I’m done with Hofesh Shechter

I think I’m through with Hofesh Shechter, and that’s a pity, because earlier work of his such as Political Mother thrilled me with its unedited passion and energy. But after several duds and misfires, I feel that with Theatre of Dreams he’s run out of ideas and hit a dead end. The title suggests what’s gone wrong: labelling something Theatre of Dreams gives you licence to go crazy and do what the hell you like, without any purpose or structure, rhyme or reason. And that’s what has happened here. Over 90 uninterrupted minutes, curtains close and open to reveal a hundred or so snapshot tableaux of 13 dancers doing nothing of any discernible significance in a void.

It’s a trick Shechter has played several times previously, and it is realised here in dance that is entirely without originality, expressive nuance or formal elegance. Random and largely frenetic, it relies on periodic outbreaks of tribal stomping, as well as the odd feeble joke, such as a man running about naked but for his socks, clutching his genitals in embarrassment. The dancers are admirably tireless and committed; the electronic music, composed by Shechter and enhanced by a jazz combo, is thumpingly banal; Tom Visser’s lighting is the show’s most imaginative aspect. I should add that the audience – invited at one point to jump up from their seats and join in a mass jive, which they did with vigour – went wild with enthusiasm. All great if you suffer from attention deficit disorder. But count me out.

The first thing to note about the National Ballet of Canada, which last month briefly visited Britain after a decade of absence, is that its dancers emerge collectively as a beautifully schooled troupe, cohesive in style and confident in different idioms.