Annie Luján in Dance Nation | Photo by Elana Emer Photography
My feelings about the flashy and provocative spectacle that is Dance Nation are not so much mixed as split down the middle. My appreciation for, and investment in, this fully-charged experience—presented by Coal Mine Theatre, Outside the March and Rock Bottom Movement—is almost perfectly fractured along the act break.
It isn’t just the jarring disruption of spending the intermission moving from one floor of the theatre to another (a decently stimulating bit of sensory immersion), everything about the second act felt like a different play to me—the same characters, I guess, and a sense of narrative continuity, but with an energy and aesthetic shift that I found more baffling than intriguing… and more than a bit disappointing.
From what I could parse from director Diana Bentley’s kinetic staging (supported by Alyssa Martin’s movement direction), Clare Barron’s play, which fixates on a group of adolescent competitive dancers, is a sort of manic meditation on ambition and self-discovery—a hyper-stylized fantasia that indulges our appetite for gaudy pageantry, punctuated by the emotive implosions of hormonal pre-teen girls smashing violently into the vicarious self-interest and zealous expectations of desperate and domineering adults. It’s a lot, thrillingly intensified by some fanciful theatrics.
A traverse stage punctuated by mirrors and streamers, Nick Blais’ set for the first half is a clear representation of a dance studio that seems to expand surrealistically under garish lighting (also Blais’ design), especially whenever we find ourselves in the characters’ distinctive head-spaces. With Miquelon Rodriguez’s trippy soundscape, featuring some pulsing contemporary music, and Kathleen Black’s array of snazzy dance-wear, the gestalt is hypnotic.
The primary conceit here is these seven girls (and one boy) are all portrayed by leotard-clad adults. Far from lampooning adolescence, the cast embody, with sincere commitment, that telltale gawkiness and eager flailing. There is also a practical consideration at play here: the partial nudity and a couple of highly suggestive sequences simply wouldn’t fly with thirteen-year-old performers.
My favourite here is Annie Luján’s Zuzu, a naively aspirational and self-sabotaging young woman, who ends up landing a featured role in the troupe’s hokey dance piece about Gandhi. Luján excels at the wild-eyed, awkward quirks that define Zuzu, an eager yet ultimately heartbreaking portrait.
Amy Keating’s Ashlee is another highlight for me. Her outlandish rant about how smart, gorgeous and capable she is goes from slightly uncomfortable self-objectification to an absolutely stunning fever dream ode to her own supremacy.
Beck Lloyd is compellingly poised, charismatic and earnest as Amina, the most talented amongst them, and the teacher’s recently estranged pet.
Salvator Antonio’s portrayal of flamboyant bully, Dance Teacher Pat, is outrageously tyrannical, but he let’s us glimpse, under all the abusive bluster, a tortured wanna-be star whose deeply pathological behaviour seems rooted in some trauma we’re never privy to yet can absolutely sense.
Oh, yes, Luke… Oliver Dennis’ take on an unassuming boy being quietly assimilated into this world of adolescent femininity is one of the most understated. There are a number of cute and funny interactions, but his internal moment, a rainy and tranquil car ride with his mom, is subtly evocative and achingly lyrical.
I found the unhinged energy of the final moments of the first act, just as the big Tampa competition is about to start, truly exhilarating. And it primed me to anticipate some crazy shit going down in act two. And here’s where the show all but lost me. Blais’ set for this second act is an in-the-round, abstract and claustrophobia-inducing contrast. The realistic trappings of a dance studio are swapped out for some bewildering Garden of Eden (?) symbolism—lush clusters of foliage, fur and bulbous light fixtures.
Where the first half felt fluid and communal, these later vignettes, in a whole new design aesthetic, seemed disconnected and the energy faltered. Characters are having important conversations, but they felt distant, obscured by such density of design, and fell flat for me.
Afterward, some insight from a friend (who is familiar with the play) shed some light on my sense of disorientation and disappointment by alerting me to the fact that, as written, Barron’s play is a fierce, relentless one-act. The Tampa competition simply isn’t the climactic showdown this production’s clumsy bifurcation has built it up to be—a gimmick that undermines the play’s strengths for some immersive theatre-making. Don’t get me wrong, I love to be fucked with, but not at the expense of narrative momentum and coherence.
Through that whole first half though, I was spellbound.
Dance Nation
April 12 to May 10, 2026
Coal Mine Theatre
(2076 Danforth Ave)
2 hours, 5 minutes (including intermission)
The company of Dance Nation | Photo by Elana Emer Photography