Picture this.

Two dancers freestyle dancing for 55 minutes straight.

Not particularly wild I know.

How about if they had no music?

A little different, yeah.

How about, instead of music, they must also have a completely improvised conversation with the intent to be as honest as possible in front of a live audience?

Now it’s terrifying huh?

Well, that’s exactly what me and Daniel Nodder said yes to do for Java Dance Theatre’s ‘An Honest Conversation’ (AHC) series. And upfront, let me say, it is as scary as you might think. And as exhilarating as you might be surprised to learn.

AHC has had 22 shows in the past with a different duet for each. Birthed from the incredible mind of Java Dance Theatre’s Artistic Director, Sacha Copland, AHC has the “intimacy of a private conversation between friends, the energy of dance, and the unpredictability of honesty”[1]. Sacha has choreographed and performed for over 20 years, and when she reached 40, she decided she wanted to talk and thus AHC was born.

I admit at first when I was approached, my immediate response was ‘no’. An incredible ask it was with so many fears running through my mind.

What if the audience doesn’t like what I say?

What if I run out of things to say?

What if I’m boring?

So trained I am, in my own reservations and comforts, that I was almost ready to decline a beautiful challenge.

Almost.

I thought over the whakapapa of AHC, of Sacha’s beautiful whakaaro on its origins, on whether, despite my fears, I had the ability to rise to the challenge. I knew, essentially this show was asking me, to just be me and I recognise that I often have a learned perception of what may or may not be considered a “good” show (it’s something I acknowledge and question myself on often). But this series isn’t about whether it’s “good” or not. It lives in the moment. It’s exactly its title! And that felt, scary and exciting to attempt.

I said yes.

My duet partner, Daniel Nodder (they/he), I could not be more grateful for.

Daniel is a dancer, theatre goofball, (professionally trained) clown, and all-round great human. They are no stranger to the stage. Improv is their 2nd language. If you’re being asked to do an improvised conversation opposite someone, who better than this professional right?

More than that, Daniel and I are part of the same dance family, Projekt Team.

While we “go waaayyy back”, what we quickly realised was that, in our over ten-year friendship, it’s taken a show about an honest conversation to have one. No, we haven’t been lying to each other this whole time, but we haven’t dived deep before either. We had the conversational potential of an ocean and the comfort of a long-standing friendship to feel safe. 

It will surprise no one who knows either of us, that during rehearsals, once we started talking, the harder part became stopping. We are chatterboxes. Shock. Feeling safe was paramount to us and to Sacha, and easy to attain for me with Daniel.

I lost a lot of sleep in the coming weeks to the show. Yes, I was anxious about doing this but mostly I kept picturing scenarios of where the conversation could go! Humans are so deep, so complex, so rich in their history, in their thoughts, and I would be lying to say I wasn’t overwhelmed by the potential of how far we could go in a generous 55 minutes and the vulnerability I had accepted to give to a room full of people.

And so, it began.

At the doors we greeted as many of our guests, friends, family as we could, who gave us their time and money to hear what we had to say. My gratitude was as immense as my fear for their presence.  

The show started with a nervous giggle (from me of course) and a giggle back from an audience of which at least half of them knew what we were here to do. The phrase “sounds like my worst nightmare” became a motto from friends whom I told about the show. So, as they listened while we introduced ourselves and laid down the wero Daniel and I were about to do, they responded in kind throughout the show with sounds of encouragement, laughter, gasps and ooo’s with such generosity that I eased into the space within the first 5 minutes.

For 55 minutes we talked and danced. And as generous as I thought 55 minutes was, once the timer went off, both of us turned to look at each other with a face of pure surprise at just how fast that went.

We finished the show as we started it; with a banger of a piece (shout outs to N*sync and Brotherhood. IYKYK) where the audience gratefully drowned out the sounds of us poorly singing the song in lieu of any music, with their applause. We were thrilled and relieved (the latter being perhaps more for myself).

I won’t go into detail on what we talked about.

The beauty of this show is that each conversation happens only once. You will not find it online. A vulnerable space and a promise of honesty is committed to by two performers and is kept in the hearts and minds of those who come.

I’ve reflected a lot on this show since and had many wānanga with people who came.

I walked into this process wondering if I had enough to say. I walked away thinking that perhaps the most meaningful conversations aren't measured by how clever or polished they are, but by how present we are in them.

If this experience taught me anything, it's that honesty has a way of inviting honesty in return—and those are the conversations worth having. Maybe we don't need a stage or 55 minutes of improvised dance to have one.

Maybe we just need to be brave enough to start.

[1] Java Dance Theatre website - https://www.javadance.nz/shows#honest