Random Dance.

RANDOM DANCE ROYCE HALL, UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, Los ANGELES, CA JANUARY 28-29, 2005

In modern dance, national stereotypes no longer hold. (Did they ever?) The U.S. premiere of Wayne McGregor's Nemesis (2002), presented by UCLA Live, revealed a company with an expansive, athletic, yet centered style of movement that eradicates any lingering notion of English effeteness. Forget the name of the organization: The combinations proposed by McGregor and his nine dancers are carefully plotted, scrupulously wrought, and engage the entire body. Fiery, leg extensions coexist with rippling torsos and voluptuous arm swings, while the devouring and rearranging of space remains a priority. The movement trajectory, is relentless, even in solos that generate a pulse-pounding tension.

McGregor, who founded the troupe in 1992, possesses enormous range. He propels his dancers through an edgy unison; then 20 minutes later, he delivers the coda of the 65-minute work with a solo derived from hip hop that leaves his audience as thrilled and mystified as when the house lights first went down. Nemesis, however, doesn't seem as much about dancing as about the transmogrifying influence of technology. From the beginning, Lucy Carter's and Ravi Deepres' slides of empty, slightly greenish rooms are projected behind the dancers. Later, through some miracle of computer animation, dancers insinuate themselves into the projections and emerge as wasps; lighting grids seep into the floor and McGregor cavorts with phantom bugs. For Americans, who have been weaned on multimedia saturation, this was tepid stuff. Worse, with Nemesis comes a high decibel original electronic score by Robin Rimbaud (professional name: Scanner), who, as he twiddles knobs in the balcony, proves a master of assaulting the ear.

The dance comes to life during a sequence in which the dancers are fitted with long, metallic, prosthetic arms (the invention of Jim Henson's Creature Shop) and engage in mortal combat. Here, compact Hilary Stainsby shows glimmers of genuine star power in a solo that suggests The Cage--Generation 2. Similarly armed, Odette Hughes and Antoine Vereecken enter the fray like a pair of carnivorous insects set on devouring each other.

But what does it mean? McGregor, who has choreographed extensively for films, is so enraptured with technology that he remains goggle-eyed by its surfaces. His nemesis seems to be simplicity.

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