In a visceral blend of contemporary dance, body horror and spoken word, Phluxus2 Dance Collective has created a spine-tingling show that cracks open the pandora’s box of womanhood. Five actors and dancers from the Australian troupe involve audience members in the performance right from the off, welcoming everyone to their seats in a manic people-pleasing fashion before jarring up, almost like robots running out of battery life (‘can I get you anything? I’m looking for…I need hel...’).

Dressed in nude underwear with unblended streaks of contour make-up, the dancers begin as homogenous blank canvases, ready to be ‘constructed and deconstructed’ (as heard in the soundtrack). Several bulbous linen pods hanging from the high ceiling unzip and release items of clothing, which become the dancers’ main prop for the duration. The pieces cover, choke, bind and tie together the dancers as they move around and seamlessly create new shapes.

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The instrumental is a rich tapestry of chopped samples, laid on top of well-mixed electronic music that rises and falls, following the piece’s trajectory. The ‘let’s go, girls’ line from Shania Twain’s ‘Man! I Feel Like A Woman’ replays throughout the second half, triggering a sudden spike in energy and performative behaviour from each dancer, as if someone is watching and they’re trying to convince this onlooker everything is alright. In perhaps the show’s most emotive moment, crunching sounds of crushed glass and stone make the women’s bodies convulse as if their bones are being broken and realigned. Their otherwise expressive faces are covered in rags for the first time, in a dehumanising display of violent decay. But moments later, united in creating a yonic symbol with pulsing arms, a birthing scene is depicted and the women find strength at their seemingly lowest point. 

Although many references to consent (or rather lack of it), sexuality and bodily autonomy appear through the music and movement, no singular narrative makes itself clear throughout Angel Monster. Instead the piece builds a rich tapestry of feelings, symbols and accounts that build up into a powerful rage, feeling at once surreal and yet entirely relatable to the female experience. Impressive commitment from all performers combined with the set design, soundtrack and choreography allowed for each element to be elevated by the other, successfully disturbing the audience. It certainly isn’t always pretty, but that’s exactly the point.

Assembly Checkpoint, until 28 August, 3.10pm.