The images from the show are fresh in my mind weeks after seeing the performance, not least the Muslim lesbian who finds herself alone in her shared house after coming out. She falls to the floor and feels despair that ‘people just kept leaving’. The stories are told through speech and dance such as the prolonged spinning sequence of the septuagenarian Rabbi who says she feels so tired now that she can only tell young people to ‘please pay attention’.
It is comforting to know that DV8 do not deviate from being fearless, expressive and honest regardless of whether the truth offends or pleases, like the story of the in-the-closet homosexual who chases a young openly gay man down the street to dislocate his jaw. It is disconcerting to be convinced after this 80 minute show that holding the hand of your same sex partner whilst walking down a street in Brixton is probably more of a hazard now than it was in the eighties.
Whilst attitudes may not have shifted in the direction one would have hoped, the choreography is streets ahead. No matter how gripping, brave and enlightening the story being told by the characters, the fluidity of the dance is stand-alone perfecto. The married Indian man who secretly takes a Caucasian male lover and dances to ‘Hips Don’t Lie’ changed the song forever for me and I am happy to have a take away sound that will trigger the bold movements of this exciting ephemeral evening.