A Haunting and Mesmerising Call to Action
I’ll be honest, I didn’t know much about Crystal Pite or Simon McBurney before this, but Figures in Extinction at Aviva Studios performed by Nederlands Dans Theater was something else. It wasn’t just a dance show—it was an experience, the kind that settles in your chest and stays with you long after you’ve left. Thought-provoking, unsettling, and at times, really quite moving.
Right from the start, it had this relentless feel to it. There’s a voice listing species that no longer exist, and as each name is spoken, the dancers move like those creatures—fluttering, stumbling, collapsing. It was both mesmerising and deeply sad, like watching something fade right in front of you. The set made it even worse in the best way, gradually closing in, making you feel that same sense of suffocation and loss. The lighting added to the effect too, with flickering shadows stretching across the stage like ghosts of what’s been lost.
There was this one bit with a climate change denier—smug, dismissive, saying all the usual rubbish about personal responsibility and economic priorities. The way the dancer moved—sharp, jerky, unnatural—mirrored the slick, calculated way these people dodge the truth. It was infuriating to watch, but also really clever in how it showed the contrast between wilful ignorance and the sheer devastation being played out on stage. It built up to this moment where the names of extinct species started coming faster and faster, blending together into this overwhelming rush. The dancers, who had been embodying different creatures, started merging into one tangled, writhing mass, a proper gut-punch of a visual that hammered home how everything—nature, people, entire ecosystems—is connected. Then, silence. And that silence hit just as hard.
The second part shifted focus from nature to people, looking at human relationships, disconnection, and the way we exist in this overwhelming digital world. It played with contrast—moments of rigid control against raw, chaotic movement, showing how people struggle between logic and emotion, isolation and intimacy. Some bits were painfully relatable—dancers reaching for each other, almost touching, then being pulled apart again. A duet in particular stood out, capturing that desperation of wanting to connect but feeling like something invisible is always in the way. The use of cameras and projections was really effective, giving multiple perspectives at once, sometimes zooming right in on tiny, fleeting expressions. It made you feel both close and distant at the same time, like watching life through a screen—always observing, never quite present.
The final part felt like a shift towards something softer, almost hopeful, without ever tipping into easy optimism. There’s this scene with a hospital bed, a family grieving, and this feeling of both finality and possibility—an ending, but maybe also a beginning. The movement here was different—less tormented, more fluid, like the dancers were trying to imagine something new, something better. The visuals reflected that, with projections that changed from barren landscapes to ones full of life, hinting that maybe, just maybe, there’s still a way forward.
The whole thing was incredibly well done—powerful movement, striking visuals, and a proper diverse cast that brought so much depth to every part of it. The audience clearly felt it too, because the standing ovation went on forever. It’s rare to see something that makes you feel so much all at once—grief, awe, frustration, and a strange kind of hope—but Figures in Extinction did exactly that.