The rules of the game are hard to deduce, but in the end it doesn’t really matter. Choreographer Adrienne Truscott puts the Dadaists to shame with a delightfully incomprehensible dance piece that, in defying narrative, drives us on to make one up for our selves. Five dancers, including Truscott, transfer movement from one to the other, from broad, sweeping balletics to goofy hip thrusts. A large cardboard box, suspended from the ceiling, reveals Phillip Connaughton draped in nothing but a flimsy gold frock one moment, and an opera singing John Scott the next. Junior Yussuf flits about in a cheerleader skirt as Joanna Banks dons two loaves of bread as ballet slippers. And out of nowhere, members of the audience leap to their feet and join the performers in a barrage of movement, only to fade into the background moments later.

This is all play, but skilled play nonetheless and enjoyed with a deep seriousness. The ensemble works smartly together, though it’s a shame we don’t get more of Yussuf, who seems sidelined at times. Connaughton stands out as dazzlingly graceful, but is unafraid of being the clown. All in all, this is dirty dancing with a little bit of danger and a load of belly laughs.

Jesse Weaver