Absurd and exciting, this surreal romp will keep you entertained

There’s nothing quite like the shared movement language of Harrison Ritchie-Jones and Michaela Tancheff. Their vocabulary of sporty grappling and mutual manipulation, first seen several years ago in the excellent Cuddle , combines rough-handling with exquisite responsiveness and apparent sensitivity.

The opening section of their latest collaboration has playful echoes of a ballroom routine. Extravagant lifts and twists and shifts of momentum also suggest a wrestling contest, with each dancer constantly tracing the other’s body to maintain contact, seeking ways to connect their repertoire of moves.

As in Cuddle , they keep up a murmured dialogue, discussing their options and deciding what comes next. Moves are named like invitations which can be accepted or rejected. These casual exchanges make the choreography seem negotiated live: an intricate physical conversation with its own laconic commentary.

Paradoxically, this verbal back and forth makes us more aware of who initiates and who responds, inviting us to diagnose power relations in the mechanics of partnering. Or, at the very least, it draws attention to the contrast in their stage personalities: one expansive and eager, the other more reserved and reactive.

Structurally, the development of the show from scene to scene feels a little arbitrary. Of course, the unexpected twists and turns are part of the fun, but I think I would have enjoyed this show even more if there was a clearer sense of narrative progress.

Ritchie-Jones’s program statement describes pushing their partnering practice to its limits and exploring how it fails. But what are the stakes? Does apparent failure count as success for the performers, or is the other way around? It sounds a little too much like navel gazing.

Fortunately, the absurdities of this surreal romp are sufficiently entertaining: horse-riding antics, a sudden mystifying leap into opera, crazy costumes and multiple unexpected bursts of song. There’s more than enough excitement at the surface to keep us from looking deeper. Reviewed by Andrew Fuhrmann

“Welcome to the second recording session for this still quite-new band,” Stuart Murdoch says with a grin. His tongue is firmly in cheek – Belle and Sebastian, the indie-pop group he’s led for more than half his life, is on tour celebrating its 30th year. In 1996, the bookish Scots made their debut with two albums: Tigermilk and If You’re Feeling Sinister . On this anniversary tour, they’re alternating playing those records in full. Melbourne gets the Sinister treatment.

Playing albums in full live can be a cynical cash-cow in the age of commodified nostalgia, but there’s no denying the sheer delight of hearing a beloved album like this in all its glory. On record, Sinister ’s arrangements are delicate; live, they’re injected with a shot of joyous energy, with buzzing synth to boot.

Many of these songs begin with Murdoch alone, singing with that sweet, instantly recognisable voice, before the eight other musicians on stage slowly blossom to create sunlight in musical form.