Dance, theatre, the electric melodies and guttural drums of Pink Floyd collide in yes and also no, subject to xyz, finer print applies. Charged by the artistry of some of Aotearoa's finest performers, the pulse and poetry of Pink Floyd, and the power of embodied storytelling, this work invites us deep into the belly of our humanness.
There is something compelling about a work that refuses to give you all the answers, particularly when its subject is our seemingly endless desire to find them. Holly Finch’s yes and also no, subject to xyz, finer print applies, currently showing at Q Theatre, is a contemporary dance-theatre production that leans wholeheartedly into contradiction, uncertainty and the uncomfortable spaces in between. Set to the unmistakable music of Pink Floyd, this 50-minute work explores the human tendency to seek clarity in a world that rarely offers it, trading neat conclusions for something considerably messier. What emerges is a physical, often exhilarating exploration of the ways we push against boundaries, become caught in familiar patterns and search for meaning in the things we cannot quite understand.
The production establishes its world through an intriguing cinematic opening, with a film projected onto the back wall of the theatre. We follow Hector (Oli Mathiesen) as he makes his way through the streets of Tāmaki Makaurau, his slightly disconcerting, unhurried presence creating an immediate sense of anticipation. Then, in a clever transition from screen to stage, he bursts through the theatre doors and into the live performance space. The device is repeated as the other central characters, Louise and Joanne, make their entrances, giving each performer an opportunity to establish their presence before the three worlds begin to collide. It is an effective introduction, blurring the distinction between the everyday and the theatrical while drawing us into the peculiar universe Finch has constructed.
With a handful of furniture, a book, a cupboard, a table and a chair, the Q Loft space is transformed into an environment that feels simultaneously domestic and unsettling. Yet the most significant architectural feature is already there: the walls themselves. As the performers encounter this physical boundary, it becomes a recurring point of resistance, a place to retreat to, confront and repeatedly test. There is a particularly satisfying visual moment when the dancers press their hands and bodies against the surface, leaving behind traces of sweat and moisture that briefly preserve the impression of their movements. These fleeting imprints become a kind of physical memory, suggesting that even when we move on, something of us remains.
Pink Floyd provides the production's beating heart, with the band's music carrying almost the entirety of the performance. It is an ambitious musical choice, but one that pays off. The recordings are far more than a familiar soundtrack placed behind the choreography; they shape the atmosphere, dictate the emotional temperature and, at times, seem to determine the physical language of the dancers themselves. The crashing percussion, electric guitar and shifting musical textures give Finch an expansive vocabulary to work with, creating opportunities for both explosive physicality and moments of considerable restraint. There is also something particularly enjoyable about watching dance built around such a distinctive musical identity, especially when the relationship between sound and movement feels so carefully considered.
The choreography moves between tightly constructed sequences and passages that appear to offer the performers greater freedom. Sometimes a sudden drumbeat produces an immediate physical response, with bodies jolting, twisting or throwing themselves through space. At other times, the music simply hangs in the background, allowing smaller gestures and more internal movement to take precedence. Finch demonstrates a strong understanding of musical texture, drawing attention to details that might otherwise disappear within the recordings. A flicker of the hand, a sharp contraction or a gradual shift in weight can become surprisingly expressive when placed against the right musical phrase. Rather than relying on constant spectacle, she finds interest in the smallest physical decisions, allowing them to accumulate into something more substantial.
Repetition is another important element of the work, with recurring gestures and movement patterns creating a sense of characters caught in cycles they cannot quite escape. There is a deliberate circularity to much of the choreography, as performers return to familiar actions, revisit physical confrontations and find themselves back where they started. It is an effective way of communicating the production's interest in human behaviour and our tendency to keep circling the same questions, even when the answers remain elusive. The movement is fluid without being overly polished, often carrying a roughness that feels entirely appropriate to the subject matter. Bodies are dragged, pushed, folded and redirected, with moments of apparent ease giving way to sudden resistance.
The individual performers bring distinctly different qualities to this physical landscape. Mathiesen has a weighty, grounded presence, often commanding the space through movements that feel forceful and slightly unpredictable. There is an underlying tension in his physicality, as though even his quieter moments might erupt into something more confrontational. Tegan Jeffrey-Rushton provides a particularly striking counterpoint, bringing an explosive energy and expressive physical precision to the work. Her movements frequently shift between urgency and apparent exhaustion, with contortions and sudden changes of direction giving her performance an electric quality.
Natasha Kohler brings a different sensibility, offering moments of softness and responsiveness amid the more combative physical exchanges. Her presence becomes particularly compelling during the partnering sequences, where she is lifted, rolled and moved through space by the other performers. There is a lovely sense of trust and physical negotiation in these exchanges, with bodies finding their way around one another in ways that appear almost effortless. Celia Hext, joining the production for this season, adds another dimension to the ensemble. Her presence feels deliberately distinct, with a more contained and regimented physical quality that creates an interesting contrast against the other performers. Together, the four dancers generate an engaging range of relationships, shifting between isolation, confrontation and connection.
Some of the production's strongest moments come when the performers move together. The partnering is particularly accomplished, with lifts, rolls and transitions unfolding with an ease that makes the considerable physical demands seem almost incidental. Watching the dancers respond to one another in these sequences is a pleasure, as individual movements become part of a constantly shifting collective conversation. These moments of togetherness provide a welcome contrast to the repeated fragmentation elsewhere, suggesting that connection might be possible even when certainty is not.
Jazmin Whittall's lighting design makes an important contribution to the atmosphere, using concentrated pools of light and sharply defined beams to divide the performance space. Rather than illuminating everything evenly, the lighting creates pockets of visibility that isolate the dancers and emphasise the boundaries of their environment. The cooler, industrial feel of the lighting also provides an effective contrast to the performers' colourful costumes, while keeping attention firmly on the physical action. The overall aesthetic is deliberately spare, allowing the choreography, music and architecture to do most of the work.
What makes Finch's production particularly engaging is its willingness to sit with uncertainty rather than attempt to resolve it. The relationship between the individual and the group, the desire for control and the need for connection, the urge to escape and the tendency to return are all explored through a physical language that is often more revealing than words could be. While the work occasionally feels more concerned with creating an atmosphere than developing a conventional narrative, this is largely consistent with its intentions. It is not necessarily a production that invites audiences to follow a straightforward story, but one that encourages them to recognise something of their own contradictions within the movement.
Ultimately, yes and also no, subject to xyz, finer print applies is a visually and physically engaging piece of dance theatre, held together by Finch's confident choreography, a distinctive musical framework and a committed ensemble. Its greatest strength lies in the tension between its carefully constructed movement and the moments of apparent spontaneity that emerge within it. Much like the questions it raises, the work resists being neatly packaged or reduced to a single interpretation. Instead, it leaves us somewhere in the middle, where things are less comfortable, considerably more complicated and perhaps a little closer to the truth.
yes and also no, subject to xyz, finer print applies is being performed at Auckland’s Q Theatre from 11-15 November 2026. Purchase tickets here
Review written by Alex Moulton
