Paper Swans: A Surreal Dance of Repetition at Soho Theatre

Elena Leo is the Arts & Lifestyle Editor of Ikon London Magazine.

A hypnotic and unsettling exploration of life’s loops—paper swans, ballet dresses, and all.

Paper Swans begins like a strange, late-night dream. A security guard, Peter, walks through a deserted park. He stumbles across a woman in a ballet dress, folding paper swans. She’s calm, focused, as if nothing’s wrong. He, on the other hand, is completely baffled. What’s a ballet dancer doing here, on a bench, in the dark, folding swans? Why? She doesn’t answer him—she just keeps folding. And when he asks her to leave? She insists she can’t. She has to finish the swans. Before morning. Yes, before morning.

And so, the loop begins.

Each time they meet, things shift just enough to make you feel like you’ve slipped into some dream—or nightmare. The park, the bench, the woman in the tutu, and Peter, the clueless guard—each cycle feels familiar, yet slightly off. Like déjà vu, only weirder. Like Groundhog Day with more paper and fewer jokes.

The beauty of the piece is in how little is explained. What exactly is going on here? Is Anna alive? Dead? A ghost? A spirit trapped in some endless loop? Or just a woman really committed to making paper swans, which, honestly, I can respect. It’s the same thing every time, but never quite the same. It’s like those dreams where you think you’re awake but then realize—nope, you’re still dreaming.

Vyte Garriga, who also wrote and stars in the piece, is captivating. Her movements are slow, deliberate—graceful and eerie. She could’ve been a ballerina in another life—or possibly someone trapped in a loop of their own making. She has this haunting calm that makes you question what exactly is happening. Is she playing Peter? Is he playing her? The tension between them is subtle, but you feel it in every movement. He’s the rigid, somewhat clueless park keeper, and she’s the one caught in her own world, folding swans, insisting she must finish before morning. He asks why, and she doesn’t answer. She just is.

Daniel Chrisostomou, playing Peter, brings a fantastic energy to the role. He’s not just a “man in a uniform”—he’s a man whose mind is slowly unraveling. The more time he spends with Anna, the more he falls into her rhythm, the more his actions become a mechanical dance of repetition. And it’s oddly charming. The way he moves, stiff at first, transforms into a sort of hypnotic, physical routine that mirrors the absurdity of their encounters. You can’t help but laugh at his bewilderment—though it’s unclear if that’s part of the show’s dark humour, or if you’ve just gone mad right alongside him. Either way, it’s a performance that keeps you on your toes, or in Peter’s case, firmly on his.

The minimal set—birch trees, a park bench, and simple fabric backdrops—creates an intimate, almost poetic atmosphere. Anna’s paper swans fill the invisible lake, and the space, though tight, feels purposeful. With just a few objects and clever use of light and music, the production manages to evoke a world that is both sparse and full, drawing you into its quiet absurdity.

Nick Hart’s music gives the piece an eerie, beautiful atmosphere, weaving in Lithuanian folk influences. It feels both ancient and modern at the same time. It helps create that dreamlike quality—subtle, layered, and just a little bit unsettling. And the lighting? It shifts effortlessly from soft and ethereal to harsh and menacing. You’re not sure whether to laugh, cry, or ask for more swans.

Paper Swans doesn’t offer easy answers. It’s absurd, yes, but also strangely poetic. It’s one of those shows that leaves you thinking—What is it all about? Why the swans? Why the repetition? Who’s trapped, and who’s doing the trapping? You get what you bring to it. Your own personal interpretation becomes part of the experience.

For fans of the absurd, for those who like their theatre strange and just a little bit off-center, it’s a real treat. Just be prepared to leave wondering what the hell you just saw.

Paper Swans runs from Monday 28 April – Saturday 3 May (not Thursday 1st May). Tickets from £15.

Rating: ****

Address: Soho Theatre Upstairs, 21 Dean Street, London W1D 3NE

Website: https://sohotheatre.com/events/paper-swans

Photos by Michael Drop