Throughout Subverse , we see individuals and groups gradually exchange youth and innocent exuberance for things just a bit darker. A brief spoken-word section, delivered from two squares of grass and sod at center stage in front of the curtain, invokes set designer Paul Clay's smoky world, dramatically illuminated by Jane Cox' mix of red, white light and shadow, Composer Hahn Rowe presides from atop a scaffold draped in red as his live synthesizer and electric violin compositions take us from a technobeat dance floor to places more elusive. Dorfman's choreography follows its subjects into these places as groups break down into threes, then twos, then individuals. We see couples slam each other into the ground, watch laughter fade as parties end, and then note those who cannot stop laughing. This time around, Naoko Nagata's bright costumes are muted in black gauze.
Some memories are that dear, that still, that impossibly perfect.
Elsewhere, the beat goes on as the dancers enact the missing in a world where if the angels cannot catch you, at least they'll point out where you fell. Orpheus learned it was a mistake to look back. For Sisyphus, memory proved simultaneous blessing and curse. Dorfman at the last makes peace with his ghosts. As the dancers recede, our narrator and guide lies down at center stage.