The world’s most romantic ballet is reimagined as a circus spectacular, bursting with Circa’s signature physicality, cheeky humour and infectious energy.
Duck Pond does not ease you in. It grabs you by the hand like an overexcited friend and drags you straight into a world where fairy tales have been cracked open, shaken around, and rebuilt with circus bodies, glitter, and a wicked sense of humour. The whole thing feels alive in a way that is hard to fake. There is a youthful spark running through every moment, the kind of energy that makes you lean forward without realising you have done it. You can feel the performers enjoying themselves, and that joy becomes contagious.
The story is a playful mash of The Ugly Duckling and Swan Lake, but it never pretends to be a faithful retelling. Instead, it treats the narrative like a trampoline. A prince wanders around in a crown that looks like it came from a fast-food birthday party. A cupid in a black and white tutu flits around stirring trouble. The ugly duckling glows with hints of gold as she tries to figure out who she is. The black swan struts in with burlesque confidence, all smirks and red stilettos. The plot is simple enough to follow, especially with the synopsis handed out beforehand, but the show is not really about the story. It is about the feeling of watching these characters collide, flirt, fight, and eventually find something that looks like freedom.
The acrobatics are where the show becomes breathtaking. Human towers rise with a steadiness that seems impossible. You watch the porters at the base, muscles locked, faces calm, and you realise how much trust is being exchanged in every second. Flyers arc through the air with a grace that feels almost reckless. When two towers stand side by side, four bodies high, the audience goes silent in that instinctive way that happens when everyone is holding their breath at once. The balancing acts are equally mesmerising. One arm handstands, bodies stacked in improbable shapes, toes hooked onto hips and shoulders. It is the kind of skill that makes you forget to blink.
What makes these feats land so powerfully is the performers’ attitude. They are not solemn about their abilities. They grin at each other. They tease. They celebrate tiny victories mid‑routine. The athleticism is extraordinary, but the humanity is what makes it beautiful. You feel like you are watching a group of people who genuinely love what they do, and that warmth radiates outward.
The aerial sequences add another layer of magic. Silks unfurl like waterfalls. Ropes twist and spiral. Rings spin with a hypnotic rhythm. Each aerial moment feels like a breath being held in midair. The choreography moves between intimate duets and full ensemble patterns with quick, playful shifts. There is a looseness to the movement that keeps everything feeling spontaneous, even though the precision is razor sharp.
Humour is everywhere. The duck army is a highlight, waddling in with yellow flippers and oversized clown trousers to comfort the heartbroken duckling. Their mop routine is pure slapstick, and the audience laughs with the kind of delight that comes from being genuinely surprised. The cupid character darts around causing chaos. Even the more provocative moments, like the black swan stepping over a nearly naked performer in her red heels, are delivered with such cheek that they land as bold comic punctuation rather than tonal shocks. The show revels in contrast. Sweetness sits next to absurdity. Innocence brushes up against flirtation. Elegance shares the stage with silliness.
The design elements support this playful spirit. Costumes lean into black and white, with glittering unitards, tiny tutus, and flashes of gold. The ducklings’ yellow outfits pop against the pale strips of fabric hanging around the stage. The set is simple, almost bare, which gives the performers room to fill the space with their bodies and personalities. The soundtrack blends shards of Tchaikovsky with looping, suspenseful arrangements that stretch out the feeling of suspension. The music becomes a kind of invisible partner, nudging the action forward.
The choreography is full of clever details. Group sequences ripple across the stage with fast paced shifts in formation. Duets melt into trios, which then expand into full ensemble moments. Swan motifs appear in subtle gestures, in the curve of a neck or the sweep of an arm. The movement language blends circus technique with dance inspired phrasing, creating a hybrid style that feels fresh and playful.
Late in the show, the tone shifts. The performers begin stripping the stage bare. They roll up the floor, remove costumes, and dismantle the set in full view of the audience. The Swan Lake storyline has already resolved, so what follows feels like a series of bonus acts. A hoop routine. A Cyr wheel sequence. A few other tricks that feel like they belong to a different show. The shift is abrupt, but the performers’ charm carries it. Even when the cohesion wobbles, the entertainment never falters. The audience stays with them, buoyed by the cast’s enthusiasm.
What lingers after the show is not just the skill, although the skill is extraordinary. It is the feeling of being invited into a world where playfulness is taken seriously. Where strength and silliness coexist. Where a fairy tale can be retold with feathers, glitter, and human towers. Circa’s performers are astonishing athletes, but they never hide behind technique. They let the audience see the camaraderie, the trust, the shared mischief. The result is a production that feels warm, generous, and full of life.
Duck Pond is breathtaking in places, wildly creative throughout, and above all, infused with a youthful spirit that makes the whole experience feel fresh. It is a reminder that circus can be both technically brilliant and irresistibly fun. The performers soar, tumble, flirt, and laugh their way through a world that feels familiar and entirely new at the same time. You leave the theatre buzzing, feathers still floating somewhere in your imagination.
Performances of Duck Pond run from March 12-15 at Auckland's Kiri Te Kanawa Theatre, Aotea Centre. For show information & tickets head to Auckland Arts Festival