The Insanity in Dancing, 10 November 2016
"Vincent's coupling of adult bodies and young bodies is extraordinary. The four children crash and slam their counterparts with uncompromising commitment."
London Dance, 7 November 2016
“With a sensational cast of performers who combine technical skill with brilliant body language and emotional depth, Vincent delivers forceful messages through her poetic and political dance theatre.”
Dance Tabs, 9 November 2016
“It is a deeply uncomfortable work, made all the more so in Vincent’s stroke of genius to cast four child performers alongside four adults….. The torch that Vincent shines on the dichotomies in modern life is searching.”
A Younger Theatre, 5 November 2016
"“…performed by an eclectic cast of four professional performers, and four child performers – who are extremely impressive in their execution of both technical dance phrases and also theatrical/emotional intentions."
The Guardian, 6 November 2016
★★★★ "Brave…unnerving exploration of the sexualised imagery mobilised by smartphones and circulated inside classrooms"
Evening Standard, 3 November 2016
"This work asks important questions… Can what the internet has unleashed ever be put back in the bottle?"
The Stage, 3 November 2016
“Virgin Territory is a work of a candid, uncompromising nature but it is the reality of the scenarios Vincent addresses that makes them so powerful. Her strong cast perform with an engaging honesty – there is an openness between the adults and young people that should be more prevalent in society.”
The Guardian, 15 March 2015
Last week, to mark the 21st year of the company’s existence, Vincent Dance Theatre took up residence at Shoreditch town hall.
The Guardian, 6 March 2015
From a smoky dreamworld to a domestic goddess, this promenade showcase bears testimony to the company’s enduring quality
The Observer, 18 November 2012
There's a sequence in Vincent Dance Theatre's Motherland that's repeated at intervals throughout the two-hour piece. Aurora Lubos enters with a bottle of blood-red dye, slops a great gob of it on the all-white backdrop and, hitching her skirt up to her waist, leans back against it so that it seems to be welling from inside her, then fixes us with a sad, abject gaze.