Digital matchmaking algorithms grow exhausting and disheartening, so it’s no wonder many hopeless romantics flock to tales of the ‘Ton with their lavish balls, promenades through the parks, and swoon-worthy, witty banter. 

The matriarch of such tales, Jane Austen, turns 250 years old this year. In celebration, Dacha Theatre is hosting a theatrical bash with a presentation of Emma, a contemporary, feminist take on Austen’s novel, written by Kate Hamill. 

The setting sun outside steeped the city in gold, and a pleasant breeze carried the scent of budding flowers. He remembered the open fields of Anna’s family home, breaths of summer wind rustling the curtains as Anna painted by the window. 

He never should have brought her to the city.

It began slowly—the plague, the greed, the riots. Revolutionaries rose up behind symbols, murals, and songs, while the masses were fed machinery and religion. In the wake of the destruction, politicians deemed art a dangerous thing—a worthless thing—and the masses agreed. They took away the paint, the books, and the instruments. But they could not wholly silence the artists. These are the stories they left behind.

Equipoise, defined as a balance of forces, is a name well suited for the debut Seattle dance company created by Heather Smith and Samantha Weissbach. The company, which set upon their first performance at the Yaw Theater on Friday, February 28, offered audiences a blended style of movement, tapping into the grounded athleticism and aesthetics of modern dance and the emotionally driven, raw beauty of contemporary dance.

It began slowly—the plague, the greed, the riots. Revolutionaries rose up behind symbols, murals, and songs, while the masses were fed machinery and religion. In the wake of the destruction, politicians deemed art a dangerous thing—a worthless thing—and the masses agreed. They took away the paint, the books, and the instruments. But they could not wholly silence the artists. These are the stories they left behind.

It began slowly—the plague, the greed, the riots. Revolutionaries rose up behind symbols, murals, and songs, while the masses were fed machinery and religion. In the wake of the destruction, politicians deemed art a dangerous thing—a worthless thing—and the masses agreed. They took away the paint, the books, and the instruments. But they could not wholly silence the artists. These are the stories they left behind. 

It began like many myths do: in darkness. Thin beams of light panned over the space from the back of the house, curious and searching. Nishimura and Kohl descended upon the stage with headlamps strapped to their brows, exploring the space with a playful curiosity. Once they arrived, lighting by Jessica Trundy illuminated the set and established the world of the performance. Transparent projection screens stretched across three points of the set, two of which concealed platforms the performers utilized throughout the performance.

“Long ago,” Theo said, “this land was ruled by beings of another world. Sprites and hidden folk. Nymphs and animal spirits. But the largest of all were the trolls.” He gestured to the giant ahead, and Thomas took in the vast, wooden creature, awestruck. “They tended to the land, caught fish in the rivers, and planted trees. Then one day, Man came to the forest. With axes brandished, they felled the trees that had been planted. They tore up the land and declared it their own.

“A moot was held in the forest between all who lived within it. The rodents cried out, filled with terror, ‘What do we do?’

All Hallows may have come and gone, but some ghosts still come haunting. It is a tradition of the holiday season after all—spirits haunting the arrogant wealthy. And as Charles Dickens said in A Christmas Carol, “There is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good humor.” 

I discovered The Pomegranate Tree by a fleeting chance. I was discussing the potential of immersive theater in large scale productions when one of my cohorts told me I must see a Dacha show if I hadn’t already. I followed Dacha on Instagram and admittedly forgot about the suggestion shortly after—until a post of theirs crossed my feed.

In the last century, theater has met its greatest adversary yet: film. Much can be accomplished through the eye of a camera which cannot be easily done in a live space, like  forced viewpoints, CGI, and extravagant settings to name just a few. But there is one limitation to film which it may never truly conquer: It exists predominantly behind the fourth wall.

Since the dawn of humanity, music has been a vital condition for what it means to be human. From animal skin drums crafted by the neolithic people to every instrument which has followed since, we as a species have sought to give voice to the parts of us words cannot express. We danced to communicate emotion and what little understanding we had of the world. We sang wordlessly long before language bound us to its form. We made music: The thump of the drum like a heartbeat, the trill of the flute like hope, and the deep drawl of the cello like despair.