The graphics reassemble themselves into streaking renders of hands scooping through sand, body parts deconstructing and reforming until from them come Pandora, the first human woman, here embodied in Jennifer Stahl, who pushes through backbends and middle splits, arching her torso and corkscrewing her limbs into something prowling and extreme. Her contortions, while highly physical, are android-like (and, at times—factoring in her black liquid catsuit, accented with a gold zipper along the spine—sex doll-esque). I don’t see in her vulnerability or fallibility, or even the “beautiful evil” described in early writings on the myth; a generous reading in step with the Big Tech analogy might be that she’s an unwitting puppet whose actions are shaped by grim, invisible forces. 

Her brother and husband—Prometheus (Joseph Walsh) and Epimetheus (Harrison James), respectively—are drawn in likewise murky shades, darting in for scenes that shine more for their technique than narrative resonance. Put the Pandora story aside and it’s easier to appreciate their superb dancing, especially James’s duet with Stahl, a roil of discovery, with bodies heaving and limbs entwined. The propulsive beats of Shepherd’s live score—which have thus far strained against the choreography, fighting their way out in pressing bursts—slip into something warmer and calmer here, a humming swirl of guitar, piano and woodwind. The graphics, on the other hand, remain chilly—an up-close view of an icy, galactic blue eye in this case.