Fray review

Dance, gaming and hip-hop culture collide in this unusual show from the San Francisco-based Kate Duhamel. It’s the tale of two brothers, bonded by their love of b-boying and video games, and the trials they face. The novelty comes from the ‘transmedia’ approach of the creators, who want to take the piece a step beyond a live-theatre experience. A free mobile game, FRAY Jam, can be downloaded to play before or after the performance. The ebullient master of ceremonies, Fusion, encourages audience members to make TikTok dance videos in the foyer, and a PC game is in development, recreating the one that the boys build in the story. 

First performed in the US, the work sports a largely London-based cast for its British debut. Springy, BRIT School-trained Elijah Smith and towering, Birmingham-born dancer Jamai Robinson play brothers Tullio and Ziya, who find an escape from their unsettled home life in gaming and hip-hop dance. A voice-over tells the tale from the perspective of the younger brother Tullio, as the pair try to find their place in the world and a group to fit into. Their bond begins to, well, fray, as Ziya falls prey to more malign influences and then becomes fixated on winning the Game Jam competition to create a video game, spending his days coding and smoking. Tullio is more interested in the b-boy crew created by their friend Manny (punchy US dancer Marie Spieldenner, an original cast member), but as Ziya sinks further into a dope-fuelled haze, it’s up to Tullio to try to save him from himself. 

The British choreographer Sisco Gomez, best known for his judging role on So You Think You Can Dance, delivers robust displays of hip-hop dance, from explosive synchronised ensemble routines and an amusingly woozy interpretation of the group high on weed to solo moments that affectingly portray inner struggles. The venue’s small, tiered stage presents quite a challenge for such a dynamic show, but the dancers navigate the space pretty well. There are some nice touches to Anjelo Alonte’s costumes, too – notably, video-screen masks that flicker and change unsettlingly.

The voice-over and Moon Moon Moon’s illustrative animated visuals, projected on to the back wall, mean the dance mimes the narrative, rather than creating it. But the piece’s heart is in the right place, even if it rather clunkily expresses the idea that there’s no gamepad to control others in real life, and extols the virtues of finding the hero within yourself.