Crystal Pite used to be a dancer with William Forsythe, and her choreography is formed in the master's style. The near freakish distortions of body shape, the bonelessly fluid linking moves, the loops of obsessional voiceover, the apocalyptic use of light – all these mark Pite out as part of the Frankfurt diaspora. But the Canadian choreographer's talent is also emphatically her own, and having been presented here under the Wells's debut programme she deserves to return very soon.
In some ways, Lost Action plays out like a crime movie. Its motivating action – a violent struggle that leaves a man dead – is played out over and over again, as if the choreography were hunting out clues or a killer. Yet with each repeat, the movement registers a new key. Some variations are fascinating in their structural specifics: dark, knotted wrestling ensembles that abruptly resolve into still-life tableaux; sharp, angular formations. Pite has a rare gift for orchestrating bodies, part of the tension in Lost Action comes from wondering how she can top each new invention. But she has an even rarer gift for conveying emotion. When one man tries to resuscitate the victim, his functional, chest-pumping manoeuvres blossom into a ululating duet. When one woman walks slowly through the group bearing the dead man's jacket, she casts a spell of piercing ecstatic sadness. Repeatedly, as bodies fall and are tenderly cradled we see images of the Christian pietà. Out of just one motif of casual violence, Pite runs the gamut from raw, visceral emotion to religious ritual.
The work is probably 10 minutes too long and occasionally loses its grip, but still there are few choreographers of Pite's generation who can create such a world of invention with just seven dancers and an empty stage.
