Without Warning

But this ambiguity soon evaporates as these initial movements become more aggressive. The performers are never in a state of stillness: using every part of the stage, some are lifted up high, others are thrown across the floor and pushed around. More importantly, we see their gradual dehumanisation. At times they are animal-like on all fours; towards the end, some are almost completely on the floor, crawling and writhing like insects.

And we as the audience become unwilling participants in this nightmare. In an inspired move, before the show begins the audience is taken through the backstage area to arrive directly on the dimly-lit stage, and you stand as the drama unfolds in front of you. As the tensions build up and the dancers move more aggressively and quickly, there is no way of telling where the dancers will land next – whether thrown or pushed – so you also have to move quickly to clear the space. It’s a strange feeling of having your personal space invaded, much like the hostages they are depicting. But one small gripe: the pace was at times so fast that I’m unsure what the dancers would have done if there were less able-bodied audience members there.

A heightened air of fear is created through a strange soundscape of mechanical sounds punctured with vocals, percussions and strings. The performers make small groans and short tuneful notes, and at the end, one performer repeats a motif over and over, turning increasingly hysterical and desperate like a never-ending nightmare, until she is stopped abruptly by someone else. Is she saved from her hell? Or is it something much more sinister?

It is frustrating that we are not allowed a further glimpse into the inner workings of the characters: each ‘struggle’ remains separate from the others, and the pushes and lifts do not develop into anything further. This is certainly not a song-and-dance sort of performance; Without Warning haunts you from beginning to end.

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