In particular, there is a conversation between Gerson Lanza, a tall, athletic-looking dancer from Honduras, and Naomi Funaki, a delicate and utterly fearless dancer from Tokyo. Funaki deploys her zany wit in leg shakes, turning tapping steps, back-ward moving tapping steps, bourrées, all executed with finesse, elegance, and seeming delight. Lanza watches, affectionate and amused, and interjects with his sliding and jumping, and with graceful, playful tap steps, alternating between loud and soft, jagged and refined. Competition is nowhere to be found; in its place there is repartee, mutual appreciation, experimentation. Funaki, who dances with just about every other tap ensemble in town, including Ayodele Casel’s and Caleb Teicher’s, is so unique in her imaginative, almost surrealistic approach to tap, that I would love to see her create her own show one day. 

The freedom of invention and improvisation is tempered by enough choreographic and musical structure to keep things moving along and to stave off the feeling of simply seeing a series of “numbers.” Sandoval’s choreographic are displayed in the large ensembles, in which dancers move and glide across the space, subdividing into smaller groups, each of which spirals off into its own combinations. It is controlled chaos. 

At these moments there is a feeling of almost overwhelming rhythmic richness, with different patterns ricocheting around the space. You don’t want these moments to end, and Sandoval and Richardson have the wisdom to lean in, letting the groove linger for a moment longer. Which of course adds to the open, spacious, generous vibe that make this show such a pleasure.