Review: Rooke's adult-only 'Deekor' a midnight motion of seduction

The adults-only, circus-meets-party production turned the gym into exactly that - a theatre, a drama, and a mating call of the macho - over two nights during Mona Foma.

The performative, strange, ethereal, show was a nebulous thing covered in the wispy smoke that commandeered Method Plus Action gymnasium for midnight motion, part dance of seduction, part ego, part hilarity.

Formatted as a walk through the Vincent Street building punctuated by miniature shows, the troupe's voyeuristic show led a packed audience along strobe-lit corridors in what effused a love for the unashamedly '80s attitude to exercise: outrageous sexuality that, unintentionally, is apostrophised by hilarity.

It asked, why do we go to the gym? To look good, feel good, of course. For Rooke the squat rack became a place to prance like a peacock, or - if you can get away with it - gyrate to show off the goods.

The limber, delightful combination of circus, tour, cabaret, gym workout and nightclub felt somewhat like an elaborate, garish mating ritual where its entire audience was the mate. It was boundary-pushing, merging its disparate parts cohesively with the glue of the assured, extremely impressive performances the company always provides.

Each artist stood out in choreographed routines across the building's two floors and three performance spaces, striking a balance - and a pose - between absurdity and sensuousness: the hula-hooping Freyja Wild and electric Gabriel Comerford and Mel Tan of particular note.

A number of new performers joined the roster for Deekor, too, each infusing the piece with a unique, ribald approach to gym culture; skipping ropes and clambering across equipment being key features.

Some of them also seemed to hint at more under the surface of the show's vapid veneer. A sort of robotic undertone bled through the performance, which was led by voice overs and the ambivalent facial expressions of performers. They often looked to ring with disappointment; is all my life a show, they seemed to ask? Am I doing this for me, or someone else?

Those portions of the show seemed to hint at a commentary on routine itself, but one that did little to get in the way of the bubbly atmosphere come Deekor's scheduled end. The production was choreographed for an hour but ran on into both nights in a different format, dissolving into a club where performers approached wrist-banded attendees, dragging them off to smaller rooms for "intimate performance experiences" of juggling or some other cabaret-esque oddity.

And it certainly did run on through the small hours: the beating music of the deejay'd top floor fled out across the Launceston night from what was, undoubtedly, a strange but unforgettable experience for all its guests.

But one which, given the opportunity, any gymgoer would do again, because even the jock can't escape being a theatre kid in the end.