The Dance Moms run Hot Moves No Pressure like a military operation dipped in glitter.  With clipboard fury, they speak in eight counts, survive on caffeine and chaos, and believe no adult is too old for a dramatic lyrical solo or a sequined snap crotch leotard. HMNP isn’t just a competition — it’s their holy kingdom of dance, and you better believe they rule it with a can of Taft hair spray and a hot glue gun.

From goldfields to gold diggers, they are a fiscally irresponsible dance crew with one mission: to make it rain (because it’s been way too dry out here). They believe every problem can be solved with a small strip to space. Their investments are emotional. Their cigars are props. Their crypto is kryptonite. This is one small strip for man, one giant jeté for mainekind.

Deep in the Yandoit bush, three native birds are preparing to leave their nest, for one night only, to express themselves in the form of dance. Just like a white winged chough, sings a song sounds like she’s singing, OOo baby, OOo baby, ooooooh.

From the shadows of fear, a vibrant explosion ignites. Change can be scary, but Shadow Boom Echo Bloom is to show us it’s worth it, for there might be magic on the other side.

Forged on the shores of middle age and smashed by frustrated oceans, this powerhouse septet crashes into Boomtown on a fevered journey of lust, longing, and questionable logistics. Run away with All Fours on a business trip to nowhere. Bring your Spanx and your feelings. Together, we dance for more than victory. More than Davey, even. Clear the floor. Light your tonka bean candles and prepare to transcend. It’s ALL FOURS!

Since the arrival of a mysterious box, Castlemaine has fallen under the cruelest of curses. Dance, once their celebration and joy, has vanished from living memory. On Mount Olympus, the Gods suffer too. Forgotten by their Followers and starved of ‘Likes’ they descend to intervene. But the magic to lift this curse cannot be conjured alone. They must first rekindle the harmony with the wild beasts and creatures they once shaped … This is the story of Hella Goddess.

Welcome to Castlemainia, a land of community-minded keyboard warriors, where online supermarket battles can and do happen. Inspired by the drama of 1980s Town Council power suits, this pearl-wearing committee of Facebook maniacs has seriously divided loyalties. Love IGA? Thumbs up for Woolies? Did someone say Aldi? Shoulder pads are optional, but look out if you think lowering the speed limit to 50 is a good idea! Hold onto your leg warmers people, the Castlemainiacs are ready to rumble!

From goldfields to gold diggers, they are a fiscally irresponsible dance crew with one mission: to make it rain (because it’s been way too dry out here).

They believe every problem can be solved with a small strip to space.

Their investments are emotional. Their cigars are props. Their crypto is kryptonite.

This is one small strip for man, one giant jeté for mainekind.

Cockadoodledoo! There’s trouble in the henhouse. These cheeky chicks aren’t all that they may seem. As soon as Daddy Farmer turns his big brown eyes away from the coop, he realises he may not be the one in charge. He’s no match for these foxy vixens

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. The trouble is, these days even the 11.9% gender pay gap is not enough to entice a women to look past the looksmaxxing, Andrew Tating manosphere to the vulnerable heart of 21st century masculinity. If Mr Darcy wants to find his happily ever after, he’s going to have to learn who’s boss.

A movement masterpiece inspired by the ocean’s most glamorous molluscs — the nudibranchs! Fabulous, mysterious, and riding their own personal heatwave, these creatures don’t fight the current—they strut through it. What you’re about to witness is part marine biology, part interpretive dance, and part “why am I sweating through my sequins again?” Plankton, party people, and deep-sea divas, prepare yourselves. They are the nudibranchs of the night — and this is their sparkling, heat-rising, tide-turning moment.

It’s 1985, the scene is the Wesley Hill Valley aerobics competition. Doc Emmet Brown and his faithful assistant Einstein have learnt from the election, and are shifting away from nuclear to renewables, with the invention of: the CROTCH CAPACITORS, a Time Machine powered by dance. Can Mart, Doc and a heavily pregnant Jennifer produce the 1.21 gigawatts required to send them back to the future?

Better than a cold slab of Dominos on a Saturday morning, Pizza Night offers you 10 delicious dancers, combining their moves to create the best family sized super supreme special.Forged in a flaming oven of a regular Friday night pizza party, they’ve taken the heart from last year, tossed in some bold new ingredients and cooked up something altogether unexpected. Think … twisted cabaret in a dystopian factory floor fever dream, but with a pop and a heartbeat that refuses to be silenced.

BEHOLD! With the butts of glory, breasts of Xena Warrior Princess and the naughtiness of Nigella at midnight. The Booty Scooters are here, ready to rip it off, rip it up and melt the floor with every sultry strut. It’s about to get wet and wild.

With more harnesses than the Melbourne Cup. More hot wax than the Vatican. More gags than the comedy festival. More discipline than Puckapunyal. More roleplays than Theatresports. Less vanilla than Haagen-Dazs. More Dom than Dominoes and more Sub than Subway. Are they more cringe than your nan’s minge or do they have more aura than your labia majora? We give to you the finest collection of BDSM warriors this side of the Loddon … Fifty Shades of Slay

The year is 1925. Poor Mum has been relegated to the doldrums … What is she to do? What will become of her scheming? Enter … The Bearcats! Here to take poor Mum from drab to fab! But have they gone too far? Will poor Mum survive her transformation? Stay tuned to witness the smoke drenched lows and the glittering highs of 1920s rebellion!

Is it a lost marching band? A rogue walking tour? Nope, it’s the Super Duper Troupers… Or is that Zooper Trouper Dupers… Who knows, who cares! What started as a simple camel toe has progressed into a full blown toe-heel that just won’t quit. With blisters on their feet, and glitter in their veins, these striders have come way too far to turn back time. So fall in line, open your legs (and hearts) and come along for the ride as these troupers march on in!

After last year’s Hot Moves, the Fab 5 were kidnapped and taken to a secret laboratory! There, they were forced to perform experimental dance moves night and day. Unexplained cellular division appears to have swollen their number to six. They managed to escape, but it appears they are not quite themselves….

These professional overthinkers turned dancers bring their unapologetic chaotic energy to the dance floor. They once had a panic attack at the disco, but now just call it choreography. They tell a story of struggle and strength, expressive flailing and interpretive sweating. Come for the footwork, stay for a therapy session in motion.

Lady luck was MIA on the day of the draw so our beloved Rurals missed out on an official dance slot. But they brought their vim and vigour and entertained the croiwd waiting in line to get in. THEN during the unexpected black out they did an impromptu acapella by phone audio and light. GENIUS.

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The Rural Hot Bitches at Hot Movs No Pressure 2025