A sparse set – two walls, some tape on the floor –  is giv­en char­ac­ter by light­ing (Nata­sha James) and pro­jec­tion effects (Jason Wright). Flick­er­ings along the edges of fur­niture, spin­ning tri­angles, water on the base of the wall, clearly defined shad­ows. A light rect­angle becomes some­thing to invest­ig­ate. The score (Jason Wright) is an elec­tron­ic rum­bling. Some­times jazzy, some­times dis­turb­ing. Occa­sion­ally a dis­tor­ted and layered voice whis­pers some­thing. Against this back­drop Ross McCor­mack (dir­ect­or, set design­er, cho­reo­graph­er, per­former) and Luke Hanna (cho­reo­graph­er, per­former) dance. Con­trolled pre­cise move­ments mim­ick­ing a com­puter sim, time-lapse sequences, care­ful hur­ried mech­an­ic­al move­ments. They have the same intense focus of a pup­pet­eer bring­ing an object to life only they are the objects. Form-fit­ting grey-green cos­tumes that look like any week­end norm­core out­fit but with enough stretch to allow them to move unim­peded. There’s a strong sense of story (dram­at­urgy Melanie Hamilton) even though we might not exactly know what’s going on in this lim­in­al space. Sev­er­al times a ripple of delighted awe rolls through the audi­ence as some­thing new is revealed.

A fant­ast­ic col­lab­or­at­ive per­form­ance from the com­pany Muscle Mouth. Recom­men­ded.