I wasn’t really sure what I was going to write for this review, and I think that is because I still feel a little unsettled after this show. 

Joy is a show that blends acrobatics with live jazz, funk, and hip-hop beats, creating a sensory explosion of movement and sound. From the very beginning, the performers asked us to reflect: ‘When was the last time you felt joy, pure and utter joy?’ That question caught me. It should catch all of us. In a world that is relentless—fast-paced, full of responsibilities, and burdened with war and genocide—it can be easy to forget that joy still exists, that it matters, and that it deserves our attention.

As the show opened, bodies stretched and contorted across the stage, the performers offering us a collection of their very best—unfiltered and vibrant. At first, I found myself feeling almost disconnected, the performance seemed scattered, reminiscent of my kids showing off their best stunts in the swimming pool, demanding my gaze, my validation. I felt like an outsider looking in. But then I realised: it wasn’t them—it was me. I wasn’t getting it. I had forgotten how to witness joy, how to embrace it without suspicion or guilt. When had I become so hardened by the world that watching people revel in their own happiness seemed indulgent?

So, I had to consciously let go. I had to allow myself to be pulled into the backbends and handstands, the flips and rhythms…to allow something deeper to settle in. My take is that Joy was not just a performance—it was a statement, a reclamation. I was forced to reckon with the question of what joy means to me. I found myself asking what it means to experience unmitigated joy in a world, in a colony, that does not want Blakfullas to have life, let alone joy? For me, this show was a reminder that joy—my joy—is an act of rebellion, an act of defiance, an act of survival.

I might not be able to hula hoop or dance my joy the way these performers did, but I can embody it in other ways. Joy felt like an ‘80s mixtape of movement and sound, a playful yet deeply soulful reminder of what it means to be whole, to be alive, to have a pulse and exist in the present moment. Sitting in a small tent at Gluttony, watching artists do what they love and excel at, I felt something shift.

So, thank you for that reminder—because that’s soul food, and everyone needs to eat at that garden sometimes.