Clothed in muted beiges and whites, seven performers sway rhythmically in unison, their movements echoing folk traditions without fully committing to them. Hands raised before their faces, gazes shifting between introspection and emptiness, they create a visual language of suspension – a metaphor for the halted legacy they attempt to revive?
Armin Hokmi’s Shiraz intends to pay tribute to the Shiraz Arts Festival which took place between 1967 to 1977 in the south of Iran. Both the unity of the dancers and the accompanying soundscore by EHSXN and Reza Roffers are compelling aspects; the latter weaves together Persian folk influences with digital electronic textures, powerfully channeling Shiraz Festival’s ambition to promote dialogue between cultures.
Hips continue to sway, arms drift in soft trajectories, yet for the large part, experimentation and rediscovery are left unexplored onstage, instead lingering in the programme notes. Despite a research-driven foundation and carefully constructed choreography, Shiraz resembles a sanitised portrayal of cultural memory – a tribute caught between hesitation and repetitiveness.
Nicola Mitropoulou
With a light sway in their hips, seven dancers continuously step side to side, suspended in a collective trance. Hands hovering loosely in front of their faces, the two halves seem to be perpetually on the verge of meeting in a delicate embrace. Imperceptibly, the performers’ gentle, rhythmic march carries them across the stage – crossing paths, but never gazes – and shifting between spatial patterns that range from the rigorously geometric to the ritualistically circular. Gradually, sharper movements begin to punctuate the repetition: a popping shoulder, a sudden head turn – each aligning with the layered polyrhythms of an East-meets-West score.
Though framed as an homage to a historic Iranian arts festival, Shiraz functions best when viewed as a formal study of repetition and accumulation. Fleeting encounters may faintly suggest missed connections at a chaotic gathering, yet the true strength of the performance lies in its recalibration of the viewer’s attention. By inviting us to attune to subtle shifts in posture, rhythm, and proximity, Shiraz doesn’t demand our focus – it teaches us how to give it.
Emily May
As the audience enters the theatre, seven dancers – including choreographer Armit Hokmi – are already moving, light reflecting plastically off their bodies. Bouncing rhythmically in unison, they shift between spatial compositions to a soundscape that blends electronic music and folk traditions.
This is Shiraz, a danced homage to the southern Iranian arts festival of the same name. Running from 1967 to 1977, the event sought to transcend temporal and geographical boundaries; to rejuvenate traditional forms while cultivating experimentation.
A spirit of reflection runs through Hokmi’s piece, unfolding into a sequence of hip sways, rigid chest isolations, and elegant arm gestures. The dancers all keep one hand suspended before their faces throughout, as if caught in a moment of reminiscence. The atmosphere is introspective, even though their focus is not consistently turned inward.
Ultimately, the piece resembles a stylised version of folk dance, but one that’s stripped of its community spirit and context. Despite the persistent unison, its cast moves with individual textures that rarely align. As a result, they barely seem to inhabit the same world.
Maria Chiara de Nobili