Pilobolus Trips (Program A) Review
June 23, 2026 | The Joyce Theater – New York, NY, USA
For more than fifty years, Pilobolus has been taking dance to new theatrical heights through astonishing strength, ingenuity and physicality.
In Program A of Trips, the title of the company’s three-week return to The Joyce, Pilobolus presented an accessible program featuring a standout performer who stole the show and strong partnering work that continues to redefine what dance means.
Much effort went into engaging a wider audience and making dance more accessible.
As soon as I entered the theater, I realized the show had already begun. The dancers were onstage warming up – rolling on the floor, jogging around the stage, and swiveling their legs – before gathering into a huddle as the audience cheered them on.
Even the pre-show announcement felt more interactive than passive: two dancers stood on either side of the proscenium, gesturing with the precision of flight attendants as they encouraged audience members to silence their phones. The humorous exchange connected easily with a modern-day audience and immediately established an entertaining atmosphere.
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Pilobolus Trips (Program A) Review
Every piece organically flowed into the next, and the thoughtful interludes between the five dances further boosted audience engagement.
Following the opening work, Bloodlines (2024), company dancer Connor Chaparro transformed himself into a member of the stage crew, politely excusing himself as he swept confetti left behind by the dance from seat to seat along the front row, generating contagious laughter throughout the theater and even prompting one child to giggle uncontrollably.
This “Excuse Me!” skit seamlessly wove into the silent Walklyndon (1973) before transitioning neatly into the evening’s most imaginative work, Flight (2025).
After intermission – or “layover,” as indicated in the program – a fiery burst of Pseudopodia (1974), my favorite work of the evening, simply amazed me. The program then descended into a smooth landing with Particle Zoo (1990), bringing the journey to a satisfying close.
The standout performance of the evening belongs to Hannah Klinkman in Pseudopodia.
Choreographed by Jonathan Wolken, the piece explores the possibilities of movement, making much of today’s contemporary dance combinations look easy in comparison. It takes extraordinary flexibility and strength to perform the work, and Klinkman tumbles, rolls, jumps, bends, twists, and pauses like a passionate flame burning in the wild.
She enters from stage left with six consecutive back shoulder rolls before pushing herself into a shoulder stand. From there, she relies on momentum to propel herself through another series of rolls until suspending her body high on her toes. The genius of Wolken’s choreography lies in its fluid transitions between floorwork and standing movement, and Klinkman ripples through it all flawlessly.
Neil Peter Jampolis’ dramatic red lighting heightened the work’s intensity, while Malcolm McCormick’s unitard enhanced the lines of this potent solo – one that only a true Pilobolean could pull off.
It also became apparent by Walklyndon, the second work of the evening, that lifting is a fundamental movement vocabulary at Pilobolus – I’d say it is the equivalent of plié in a ballet company. Every dancer seemed to carry someone at some point in the program, and there were countless variations of lifts to take in.
In Walklyndon, a quintet choreographed by the company’s original founders Robby Barnett, Lee Harris, Moses Pendleton, and Jonathan Wolken, there is also an animated “superman” lift among others, contributing to the slapstick physical theatre aesthetic of the piece.
The opening piece prior, Bloodlines, among other things, demonstrated how women can lift. Choreographed by the company’s co-artistic directors Renée Jaworski and Matt Kent, in collaboration with Marlon Feliz and Klinkman, the dancers (Klinkman and Anouk Otsea) perform a subtle rocking lift within a tight embrace on a dim stage, constantly sharing weight to keep each other afloat.
Their connection suggests an inseparable bond as they drift toward a pool of red confetti petals that fall intermittently throughout the piece.
Clad in Márion Talán del la Rosa’s amoeba-patterned leotards and bathed in Diane Ferry Williams’ warm lighting design, they move in slow motion through space to a mysterious synth violin score by a blend of composers, engaging in sculptural partnering work throughout.
The pair alternates between lifting one another like gymnasts, straddling backs, and balancing on shoulders and thighs, resembling two creatures observed in a sci-fi biology lab.
The repertoire is extremely demanding on the body, where the works feel more like athletic art than concert dance.
I’ve rarely seen dancers perspire so visibly in a performance, and in the masculine quartet Particle Zoo, the four shirtless men (Isaac Huerta, Chaparro, Ryan Hayes, Alexis Cruz-Castro) are drenched by the middle of the piece, leaving traces of sweat on the stage.
They slice through space, lifting each other upside down, pausing in statuesque shapes, and eventually melting into one another’s arms. The dancers are powerful and lyrical movers, showcasing remarkable endurance and core strength throughout.
At one point, a fall occurs, though the choreography is so vigorous that even a stumble reads as intentional.
One of the most physically demanding sequences comes when they repeatedly launch themselves flat into the air, hovering in an “X” shape before landing in a push-up position.
It is in this Particle Zoo that we witness what I call the “door lift”; imagine someone lifting an unlatched door: flat, calm, and ordinary in its geometry. The cast explore at least three variations of this, executing some of the most impressive gravity-defying lifts with partners perched on shoulders while spinning hands-free.
The work ends with a surprising theatrical turn: Cruz-Castro executes a final dive toward the wings, only for a lifelike dummy – an exact replica of him – to fall from the rafters, which the group then catches at blackout.
Flight also demands significant physical prowess (and perspiration) from its three pilots (Otsea, Chaparro, and Huerta). In a moment when working with a metal pole, Otsea presses herself against it while being lifted by the men. She suspends herself above the bar and at times tumbles around it daringly in the arms of the other glistening performers.
In this dreamlike aviation tale, the effect is one of hopefulness and wonder.
It becomes clear that the criteria for a Pilobolean extend beyond exceptional dance technique and endurance to include acrobatics, gymnastics, circus arts, and stunt training.
That combination is rare, helping to explain both the company’s distinctive physical vocabulary and its highly specialized small ensemble.
As a company that does what it says it will do, Pilobolus continues to “test the limits of human physicality,” “explore beauty and the power of connected bodies,” and “create awe-inspiring and accessible performances.”
Buckle up if you are planning to attend Trips, because it is quite a voyage.
Featured Photo of Artists of Pilobolus in Renée Jaworski and Matt Kent’s Bloodlines. Photo by Jason Hudson.
