The Montreal company’s b-boy-inflected work swings between tenderness and violence, and it sticks with you.

The delicate opening of Ever So Slightly Redux does not prepare audiences for what they are about to see.

The show, which has been an anchor of Montreal-based company RUBBERBAND’s repertoire since 2018, has no clear narrative. Rather, it presents a series of moments that are sometimes moving, sometimes disquieting. These evocative micro-stories are recognizable in one breath and become something different in the next.

The performance starts slowly, with the company’s performers rolling along the floor or hovering right above it. Just before audiences begin to wonder whether Ever So Slightly Redux is going to be a snoozer, it bursts into something so dynamic and complex they will likely think about it for months afterward.

Like the company’s namesake rubber band, the piece expands and contracts, moving between tenderness and tension, collective support and violence. This effect is applied to every detail — each time a dancer interacts with another, there is a push and pull. Sometimes the back and forth is between two people, and sometimes between 10, but it is always present. At no point in the 70-minute show does a dancer move without affecting the motions of another. The music, created by Jasper Gahunia alongside Will Lamoureux for this production, also bounces between soft, ethereal tones and hard-hitting, dystopian sounds.

Photo: Dajana Lothert

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Some of the movements, from a reappearing head freeze to fierce battle circles, nod to choreographer Victor Quijada’s early years as a b-boy. These moments in particular thrill the audience; there are cheers, hoots and hollers as the performers flaunt their flipping capabilities. But this elation doesn’t last long, as the performance once again morphs into an exploration of heavier external and internal conflicts. Thankfully, the piece does not linger on these tough topics past the point of no return. As soon as the discomfort of watching these scenes becomes almost too much to bear, the dancers move on to a new storyline.

There are scenes in which performers break dance’s rules of silence with screams, grunts of frustration or audible shivers of fear. The device is used sparingly, adding emphasis wherever it appears. The audience isn’t silent, either. When tough scenes arise, it fizzes with whispers, and during a scene in which performers strip off their outfits, unease manifests as the rustle of bodies shifting in seats.

The costumes begin as jumpsuits reminiscent of those worn by prisoners, but in neutral shades. They are masterfully threaded through the entire performance in evocative ways, such as in that stripping scene and another in which the dancers’ former attire is used to propel their colleagues.

The company describes its performers, some of whom began their dance careers in circus or hip-hop, as dancer-athletes, a term that is perhaps too trite. Every performer brings an awareness of their — and their cohort’s — physicality that transcends labels. But yes, their athleticism surpasses that found in the average contemporary performance, and they maintain the vocabulary to excel at both.

Audiences walking into RUBBERBAND’s Ever So Slightly Redux should leave what they know about contemporary dance at the door and brace themselves for an experience.