Jean Abreu: Inside

A killer blend of beguiling style with emotional punch


Jean Abreu has taken a bold step with Inside. The feline fluidity and spacious abstraction that marked his earlier pieces are now alloyed with a new element of psychological brutalism. The mix is sometimes laboured, but when it works – as it often does – you get a killer blend of a beguiling style with raw emotional punch.

The piece, danced by five men, explores ideas of imprisonment and masculinity. Its early sections are reminiscent of Hofesh Shechter: ragged squadron formations, headlong runs, hunched scuttles. But Abreu doesn’t exult in high-testosterone dynamics, as Shechter sometimes can; instead, he lays bare an emotional wasteland. There is an abiding sense of isolation, even in group sequences. The men move in consort as if under orders, or they gang up into impersonal walls of flesh. One inventive sequence sees them butt up head to head, like struggling stag beetles; another has them in pairs, one partner oblivious to the shape-shifting shadow who is tracking him across the floor.

They scarcely make eye contact, and there is no personal connection. Alone, one man writes on the floor with his fingers; another coughs out broken words as if communication itself were painful. Imprisonment seems to have seeped into their souls. Or perhaps masculinity is their prison: one man, twisting his clothes into a skirt and scarf, tries briefly to escape into another gender.

The performers are excellent, especially the hyperarticulate Theo Lowe, who can flit between rictus spasms and woozy bonelessness in a heartbeat. The music, by the Sheffield math-rock band 65daysofstatic (playing live on the London leg of the tour), is a hit-and-miss patchwork of driving thrash, plaintive piano and fuzzed-up electronica. Choreographically, Inside can be patchy, too, with some sections overextended, others underdeveloped. And the Queen Elizabeth Hall, with its open wings and airy auditorium, is not the ideal setting for a piece about confinement.