I’m reminded of ‘The Fire Gang’ in Jim Henson’s Labyrinth, also known as the “Fireys”. The crazy orange creatures often take off their heads in an attempt to counter danger and just live! I love them and, in a comforting yet strange way, this show blasts me with what was and what is, and what continues to be…

An information overload perhaps, is baked into moments of collision between the text and dancing bodies. It’s all highly relevant. The conversations between actors describe a lot of conversations developing out in the world. Discussions of babies, floods, parties and war. We check the news, we check our crush, and we check our phones but how often do we really check ourselves? Often, we check for information updates before we even wake up…

I appreciate that the scenes uphold storylines but also seemingly attempt to unpack the audience’s current worldly experiences. Just like the “Fireys”, the performers are dodging danger and sometimes appearing just plain reckless. 

The company hits big moments of triumph through collision yet knows how to hold tension in the space. This really is the perfect brainchild of New Zealand School of Dance and Toi Whakaari New Zealand Drama School graduates… It’s all relevant, you know. But it’s an illusion! I can’t think straight because I forgot to check my phone before the show started… Nothing really matters. Everything matters! Humans are information-saturated and everything loses depth. Everything has depth, so much depth. I guess it depends on what you focus on, really… Maybe it would make sense if you found yourself first.

Time is passing. I can tell because the pot plant projected on the wall now has 20 joint stubs in it, compared to one at the start. The seamless ensemble work links sounds and words and projections in a perfect melting pot of chaos. Lots of screaming! Lots of performers miming screaming! What is real and what is fake? Just check your phone! It’s all there, yeah. It sounds important. It’s all important…

The gas is burning, and the blue light is on. Dance solos and duos are like elastic: bouncy, smooth and wacky. I enjoy the contrasting shaking bodies against the more subtle and intimate moments. Life really is a balancing act, and the dancer’s movements mimic the tight rope we all walk on at some point. At every point. But at what point do we turn? And at what point do we run?

I also enjoy the moments where the third person in the conversation is movement. It makes me wonder how this show would evolve if you took away the performer’s voice. I wonder how interesting this show would become if the actors did the dancing and the dancers did the acting. I wonder how this show would feel if everyone was suddenly ‘off balance’. If everyone stopped and took a big breath and slowed down. Imagine if you, as the reader, did that right now. How would you feel? How do you feel? 

Everything is fine!! Just put your swimming goggles on and go!

Special mention to Ethan Morse, who is a genius clown, who will forever be completely fabulous. Nothing further to say on the matter. Just go and find yourself in Bali already! Oh, the irony. If you know, you know. Haven’t we all had one of those conversations at some point? Every second day. I ask myself what I am doing with my life at least three times a day. It’s refreshing to watch people on stage manifesting my internal concerns.

Dishes all need doing and the tap is dripping. What is your priority? You’re depressed! You’re having a tantrum! Themes of optimism battle themes of sadism and I question how I’m supposed to know what I’m feeling when people are dying. How am I supposed to show up when people are dying? Time is ticking and we aren’t getting any younger. Unless you have a baby and you live through them instead. We must keep moving. We must dance between the trees while we still have time …

You must keep going! Run baby run! Run into the sun and don’t look back! Because the alternative is to stop. And if we stop, they win…

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On tour from Melbourne, where it won Best Theatre and Best Emerging Company at the 2024 Melbourne Fringe, Running Into The Sun is in Wellington, at Te Auaha’s Tapere Nui, for just this week. It’s a radically developed iteration of the Long Cloud Youth Theatre production, directed by Ben Ashby in Wellington in 2021. Ashby is now credited as its writer, director and producer, and he acts in it too.  

The AV backdrop has it as Running Into The _______ Sun. Does the gap denote a deleted expletive, a long pause while deciding what direction to run in, or is it an invitation to toy with various adjectives? The sun, after all, is essential to life on this planet but now we know that the actions, or inaction, of humankind have us running headlong into a climate catastrophe that, in the wake of floods and famine, will make Planet Earth too hot for life as we know it to survive.

Nearly 60 years ago, Peggy Lee’s answer to seeing “the whole world on fire”, as a child, was to ask, “Is that all there is to a fire?” – to a circus, to love, to the end of life? – and suggest we all just “break out the booze, keep dancing and have a ball.” (‘Is That All There Is?’, 1969).

The young adults of Running Into The Sun do keep dancing and prefer weed to booze (implied by Asha Barr’s AV Cinematography), but are they having a ball? Actually, what Mary (Jasmine Susic) is having is a baby, Ash (Ben Ashby) is the father – and the same dilemma applies: will their future be bright or disastrous?

Their all-too-real situation is dramatically explored in a non-naturalistic way, including with dance and songs, that evokes a globally chaotic world in which people are trying to stay afloat and find their direction in a maelstrom of emotional riptides and information overload.

Everyone wears white. The action flows like a restless sea among rocks, mostly swirling, sometimes calm, occasionally heaving and smashing. Nadiyah Akbar is the Choreographer, Rehearsal Director and one of the Dancers, with Jasmine Susic, Luke Romero and Alec Katsourakis. A jazz trio – Toby Leman (Composer, Saxophone, Synths), Seth Boy (Double Bass) and Lennox Grootjans (Composer, Drums) – is on stage throughout, actively engaged in the drama.

