© Dave Morgan 'Cloud Dance Festival' reviews    www.cloud-dance-festival.org.uk Yuyu Rau reviews Hana Saotome reviews Slanjayvah Danza reviews Hyanglae Jin reviews Hurst and Griffiths reviews  Jessica Hurst & Caroline Griffiths reviews Scarlett Perdereau reviews Mavin Khoo reviews more Azulynn reviews Discuss this review (Open for at least 6 months) Gallery of Photographs

The evening started with an aptly named introduction, Beauty Unveiled. Japanese drawings on two long strips of fabric hanging from the ceiling set the tone, complemented by the slow, flowing upper body torsions of the first part. Four dancers, two in white and two in black, represent the Yin and Yang – their different styles and backgrounds create the contrast needed, and the interchangeability of roles, with a woman partnering the sole male dancer of the cast, adds mystery to this fluid world. Unfortunately, Beauty Unveiled then seems to lose its path, hampered by a disjointed structure and the lack of development in Yuyu Rau's choreography. The four dancers, depicting random associations and emotions, seemed more and more subdued as time went by – a shame, as their singularity gave its strength to the duality of the work.

A solo devised and choreographed by Hana Saotome, Low Blue Flame, followed. It is a fascinating variation around the idea of something 'hot despite its smallness and calmness' – and as Saotome entered the stage, lighting small blue lamps one after the other, it became clear she would embody just that flame. At once strong and supple, she has a rare upper body decisiveness, and uses it to quietly sculpt the air around her. As a collaboration with musician A. Lorenzo, it is also a success – the electronic soundtrack only adds to the idea of something sizzling beyond the surface of Low Blue Flame. I only wish the intensity of the piece was more modulated over the time it lasts – its effects would be enhanced by more contrast.

Slanjayvah Danza's Blind Passion was already the hit of the previous festival, and it didn't fail to cast its spell on the audience again. Jenni Wren truly is a master of contact work, and she has created a duet at once daring and entrancing, a process of discovery so exposed that a collective frisson passes through the audience every time. The choreography actually seems more influenced by tango when it is not trying to be tango – the elasticity of the partnering, the minute reactions to each other, the ability to lead and be led as if in the dark, so moving in the choreography, are exactly what gives modern tango its perfume. Jenni Wren was performing with a new partner, Riccardo Meneghini, but together they dance Blind Passion with the utmost trust and abandon – equal in desire, alternatively supporting each other through lifts and releases. A masterpiece, achieving full effect in the intimate setting of the Pleasance Theatre.

Expect strange when Hyanglae Jin is choreographing – her work is akin to experimental theatre, but if much of her latest creation remains puzzling, with Now let me tell you about my. . . she also brings a healthy dose of humour to the stage. A man enters on a skateboard, shirts tied together are used to create a sanctuary, we hear a story about being in the hospital with both feet broken, someone stares at the first row, Portishead's Glory Box makes a surprise appearance - I could go on and on, but what really mattered was the sheer energy and individuality of Jin's performers, Carlos Molina and Sebastian Hicks. The absurdity of the piece grows witty and theatrical in their hands. Don't expect dance – but as random theatre goes, Now let me tell you about my. . . is quite an experience.

Hurst and Griffiths' Weave proved to be a typically radical departure from the previous works, an angst-ridden vision of five dancers in straight white dresses. The piece is said to be about the artwork of Chiharu Shiota and his labyrinthine visual creations, but it doesn't quite succeed in emulating such a poetic, sculptural use of space; the choreography reverts instead to movement reminiscent of an exploration of madness, as the dancers, alone, pulling and pushing, seemingly try to break free of their own bodies. Weave sadly goes into generic territory halfway through the piece to keep up with the more furious part of the music – it is at its best at the end, with the group calmer, staring at us, their eyes truly unsettling. Some of the bodies try to escape, only to be brought back by their leader. More individuality and poetic imagination would be needed to truly reflect Shiota's work, but what seemed like the dynamics of neurosis within the group made for a powerful, dramatic ending.

Scarlett Perdereau's Spare Rib originates in what may seem like a good idea: the correspondances between bodies and musical instruments. Embodying music, however, is perhaps one of the most difficult tasks for a dancer – it requires not only a polished, precised technique, but also an outstanding musical sensitivity. The three dancers on stage seemed to work hard at establishing a rapport with their three musicians, but there is no depth to the relationship between music and dance in Spare Rib – gimmicks like pretending to play the guitar or sketching a few steps with a musician have little to do with being attuned to every nuance of a score. The dancing itself was generally unrefined, and actually at times unmusical. That is not to say that parts of it weren't pleasant – but you just have to look at any great classical dancer or any work by Mark Morris to learn that musicality is an almost sacred gift in dance, and Spare Rib remains but a very light account of its power.

The final offering was Mavin Khoo's Amour, a mostly neoclassical pas de deux to Tchaikovsky's Romeo and Juliet. This symphonic poem is slightly less familiar than Profokiev's full-length ballet score, and Khoo responds to it with a fine exploration of the lovers' blossoming relationship. A shy Juliet (Lucía Piquero) twice lifts her skirts for Romeo to lie down beneath her, and while the audience laughs the first time, at the end of Amour it becomes a touching, tender image of their young love. The choreography, a real blend of influences from ballet to Mats Ek, manages to capture the awkward elegance of this encounter, although the exact reactions and feelings of the dancers embodying Juliet and her Romeo remained sketchy – the neoclassical work also needed more freedom in the neck and shoulders to be fully expressive. Still, a light, flowing piece to end the evening, and to send the audience home dreaming.