Mesmerising whitewash

Combining dance and film, as opposed to simply filming a performance or choreographing for film, is more difficult than it looks. The risk is that instead of a genuine synergy, the sum is less than the parts, with the film no more than moving design or better than the flesh-and-blood dancers.

Things are complicated when the film is a pre-recording of the live dancers, and screened so that both sets of performers are doing almost the same thing at roughly the same time. Then you have not so much film and dance as the potential for choreographic dialogue. The film proposes, and the dancers respond, or vice versa, or both at once.

This is the approach of the little seen but immensely influential Rosemary Butcher, the British conceptual choreographer, whose new-ish White is described as being inspired by Scott's last Antarctic expedition. In Butcher terms, that means the mindset of exploration, and the emotional and physical landscape, or maybe that's the dreamscape, where explorers go.

Butcher's movement style is minimal: the four dancers walk, roll, turn, kneel, rotate and articulate their limbs and fingers. They do this solo and in groups, although it's always a group of solos rather than a group dance.

Their filmed selves appear double life-size on a stage-high screen, granular, black and white, blurry facsimiles, like old-style photographic negatives, bleached out and occasionally slo-mo'd. Sometimes the two versions are synced, and sometimes they seem to swap importance, the celluloid dancers becoming more substantial than the real ones. Occasionally, the film's shifts and judders seem to convey a memory or emotion, but then all the dancers slip back to abstraction.

Butcher has created a serious and strangely evocative work, but her use of film is mesmeric rather than innovative.

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Rosemary Butcher: White