Dublin Dance Festival 2026: Soft God

Soft God by Emma Martin. Image, Ros Kavanagh.

*****

The stage is in need of sweeping. Upstage, a prop cloud rests against the wall, a little distance from the costume rail. In the middle of the space a circle of chairs is placed as if to facilitate a Dancers Anonymous meeting. Alone, Jessie Thompson sits, delicately munching her crisps, dressed like sin in Katie Davenport’s shoulder-less, short black dress. Grey bearded, Wayne Jordan enters and sits next to the cloud. The backdrop creating the effect of a benign God. Meanwhile, Thompson’s unrepentant Lilith enjoys her meal, flicks salt from her fingertips before rising and delighting in the carnal sensuality of her self possessed body. Jordan plays a recorder like a snake charmer as Thompson curves and weaves, writhes and ripples with the supple, assured confidence of a Gilda. The renowned hip-hop artist oozing grace, skill, talent and that effortless presence that made Rita Hayworth and Cyd Charrise magnetic stars. Blowing kisses, Thompson dances till eventually joined by Sloan Caldwell, Kévin Coquelard, Róisín Harten, Yujin Jeong, Stanley Menthor and Ennio Sammarco. Over the course of seventy minutes, each dancer will deliver riveting, breathtaking moments. First though, they reposition the chairs in a line as Jordan exits, returning for the occasional janitorial duty. And so it begins. Soft God, receiving its world premiere as part of Dublin Dance Festival 2026 at The Abbey Theatre. A demented ceili by Emma Martin. A dream of staggering, choreographic gorgeousness and Martin’s most brilliant work to date.

Soft God by Emma Martin. Image, Ros Kavanagh.

Like all dreams it’s often hard, and unfair, to nail down what they purport to mean. If it’s easier to say what it’s not, Soft God is not laboured, petrified, pretentious or self-absorbed. Rather it’s a cornucopia of musical, visual and choreographic delights. Music and sound design by Kevin Gleeson serving up songs and tracks from gramophone Irish ballads to percussive tribal meets. Married to Martin’s magical interplay of movement and Davenport’s old world, carnie styled costumes. Beneath Stephen Woods’ dust warm lights, there’s a sense of being closer to the otherworldliness of David Lynch, or French film makers Marc Caro and Jean-Pierre Jeunet, than anything familiar. Indeed, Andrew Hamilton’s piano sung coda wouldn’t sound out of place in a Twin Peaks dream sequence. Visually, it’s hard to be sure even Martin knows what it all means, but clearly she knows what she’s doing. The effect immediate and palpable.

Choreographically, you’ve seen it all before, but never quite like this. Throughout, there’s echoes, references and influences. Tik Tok snippets, traces of Teac Damsa’s twitchy, snappy, off kilter wildness, hand jives, ballet spins, add your own as dancers release synchronised and signature chaos onto the stage. All the while a seated figure is slowly covered in layers of cloth. Finally emerging, face smeared with white paint, for a soft, turning routine. One of a few moments of relief from Soft God’s hard, exacting pace. Sublime physical sequences, synchronised or solo, juxtaposing, complementing, and contradicting each other. Crafting a physical lexicon more metaphor than report. Not that Soft God is without issues. For a start, it doesn’t appear to know how to end, or even appear to want to. A humorous costume change and a sweeping, sepia curtained backdrop introduces pastoral, tradition, ballet and tableaux immediately followed by Jordan’s powerfully silent solo. All before a sing-song fade out to a piano played before a single candle. The last two sequences seeming to stand alone from the rest of the production. But these are minor quibbles, if complaints at all.

With Soft God, Martin clutches a handful of choreographic trinkets and rushes towards the abyss before taking a leap of faith. Flinging herself over and leaving the familiar behind. If the limit of our meaning is the limit of our language, Martin rewrites her vocabulary of dance and rephrases it from prose to poetry. During the course of Dublin Dance Festival many have talked of power. Some have pointed towards it, some afforded glimpses. Martin breaks on through to the wilder side with joy, beauty and panache. Irresistibly brilliant, Soft God declares the queen is dead. Her white charger having plummeted from the sky to die in a powdered cloud. Long live the Queen. Choreographically gorgeous, effortlessly sexy, wonderfully lighthearted whilst both heavy and light, joy flows in every movement and gesture. Soft God the stuff dance dreams are made of, being made of the stuff of dreams. Do not deprive yourself of this wondrous dance experience.

Soft God by Emma Martin, co-commissioned and presented by Dublin Dance Festival and The Abbey Theatre, runs as part of Dublin Dance Festival 2026 at The Abbey Theatre until May 16.

For more information visit Dublin Dance Festival 2026 or The Abbey Theatre