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.