Jungle is not a narrative dance, but an ecosystem of gestures and rhythms
It’s not often that a performance truly resists being captured in words, but Jungle, choreographed by Sung-yong Kim for the Korea National Contemporary Dance Company (KNCDC), does just that. It almost dares you to try and describe it, while at the same time insisting you simply experience it. Sung-yong Kim, whose philosophy centres on the belief that “dance is a movement that cannot be described in words,” stays completely true to that ethos. Watching Jungle is like witnessing a living organism evolve in real time, vast, elusive, and pulsing with life.
The performance opened with the 16 dancers walking in a slow, perfect circle beneath a shaft of vertical light. It was immediately ritualistic, the kind of image that calls something ancient into the room. The overhead lighting created the feeling of sunlight filtering through dense foliage of a deep jungle. One by one, dancers broke from the circle, stepping into the light and unleashing sequences of movement that were strikingly agile, yet almost non-human. At times, they seemed like creatures part organic, part mechanical, automatons with an animal’s grace.
There is a fascinating tension in Sung-yong Kim’s work between discipline and instinct, reminiscent in some ways of Merce Cunningham. Like Cunningham, Sung-yong Kim creates work that pairs classical precision with contemporary unpredictability. You feel the deep-rooted training of the dancers, but the forms they embody seem utterly new. Jungle is not a narrative dance, but an ecosystem of gestures and rhythms.
At one breathtaking moment, the entire group found verticality together in a rare pause in the fragmented energy and moved as one, swaying like a field of tall grass responding to wind. Then, in a flash, the structure dissolved again, returning to the asynchronous energy of solo and group exploration.
Light and music were essential collaborators in this work. The lighting design ranged from the ceremonial to the symbolic, at times evoking danger, at others simply the pure joy of being bathed in light. The music, never quite matching the movement but constantly responding to it, felt like a dialogue rather than a soundtrack. Throughout most of the piece, a low, steady beat thrummed beneath the choreography like a heartbeat of the jungle, quiet but insistent, ancient and alive.
Costumes were understated in earthy, neutral tones, allowing the focus to remain entirely on the bodies, the shapes they created, and the space they inhabited. The lack of ornamentation felt deliberate; in this world, it was the movement itself that carried meaning.
As part of The Korean Dance Festival at The Place, Jungle stands out as both a highlight and a statement of intent. This festival continues to introduce London audiences to the richness, diversity, and innovation of contemporary Korean dance, and Jungle was a powerful reminder of just how essential that conversation is.