Choreographer: Joseph Toonga
If there are any positives to come out of the rise of the “manosphere” and toxic masculinity, it’s the increase in the number of works that thoughtfully engage with an alternative, more accurate and more contemplative approach to looking at men and their mental health.
The piece opens with three young Brazilian men laughing and dancing together. From showing off their own moves before joining in with their friends’, to two of the dancers performing a fake-out and laughing at their friend when he doesn’t pick up the cue, there’s a real sense of good-natured camaraderie between the three. Peterson Napoleão’s slight build, compared to Alexsander Afonso Costa and Guilherme ‘Romec’ de Andrede Gomes’ taller bodies, makes for a good contrast as well as helping to accentuate those moments where all three are in unison.
Gradually, though, we see that all is not right. Costa is occasionally a little too frenetic, the trio’s bombastic enthusiasm starting to veer into barely suppressed rage and pain. When the three pause for a while, grinning at the audience, the other two’s faces radiate happiness: Costa, instead, bears a mask, smiling only on the outside.
Choreographer Joseph Toonga’s work combines hip hop style with other disciplines to express that sensation of one person feeling out of step with one’s friends, of feeling that they are the only one hurting when everyone else is exuding pure joy. Where the work starts to come alive is as that gets noticed, and Costa’s colleagues support him. Sometimes that is literal, with dancers holding each other up and moving them around; at other times, there are hints of more serious actions and consequences, a suggestion of administering CPR that suggests more drastic interventions.
At times, Toonga appears almost spectrally from the production’s haze-filled space, a paternal figure from whom the friends seem to initially hide Costa’s predicament. When he reappears later, he takes charge, and he and Costa perform an endearing pas de deux. Far from being distant, this feels more like a loving parent struggling to understand what his child is going through, but determined to help in any way he can. Even more than the friends before him did, he acts as both a rock and a sanctuary, offering stability and space to heal.
That sequence melts into some solo work from Toonga that revisits some of the same movements, suggesting that older generations also struggle with their mental health. The blocking is almost 180° from his first appearance, the three young men now looking upon him as he did them. Their eventual connection, their insistence on being a support for him even as he tries to reject them, is a testament to the power of the piece’s silent storytelling.
The show’s programme notes that Toonga’s work is rooted in the Brazilian concept of aquilombamento, an expression of community resistance, protection and mutual support that had its roots in the fight against slavery. Here, it becomes deeper and more personal, with friends and family becoming the roof and walls within which someone who is hurting can have space to heal. It’s a powerful sentiment, richly told.
Reviewed on 27 May 2026
