The dancers begin where ‘Femmenisto Chapter One’ ends. The first half of ‘Hert’ retells the latter half of ‘Femmenisto’ like a snake eating its tail, but from there the show unfurls a more vibrant twist. One that turns to spirituality, and a new kind of suffering that can be light and transparent. The dancers offer playful and sensitive communication through their bodies, since our words so often fail.
The curtain rises to a robotic politeness, where the dancers meticulously support one another in the most awkward of rotating body statues, shifting through a femme fatale whiskey haze of classic modern dance and trauma, followed by electronic darkness where we find ourselves unsure if the dancers are constricted or free. The slither of bodies struggle against confinement and funk and test their stamina with every lift and jump, often stopping abruptly to balance on one leg while the music pulses on. We then experience the comedic horror of a nursing mother busting a restrictive and yet incredibly virtuosic smoothness.
In the second half we awaken to a meditative investigation of sustained strength and breath, the dancer’s trance-like movements, moving as a collective unit, pull the audience into their own kinesthetic dreamscape, mostly because it becomes obvious the dancers have all physically taped into this greater awareness in unison. The show wraps with the dancers attempting to form the space they need to heal while authentically communicating without judgment, encouraging support through technical limbs and torsos that seamlessly flow from staccato to nimble, the unlimited swaying and swirling of hips, and deeply articulated feet.