The Tap Dogs phenomenon was the brainchild of Australian choreographer-dancer Dein Perry. Following a stint as a hoofer in the Sydney run of 42nd Street in the early 90s, he decided to put together a tap show around the theme of the steel industry in his home town of Newcastle, NSW.
Success at the 1995 Edinburgh festival launched the Aussie wallopers into the international orbit, which they have enjoyed ever since.
Tap Dogs: Rebooted, Perry's new show, which opened at Sadler's Wells on Wednesday, mines the same neo-industrial seam. But this time round, to the show's considerable advantage, Perry has added what he calls a "whole new dimension". Female Tap Dogs. Girls.
This is not to suggest that the testosterone-drenched tone of the show has been compromised in any way. Aussies tap like they play cricket - aggressively, and to win. There's a fair amount of sledging from behind the wicket, too - the Dogs josh each other loudly and incomprehensibly throughout. The look is Castlemaine XXXX casual: tattoos, shorts, wrecked singlets and Blundstone work boots with taps attached. And yes, female Dogs notwithstanding, there is more than a hint of the Village People in all this strenuous machismo.
Essentially, the show is a display of virtuoso tap-dancing. Skill levels are exceptionally high, and Perry takes us far beyond the usual time-steps, wings and cramp rolls. There are finely crafted duets, there is some very clever business with basketballs, which are bounced in counterpoint to the tapping, and there is a terrific moment when the cast imitates an approaching train. But there's not much light and shade. The noise levels are generally those of the factory floor, and there are times when Andrew Wilkie's pounding score obliterates the taps altogether.
The grunge factor is often so extreme that it works counter to any sense of theatre. There's far too much backchat and über-butch posturing. One Dog, an unsmiling bloke with a greasy mullet, seems particularly determined to make no concessions to the fact that there is an audience present. The consequence of this jaded attitudinising is to make us aware of just how far the choreographic material has been stretched to fill the show's 90 minutes.
The exceptions are Douglas Mills and Bec Jeffs. When Mills and Jeffs are on, the stage lights up. They smile at the audience, for a start, rather than smirking ironically at their fellow Dogs. They clearly love what they're doing, they're fabulous at it, and their enthusiasm flies across the footlights. The rest of the cast should lighten up and remember that this is the business called Show. We know you're tough. You're dancers, aren't you?
· Until August 23, Box office: 020-7863 8000.
