Approaching the BAM Fisherman space, I hold no preconceived notions of what I’m about to experience. Looking up “Run, Don’t Run” on the Internet gave my no inclination of the performance. The images I found only left me with questions of wonder. Walking in to the theater, I take note that it is smaller and more intimate than any other theater I have attended.

There is no separation or definitive line between the stage and the three rows of seats on each side. The multitudes of horizontal strings that cover the stage are so close that they tempt you to touch them. After a waiting period, the lights dim and an almost techno song begins playing, filling the ears of the viewers with the rich bass. The hour-long production begins as eight skilled dancers make their way onto the stage. They weave in an out of the strings and each other, questioning the boundaries of space.

The bodies of these dancers do all of the talking, for their faces remain completely blank the entire time. This effect is emphasized when two dancers pick up a third dancer and walk them across the stage. The dancer that is elevated lies limp, with a dead expression, as the strings cut the body into separate pieces. It is a haunting experience. However, the mood changes as the song and lighting changes. The dancers push and pull each other in a rhythmic way and create a feeling of uneasiness and the feeling of being “almost there” in the my head.

Although the dancers were extremely skilled and the performance hardly exhibited any errors, the lulls created during the moments which the performers were handling the strings, were detrimental. One of the dancers had a difficult time working on the clips, which are used to bind the strings together. This caused a pause in the performance that harmed the overall cohesion of the production. I left the performance feeling amazed by the skills of these dancers, yet still unsure about the meaning and purpose of the hour.