Author: Emese Kovács.

Between May 13 and 18, 2025, I traveled to Zagreb to write about the Dance Week Festival as part of the Beyond Front@ project. I arrived in Zagreb as a stranger — both to the city and most of the artists — but my professional trip turned out to be very social, and thanks to the open and kind people I met, I found myself falling for the Croatian capital almost instantly. The festival program was eclectic, and some of the choices raised some questions for me, but fortunately, the welcoming atmosphere made it easy to engage in thoughtful post-show discussions. 

 Zagreb Dance Week Festival, Croatia – 14 May 2025. Photo by Nina Đurđević

After a long journey from home, I arrived in the city in a hurry — just enough time to drop off my suitcase before jumping on a bus to the Travno Culture Center in the suburbs, where the first performance was already starting early in the afternoon. Despite being sweaty and tired as I was, it was worth the rush. Screenagers by Barbara Matijević examined the impact of the digital world on people through a unique, musical, new media, interactive lecture performance. At one point in her performance, Matijević connected us to a Wi-Fi network she had created, and those who were able to connect—unfortunately, I was not among them—were able to influence the performance to a certain extent. After the initial virtual game played together on the projector (which was intended to demonstrate that victory can only be achieved through cooperation), the audience was given more and more opportunities to participate: they could upload their own photos, which were turned into funny memes on the screen, and then finish sentences, which were turned into song lyrics that Matijević sang at the same time. Singing even prevailed, the performer seemed a musician who accompanied the stage action with her small synthesiser and singing voice, melodising songs related to the theme. I was impressed by the song caricaturing the online press, which the performer put together from the contradictory headlines of articles offering lifestyle advice. But the lyrics were consistently witty, and the performer’s energy—although she moved little in the traditional sense of the word—dominated the space: just when our attention was about to wander, she threw in a new game or a new theme. While Matijević’s Screenagers might take a more conceptual and multidisciplinary approach and not be a piece primarily centered on movement − which some members of the audience resented −, it was definitely one of the smartest, most creative, and most versatile performances of the entire dance festival. 

What’s more, our arrival day on Tuesday was the busiest, with the Romanian performance coming next, this time at the Zagreb Dance Center in the city center. Simona Deaconescu’s and Vanessa Goodman’s BLOT – Body Line of Thought was also a lecture performance, but approached the genre in a completely different way. There was no playful atmosphere or interactivity here, instead a sterile, beautifully designed white space, a few sand pyramids and a hanging tube reminiscent of a piece of equipment, as well as two naked dancers with microphones who spoke in a robotic voice about the functioning and composition of the human body and bacteria, while occasionally breaking into beautiful, controlled and isolated dance sequences, during which every little movement and muscle contraction was clearly visible. This emotionlessness and coldness seemed to place the body under a microscope, while at the same time distancing the audience from what they were seeing. Meanwhile, I wondered why it was necessary to undress two female bodies and put two naked female robots on stage. I saw them as vulnerable, and I couldn’t get past this concern. 

The evening’s finale, Agenda, created by Simone Aughterlony and Saša Božić is also worth mentioning. I learned that it is a local super-production with numerous sold-out performances and its own fan base. The performance begins with an energetic techno session illuminated by a side light wall, where a group of ten international dancers in party clothes perform synchronised movements, transmitting this liberated, confident atmosphere to the audience. Then, suddenly, the mass dance begins to fall apart, and slowly the space itself slips away. The performers bring in objects, some show us vulgar, provocative messages on tablets, one of them cracks a whip in a dominatrix outfit and then begins to sway seductively, while another dancer sings opera in a long wig. They all seek our attention while scattering it, making it impossible to really get into any of the action. They deconstruct the space, pushing around pieces of it. One of them builds a sand castle in the middle of the stage, and another rolls around in a moss suit. Amidst the enormous chaos and eccentric presences, the solo by Dora Brkarić stands out, counterbalancing the constantly changing, often violent events that are thrust in our faces with slowness and poignant, raw self-revelation. Although the characters are interesting and I would like to follow the individual stories, this is almost impossible. As a result, the otherwise powerful scenes fail to really touch me, and in the end, the piece left me with one lingering question: just how much do the theatre technicians hate dealing with all that sand and dirt when it’s time to tear down the set? 

A delightful performance in the festival program was Sperzzatura, a work in progress by Nika Disney, presented in the Dance Center’s rehearsal room. The duet, featuring a male and female dancer, didn’t want to be anything more than it was, avoiding spectacular costumes, extra props, and attention-seeking gestures. An estranged couple steps towards each other in the opening scene, accompanied by chanson-like music, and we immediately feel drawn in. We watch the couple’s attempts to connect, as they move closer but always slip past each other, unable to find a common language, even by imitating each other. The inventive partnering choreography and lifts, the unpretentious presence, and the likable characters make this work truly endearing. 

