‘Chunky Move’, the name of the Australian dance company which has brought 4/4 to Queen Elizabeth Hall, may conjure images of classic street dance and hip-hop, but this show is eminently more remarkable.
Company members form dark statues in urban clothing, repositioning themselves, slowly and eerily, around four shallow, rectangular platforms as the audience file in by torchlight.
The post-apocalyptic design of the show cannot be denied, but its execution is far more sophisticated than throwing references to chaos at the wall. Here is a studied unfolding of bodies as mechanisms that are part of a greater, organic machine.
Soft beats hold all the show’s material—dance, light, set—together, as the dancers are inseparable from its synchrony. While the tableaux and patterns across the low plinths change, machine-like, into different riffs of cause and effect, the dancers’ centres are low, their arms helicopter-like. Intermittently, they keep pushing their platforms in an imperceptible crawl.
Strangely, the experience reminds me of those factory production lines that can be viewed in moreish clips on X/Twitter—the rhythm of process made addictive and compelling.
While dancers make cooly organic mechanisms, the plinths move slowly, rotating the stage in a grander operation. Lighting is expertly expressive here as it captures the many faces and edges of dancers in tableaux—a haunting and intelligent play on perception.
There is, however, nothing mechanical about the ebb and flow of transitions in this piece, which, despite its softly angular feel, is symphonic in the vein of a ballet.
4/4’s story-world is strongly defined by the rules of its choreography—dancers do not touch in any tender or overtly emotional way, with the exception of a sunrise sequence in which one dancer shows rare vulnerability in removing his shirt and another embraces him. The shocking starkness of this moment is truly moving—this is a world of productivity and rare respite.
The painterly aspect of 4/4 rests not only in the many faces of tableaux in light but also in the vast simplicity of the AV screen—it economically provides mood, and, in one sequence, an intense round of heat and colour denoting an early awakenings and/or late repose.
The show leaves us with a final statue image. One dancer takes the helm on top of layered plinths, while the others beat their fingers in the air like idolising fans at a concert. There is a dark ominousness to all—a treatment that should be expected when reflecting on humans as machines and their daily activities.
The degree to which this review has derailed into poetry is testament to the strength of 4/4 as a significant work that would introduce young dancers to the possibilities of rhythm and synthesis of artforms. It offers a new slant on Futurism through the steps of hip-hop and contemporary, but achieves the pathos and grace of any classical work. Not to be missed.