Dance is one of the purest expressions of self, but when we’re 13 and don’t know what that is, it’s likely to feel more like the worst kind of public exposure. US playwright Clare Barron’s Dance Nation taps directly into the angst and humiliation of teenage life, as a group of girls (and one boy) prepare for a dance competition that promises to shower them with glory or shower them with shame. At that age, there’s nothing in between.
Barron’s play is set in Florida, but this matters so little that director Maude Davey has decided to drop the accents and let the actors – all adults – perform with their natural inflections and speech rhythms. Maybe the bloodthirsty desire of Dance Teacher Pat (Brett Cousins) to win at all costs might seem a little more American than local, and the stage mom antics of The Moms (Shayne Francis) is a bit OTT for us, but the majority of the play translates pretty well. After all, teenagers are pretty similar the world over.
This lot are certainly highly recognisable. Ashlee (Caroline Lee) is outwardly shy while hiding a fierce awareness of her sexuality and power; Maeve (Natalie Gamsu) is dippy and awkward, but full of kindness and compassion; Connie (Georgina Naidu) is desperate mainly to fit in, to be thought of as good enough by her peers; Luke (Casey Filips) is a total geek, thankful to be included at all. The actors have a ball with these character parts, and make up the bulk of the night’s entertainment.
The central plot concerns itself with star dancer Anima (Tariro Mavondo) and her best friend Zuzu (Zoe Boesen), and the tensions that arise when Zuzu is cast in the central role of Gandhi’s Spirit – the role of Gandhi himself goes to Connie, but it turns out to largely consist of sitting on the floor. Amina is naturally talented and worried about outshining her less talented but more determined bestie. Until the lights hit the stage, and all bets are off. Mavondo and Boesen develop a lovely chemistry, even if the playwright’s ideas for the pair peter out by the end.
It’s a simple premise simply delivered, but Barron isn’t content with this wistful coming of age story; she complicates the tone and the structure by introducing some half-realised subplots that reach for a gravitas that never feels wholly earned or necessary. One involves the suggestion of sexually inappropriate behaviour from Dance Teacher Pat; another deals with Zuzu’s mum and her own vicarious ambitions. Abrupt tonal shifts and darker veins of drama can work even in a lighthearted romp like this, but Barron never quite pulls them off.
Davey’s response is to lean on the silliness and try to get through the more leaden moments as quickly as possible. She has a particular gift for the outright daggy, and the kids’ final performance is a total riot of cheap choreography and busted moves. Adrienne Chisolm’s set and costumes are delightfully chintzy, with tacky gold lamé wallpaper and silver sequins everywhere, and Clare Springett’s lighting is versatile, and often ingenious – Gamsu enters twice with a massive headpiece spotted with stars like Starveling’s moon in Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
In fact, there’s a little of the Dream’s mechanicals in this cast. They have the same dogged determination mixed with the almost complete absence of talent, and every so often their play reaches the same heights of hilarity. If only Barron were content with this mode of sustained slapstick, Dance Nation might have been a purer joy. As it stands, it’s a little like these kids: loveable, but exposed and uncoordinated.