The performance, What do you see, or Not, by YELLOWBIZ ARTS COLLECTIVE, offers far fewer opportunities for connection. In my interpretation, it is intended to present a strange love triangle story through the interpretation of two male and one female dancers trained in classical ballet and otherwise possessing an impeccable technical arsenal. Classical traditions are reflected not only in the movement material and the pointe work, but also in the descriptive, romantic choice of music. A suitcase full of clothes also appears, suggesting that there are a few costume changes in the piece, ranging from underwear and lace petticoats to one of the men dressing up in women’s clothes. The performance style is symbolic, narrative, expressive, dramatic, sometimes to such an extent that I admit I have to avert my gaze from the events unfolding on stage. When, at the end, the dancer dressed in women’s shoes takes off his costume and stuffs it into the suitcase with wide, passionate gestures and a face showing euphoric liberation, I feel embarrassed and prefer to sink into my notes. It’s been a long time since I’ve encountered such a dramatic performance style in (contemporary) theater. Sitting close to the small stage, I felt that the performers were intent on conveying something to me by immersing themselves as deeply as possible in the emotion. Yet as a spectator, the exaggeration created a distance between me and what I was meant to experience and feel, and the overly demonstrative gestures struck me as almost comical, despite the seriousness of the scene and its message. This tension may well have been the source of my unease. 

Even on second viewing, the performance ALL’ARME by Studio Contemporary Dance Company (SSP) and Ginevra Panzetti and Enrico Ticconi sent shivers down my spine. The performance is beautifully constructed from minimalist movements, repetition, and the uniformity created by the six dancers, using the power of community, silence, loud music, and the contrast between darkness and light. The performance revolves around emergency situations and is a perfect example of a dance performance that truly uses its own tools to captivate the audience. The uniformly restrained, then suddenly erupting power represented by the dancers, the lyrical moments when one falls and the others surround and hold her up, the clever construction and use of space in the choreography, and the subtle use of lighting and music to support the dance all contribute to the impact of the piece. The power, momentum, perseverance, and presence of the team are formidable — ALL’ARME is a stunning performance. 

There was great anticipation surrounding the two works presented by Jonathan Burrows and Matteo Fargion, so much so that some local dance students even brought along the choreographer’s book, freshly translated into Croatian, to have it signed. Burrows himself spoke to the Zagreb audience as if they were old friends, which is understandable, as he is a returning guest in the region. The sold-out audience clearly identified with the two approximately 25-minute pieces, understood the jokes, understood the language, and breathed together with the performers. The evening opened with Rewriting, a dance-theoretical monologue by Burrows, punctuated by Fargion’s brief interludes on a miniature keyboard. Seated together at a table, Burrows drew cards at random and read out pithy fragments from A Choreographer’s Handbook about how to create a dance performance, all the while interlacing moments of self-irony and sharp humor. I will admit that the torrent of verbal reflection was at times demanding, but the wit and playful delivery continually lightened the density. Burrows simultaneously affirmed and undermined the ’rules of choreography’ he described, simply by talking about a piece he never finished, but he worked on for several years according to the rules he had established. Rewriting emerged as an intellectual yet humorous lecture-performance: choreographic in its very structure, despite its reliance on spoken text, minimalist movement, and the randomness of card selection. The performance relies on a tight rhythm, well-thought-out structure, precise movements, and musical sequences. It felt, in essence, like a musical score—only here transcribed for bodies and words. The musicality continued into the second half of the evening, The Unison Piece, where the audience watched with bated breath as the duo performed a minimalist, taut duet focusing mainly on arm movements in perfect harmony, standing close together. Two electric guitars also sounded, and the performers chanted rhythmically and repetitively into the microphones, adding more and more to the line “We are together with you, together in time.” Burrows’ pieces undoubtedly make us think about what choreography really means. Is it enough for two people to perform a fixed series of movements in unison or in response to each other, precisely, to a given rhythm? I believed Burrows that it was. 

I was looking forward to the Israeli Yasmeen Godder Company‘s Practicing Empathy #1 on the last day, as I have seen several Israeli performances in which the dancers displayed an energy and presence that transcended boundaries and tended toward extremes, in addition to their strong technical skills. I saw this kind of radical presence here, too, but I ended up leaving with strange, confusing feelings. The four female dancers and two male dancers undoubtedly filled the stage, and we sat around them, sometimes getting very close to the action. During the performance, they first highlight each other, lifting them up, and a sound is created, each slightly different, but all coming from deep within. After a while, their voices formed a chorus, with more and more emotion and rhythm mixing in, until they reached the phrase “I want, I fear, I need,” which became the key phrase of the performance and was repeated throughout. For a while, the movements and gestures serve to enhance the sound, often leaning towards the mundane, even unrestrained madness, as the sounds become more and more extreme, reaching screams and shouts. As I watch the performance, I begin to feel uncomfortable: it is as if all that we see is a sound therapy and movement therapy session, where emotions can flow freely and without restraint, but we are left wondering what to make of it all. The part that stands out from the movement material, with its lyricism and composition, is when the dancers fall like dominoes: as soon as they catch the one that is falling, they fall too. This is where I see the essence of the piece most clearly: interdependence, caring, falling together, and sticking together. Music only comes in towards the end of the performance; until then, we only hear the performers. Then the light jellyfish hanging in the middle descends, the dancers sit down near us and bid us farewell with deep, slow singing. 

Overall, Dance Week Festival stood out not only for its eclectic program, but also for its lively extras — from late-night gatherings to an inspiring movement workshop led by Toby Kassel and an engaging lecture by Jonathan Burrows — all of which fostered genuine dialogue among participants and even opened the door to future collaborations.

This text was written by Emese Kovács within the framework of the Beyond Front@: Bridging Periphery project.