Written by Jo McDonald,
Artistic Director, Move Through Life Dance Company

Devolution is far from pretty. It is fascinating, beautiful and grotesque. All elements - the choreography, robotic set, stark lighting, ethereal film and insect-like costumes - work together to reveal startling parallels between the structure of civilization with non-human structures - an insect colony or the internal workings of a machine.

As the house lights dim, a beam of light chances upon a wisp of smoke. Expanding, it reveals an entanglement of superimposed bodies - dancers' bodies - that emerge, rotating through time. Accompanied by a minimalistic soundscape, the opening evokes emptiness, even fear. Filmmaker Gina Czarnecki uses dozens of tiny human bodies to create dehumanized lattices and patterns. Darrin Verhagen's score draws on the rhythm of pistons, contrasting harsh screeches with soothing white noise.

Their heads bowed, the dancers have shed their humanity. Faces in shadow, it is the unusual angles of their limbs and articulation of their muscles that reveals most. Through the juxtaposition of slow and repetitive, frenetic and vibratory, and explosive, ballistic movement, Stewart successfully invokes a hybrid of human/insect/machine. The machine analogy is most literally applied when six or so dancers cluster together - poised at different levels performing repetitive mechanical movements.

Amongst the frenzy, Daniel Jaber's naked solo is one of the few contrasting pieces. Accompanied by tiny floor robots that flash, twitch and chatter, the solo highlights fragile, vulnerable humanity. The chattering robots alternate between inquisitive and threatening, with Jaber serene amongst them all.

Having not seen ADT since Devolution premiered at the 2006 Adelaide Festival, I was reminded that the company's movement vocabulary is distinct. The dancers displayed incredible athleticism, power, speed and flexibility. "Dance as an impact sport" chuckled one patron in the foyer afterwards. Their ability to perform movements beyond the usual human range further dehumanized them. Larissa McGowan performed a solo in full backbend for such an extraordinary length of time she looked more insect than human.

It is probably the collaboration with robotic designer Louise-Philippe Demers that makes Devolution a significant work. Despite their angular, metal bodies, the robots appear more human, more cognisant than the dancers. Two large, almost humanoid robots at one point move forward to peer at the dancers, craning to shine their lights on the entanglement of human bodies below. Their movement accompanied by a sound that evokes memories of an old horror flick in which a swarm of beetles steadily engulfs all in its wake. In contrast to the inquisitive robots, the humans dance as if unaware of either robots or dancers. Even when two or more dancers move entwined they appeared as a single organism, not two separate organisms that were aware of each other. Like parts of a machine or a system of bodily cells or organs that do their job - work together as a whole, but only because they are a well designed unit. The only exception was when the dancers had a robotic prosthesis attached - at that time they almost seem to fight the prosthesis - raising the question - who is in control?

After a performance that maintains a fairly constant energy level, there is a frenetic crescendo - movement, sound, machines and lights. A sudden silence follows. The piece finishes as it started, with a projection - a mass of bodies, unrecognizable. The sound is hollow, empty, hypnotic, eerie. The image on screen shrinks, merges into a blob. The sound fades as the image shrivels to a tiny snowflake, then vanishes. Nothingness!