It starts with a breakup song, sung by Ash, accompanied by Seth on double bass as the dancers gyrate on the floor. Is Ash foreshadowing a split with his best bro, Morris (Ethan Morse), or is he breaking up with Mary before he knows she’s pregnant or because he’s just found out? The elusive nature of subjective ‘realities’ speaks to the uncertainty each character in the triangle is experiencing.

For example, what exactly is, or was, the nature of the relationship between Ash and Morris. Were, or are, they both on the same page? Eventually Morris gets the drift and, feeling abandoned, rebounds towards Jack (Alec Katsourakis), provoking an achingly awkward and poignant scene.  

As audience, we watch intently, attempting to decode the story as it evolves amid the swirls and surges that we sense through empathy and see in the dancers. According to your age, stage and experience of the psycho-emotional states the action evokes, you may find yourself floating, diving or surfing on this tide of humankind.

I’ll say no more except the ending is upbeat and celebratory (shades of Peggy Lee?). And subtleties sit quietly for us to notice or not – like Morris with his ceng ceng (tiny cymbals). Has he run away to the sun in Bali, or is he still dreaming of going?

Even though we are sitting in seats and watching it all unfold, Running Into The Sun is an immersive, subjective experience of a human rite of passage.

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“Running into the sun” is a phrase most famously used in Jackson Browne’s song “Running on Empty,” where it describes the feeling of being depleted and pursuing something that seems to offer energy and hope but ultimately remains out of reach, contributing to the metaphor of running out of fuel and life force. The phrase embodies a tenacious, but ultimately frustrating, effort to find energy and meaning, or to complete a journey, while feeling depleted and possibly losing time.

To quote the great Barry B. Benson, from the Bee movie: “Do you like Jazz?” I say, well yes!

Run, do not walk to go get your tickets to go see Running Into The Sun, at the Arts Centre. This one-hour spectacle of a show can only be described as a parasitic force that constantly reminds us of the fear and anxiety we live through. It is both a headache to endure the chaos, but also a harsh slap to the face from a cold, icy hand. Something I absolutely love and adore about performance theatre, like Running Into The Sun, is that you can have multiple plotlines sequencing simultaneously.

Another important detail is the component of Jazz, which is implemented throughout the entire production. The drums (played by Lennox Grootjans) perfectly encapsulate the tension in each section and sequence throughout the show. Toby Leman, the beautiful saxophone player, is the Kenny G of the show. His almost expressionless and monotonous energy throughout becomes endearing when he smacks you with a zinger of a line.

The dancers, Alec Katsourakis and Luke Romero, absolutely steal the show and command the stage with their dancing. It is so impressive seeing their bodies move and flow the way they did. Seth Boy, the double-bassist, jumps between jazzy basslines and screechy bowed textures to resemble horror/dramatic sounds to match the tension, along with the drums. It’s impressive how the band can do so much with only a few instruments. We cannot forget Nadiyah Akbar, another incredible dancer who had my personal favourite number of the night. Her energy is electric, it’s like witnessing a theatre kid turn into a popstar and then become a dancer.

Ash (played by Ben Ashby) and his love interest Mary (played by Jasmine Susic) have fallen pregnant, a plotline that doesn’t introduce itself into the production until one of the first few chaotic sequences of different plotlines. Being constantly distracted by the flash flood, the social media war updates, the comedic advertisements about Bunnings, they really put you through the ringer of a tumultuous reality that a lot of us are currently living.

Throughout this production, there are only two main actors, three band members and four dancers. This production is a small and intimate cast and crew, but the way each member is perfectly integrated into the production, you can feel that every single role is just as important and dependent. Every person gets their shining moment as a singer, actor, dancer or musician. It feels as if they are all meant to be there, and this performance crew are all so perfectly aligned.

The absolute star of the show is Ethan Morse (who plays Morris). Words that I put down to describe Morse are:

– A lovechild of Mr G from Summer Heights High and Zach from Aunty Donna.

– Diva knows how to rock a rain poncho

– Morse, in this production, showcases the entire spectrum of possibilities as an actor; they could literally play any role in any show without fail.

The production’s last quarter is the most heart-bleeding showcase of what it means to be facing the consequences of the world we live in. The conflict of Morris going through an existential crisis, impulsively buying a one-way ticket to Bali to “find himself”, and Ash’s disapproval of this action, causes conflict in their friendship; a very realistic showing of struggling to survive and losing yourself in the process. They reconcile their friendship, but Morris has to stay back to figure himself out at home in a flooding town, and Ash leaves him behind to get on a plane with Mary to escape town. Mary’s monologue near the end feels like a cry for help but also a sign of strength. She wants to keep the baby, but she has to escape the natural disasters surrounding the world she lives in with Ash. They need to escape to make the next chapter of their lives together sustainable.

“Can you even land a plane if it’s flooded?”

This last section of the show feels the most poignant to me. While they all do love each other, sometimes you have to put yourself first when met with the eye of the storm (literally). You feel sad for Morris and Ash, and you feel sad for Mary. These are two very complex characters, dealing with very complex situations. Someone like Ash, being in the middle of this, you never get to understand what complexities are going on in their mind. Sometimes, you don’t need to, because someone like that has succumbed to the concept of Running into the Sun.

I give this production 10/10 trips to Bali.

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