Van Huynh’s “Exquisite Noise.” Photograph by Red Manhattan Photography

Back at the Place things take a darker turn with Hackney based choreographer Dam Van Huynh’s “Exquisite Noise.” It’s an ode to defiance and dissent which makes its return to London after a tour across England. Upon entry we’re handed earplugs and are forewarned that the work will be filled with strobes and haze. Before the dancing starts the audience slowly files into the theatre as Van Huynh hosts a pre-show conversation. He has a calm demeanour and a gentle voice, the dancers dutifully warm up on stage and wave to friends in the crowd. Are a group of people who seem so pleasant really going to subject us to an all-out assault on the senses?

But Van Huynh’s interest in the noise and flash isn't a boorish middle finger to theatrical polity, the work is more like a lightning rod of communal rage. The dancers, dressed a bit like they’re heading to a CrossFit class, scream into each other’s gaping mouths. They push and pull their castmates, playing with domination and capitulation. Sometimes they are the oppressor, other times it seems as if they are instilling a willing force into their comrades. Ian Tang’s live electronic noise mixes with highly distorted spoken dialogue courtesy of the likes of Walt Whitman, Audre Lord, and bell hooks. The chaos and sheer force of “Exquisite Noise” does not inspire an ethical realisation among the audience, but if you simply read the news you too feel like getting up there and joining the fray. Van Huynh manages something quite rare here: turning very real, visceral anger into a thing of beauty. It’s a political, sweaty mess, and utterly human.

Dam Van Huynh, though well established in the dance scene in London, also holds connections from further afield. Originally from Vietnam, his family sought refuge in the United States. The Empire, thankfully, is long dead, yet there remains a distinctively international scope to London’s dance scene. Be it from those who have found a home here, or others who are just stopping by. Britain finds itself firmly planted in an era where the streets of the capitol bristle with anti-refugee marches and jingoistic graffiti. As an immigrant, the reality seems apparent: a London that turns its back on the world around it would barely be London at all.

Eoin Fenton

Eoin (they/he) is a dance maker and writer based in Cork (Rep. of Ireland), and London (UK). They have danced across Ireland and London in venues including The Place, Project Arts Centre Dublin and Galway Cathedral. Eoin graduated with a BA in Choreography from Middlesex University in 2024 and began writing as part of the Resolution Reviews programme. They are a regular contributor to A Young(ish) Perspective.

comments

Featured

REVIEWS | Elsa Giovanna Simonetti

Modern Figures

“Racines”—meaning roots—stands as the counterbalance to “Giselle,” the two ballets opening the Paris Opera Ballet’s season this year.

REVIEWS | Elsa Giovanna Simonetti

Giselle Status

“Giselle” is a ballet cut in two: day and night, the earth of peasants and vine workers set against the pale netherworld of the Wilis, spirits of young women betrayed in love. Between these two realms opens a tragic dramatic fracture—the spectacular and disheartening death of Giselle.

REVIEWS | Sophie Bress

At Giselle’s House

Michele Wiles’ Park City home is nestled in the back of a wooded neighborhood, hidden from the road by pines and deciduous trees that are currently in the midst of their autumn transformations.

INTERVIEWS | Eoin Fenton

Cathy Marston's Sense of Narrative

I joined choreographer and artistic director Cathy Marston over a video call at the end of another day of rehearsals.