So many tango shows have paraded their sexy, stiletto-heeled credentials across UK stages that the dance form is losing its power to pique our imaginations. Circa, danced by the Holy Body Tattoo, makes no claims to authenticity - the two dancers are Canadian and describe themselves as tango tourists. But their training in physical theatre gives their efforts a pungent whiff of the barrio and bordello that can sometimes feel more gutsy than their Argentinian models.
Noam Gagnon and Dana Gingras have not only mastered tango basics - its rapier footwork and swooning embrace - but they have the reflex confidence as a couple to let the dance drag them around by the scruffs of their necks. With hearts and groins glued to each other, they throw their bodies headlong into a mutual tussle of will and desire. Their sharp, slicing steps don't simply follow the music's beat but accelerate from the rhythms of teasing to out-and-out attack.
Circa's design is deliberately tacky and mundane. The stage is hung with 1960s chandeliers, and a rouched satin backdrop rises at moments to allow footage of a city (Paris rather than Buenos Aires) to be shown on a small screen. Images of ordinary people in parks, cemeteries or tango classes create a sense of social milieu and history.
Against these images the couple's panting embrace is exaggerated by their intimate proximity to the audience. And, as the show progresses, it is the physicality of the dance on which they focus, deconstructing the elegant surfaces into pure wrestling, sexual groping and percussive frenzy.
Yet while Circa is an intelligent meditation on tango, it lacks the richness and mystique of theatre. By itself it is a slightly earnest lecture-demo. What transforms it into a real show is the maverick presence of the Tiger Lillies. This musical trio generate an apocalyptic tango atmosphere that is far more louche and transgressive than the dancing. Adrian Stout on double bass and Adrian Huge on drums are laconic absurdists; Martyn Jacques as singer and accordionist is a whole genre of his own. With his round, grotesquely made-up face he is part Weimar cabaret artist, part Edna Everage. His distinctive shriek is part demon, part opera diva.
The Tiger Lillies' songs speak of girls, pimps, drugs and bad dreams, and their music is cheap, eerie and beautiful. As the dancers' material turns more and more self-consciously analytical it is they who become background accompaniment to the musicians. In Circa it takes three, rather than two, to tango.
· Until February 15. Box office: 020-7638 8891.
