Marco D’Agostin is wearing a loud shirt of blocky, floral patterns in bright, clashing colours. There’s a lot of “information” in it, we might say. But it’s nowhere near the amount of blocky, clashing information in his solo Everything is OK. He opens with a long, continuous stream of speech that jumps between languages and accents, fleetingly referencing songs, conversations, news and interviews like a verbal flickbook. His face remains blank throughout. There follows an extended dance section, an unbroken flow of action through aerobic bounces, cabaret high-kicks, modern-dance moves, music-video shimmies and much more, executed with blank disaffection, as if it’s all nothing to do with him.
D’Agostin may be exhausted by this – he collapses on the floor, leaving the lighting to take over – but for us it’s oddly soothing: information overload blurs into a texture, and the piece passes by like a barely-remembered dream.