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I last saw Hofesh Shechter Company in 2009 in The Choreographer's Cut at The Roundhouse, and the defiant yet gentle opening image of 'Uprising' has stayed with me since then. What I'd forgotten was how the volume of percussion and intensity of movement engulfs your whole being, and compels you to want to move with the seven animalistic creatures sweeping across the stage.

Shechter has created an original movement language, which, now with the hindsight of a few years having passed, one can see how this has filtered in to so much of today's other choreographic works. This programme of performances at Sadler's Wells which includes the 2009 all-female work 'The Art of Not Looking Back' presented its audiences with the opportunity to revisit Shechter's work from his triumphant early days.

In 'Uprising', the dancers move in a way that is so stylised yet so free, with their seemingly casual demeanour and costume sitting comfortably, but never lazily, within the pounding soundscore: an element of performance which is integral to the staging of Shechter's work. After well-placed moments of softer sound, or silence and stillness, the bass returns, and seems to radiate organically in the seven male dancers' bodies.

And still, 'Uprising' does so much more than just demonstrate this use of the physical facility. There are moments of tenderness, humanity, and of humour as the dancers stand in a circle and exchange macho back-slaps which escalate into a scuffle and then a fight. The perpetual shifting makes for compulsive viewing, although perhaps due to the way Shechter's movement style and vocabulary has been adopted by so many, some moments become predictable. The earnest waving of a red flag to end the piece refers back to the subject matter, and is met by a very enthused audience.

'The Art Of Not Looking Back' is certainly a development in theatricality for the Hofesh Shechter Company. The combination of gentle but commanding voiceover, blinding lights, pitch black darkness and blood curdling, ear-shattering screams which morph into scats all give this second work of the night a compelling, indiscernible energy. The staging is almost filmic, and is constantly fragmented, meaning it's hard to settle into and be engulfed by it in the same way as with Uprising.

This is summed up by the voiceover, at one stage noting 'violent, but in a very very quiet way'. The violence is often sourced in the soundscore, juxtaposed with simultaneous moments of quiet, calm hypotonic movement. The departure of this work from 'Uprising' is recognisable in many different ways, notably in the all-female cast and the breaking down of movement sequences to reveal a more personal experience of the performers. Whilst the impact of the work is strong, and it is satisfying to experience a change of pace and approach, had it not been programmed alongside 'Uprising' it may not have held its own.

That said, the 'rewind' effect is wonderful, as are the silhouettes of the seven female dancers' balletic forms and staccato changing arms. The vocal references to 'mother' draw out the femininity in the movement, as earlier passages are revisited and repeated.

Notable moments include Winifred Burnett-Smith's staggering solo out of the sillouetted formation, and a startling stillness accompanied by the carefully pronounced words, "I don't forgive you".

The 'rewind' idea returns as shadowy figures of both casts of dancers rush through sketched movements of memories from the two pieces, encouraging the audience to 'look back'. A brightly-lit empty stage allows the audience a moment to process and to really hear the swelling sound scape. And then to applaud just as rapturously as before: Shechter has certainly mastered the art of pleasing a crowd.