10 February 2026
by Sylvia Staude
From Nederlands Dans Theater to Gauthier Dance from Stuttgart
Great diversity at the anniversary edition of the Holland Dance Festival
On the poster for the very first edition of the Holland Dance Festival in 1987, the announced ensembles lined up included Tanztheater Wuppertal and the then “Ballett der Städtischen Bühnen Frankfurt.” William Forsythe was already artistic director there at the time. The Frankfurt Ballet has long since ceased to exist, but the Holland Dance Festival, organised as a biennial, celebrates an impressive milestone this year: its twentieth edition, with performances in The Hague, Delft, Rotterdam, Tilburg and Utrecht.
Since 1994, the Swiss Samuel Wuersten has been artistic director. He travels widely, watches a lot and clearly has a strong sense of what is happening in contemporary dance. This also applies to Nederlands Dans Theater, which has been led since the 2020–2021 season by Emily Molnar, herself once a dancer with the Frankfurt Ballet. With a double bill, NDT opened the festival at Amare in The Hague. The evening Wildsong brings together work by the Belgian Jan Martens and the Spaniard Marcos Morau.
Kid in a Candy Shop, the forty-minute piece by Jan Martens, is danced by 23 dancers in softly coloured bodysuits. In a video, flowers are seen opening in time-lapse and later almost exploding. The piece is not sweet at all, however. That is due to the sharp choice of music, including Pretty by Julia Wolfe and the GG Concerto by Hanna Kulenty, in which the harpsichord sounds increasingly aggressive. The movement language also contributes to this: at times slightly absurd, then angular, expansive or, conversely, mechanical.
The work brings to mind Merce Cunningham, with his pursuit of abstract dance through chance and improvisation. At the same time, clear structures and feverish solos emerge, precisely in time with the rhythmic rattling of the harpsichord. The formations and colours change, but what stands out most is the richness of detail. At no moment does the energy drop.
The same is true of Horses by Marcos Morau, although this work is of a completely different nature. It is playful, but also dark. The lighting recalls murky street lamps that are moved around by the eleven dancers themselves. At first, the auditorium remains lit. You see the stage machinery, a phone rings, a photographer takes pictures. From the orchestra pit comes a cacophony. Morau deliberately chooses contemporary music by, among others, Andrzej Panufnik and Caroline Shaw.
At times Horses literally evokes the image of horses, through hoof-like sounds and heavy, stamping steps. But above all, it carries you into an alienating, slightly Kafkaesque world. Dancers move like hunted Chaplins, their bodies seeming to be controlled from the outside, legs turning rubbery. The speed with which they collapse, slip and become entangled is almost impossible to grasp. Set against this is an almost tender duet and a clear, dark poetry.