Dance Heginbotham at the Baryshnikov Arts Center Dance Heginbotham, featuring, from left, Evan Teitelbaum, Allysen Hooks and B J Randolph, at the Baryshnikov Arts Center. Watching a pair of recent dances by John Heginbotham I sometimes got the impression of a bright, enthusiastic child plunked down in front of a home entertainment center: channel surfing, shuffling through music, responding to whatever pops up with bursts of varied movement. The program, on Saturday night at the Baryshnikov Arts Center, where this choreographer has been in residence, was the New York debut of his company, Dance Heginbotham. But Mr. Heginbotham himself is hardly unknown to local dancegoers. He has worked with the choreographers Pam Tanowitz and John Jasperse and, since 1998, has been a much loved member of the Mark Morris Dance Group. These affiliations might give you a sense of his own choreographic leanings: an interest in precision and craft, a feel for music, a bent for full-bodied movement. But Mr. Heginbotham is also his own man, a quirky one it turns out. "Closing Bell" (2011), a New York premiere, is set to excerpts from Tyondai Braxton's "Central Market," a melting pot of musical moods and textures that is mirrored in Mr. Heginbotham's movement choices for his four performers. As aggressive orchestral passages rub up against what could be soundtracks for comic books or sci-fi movies, the dancers shift among a wide movement palette: clean, vectorlike traveling phrases that mix ballet and classical modern, campy gestures, hints of mime, even moments of what appears to be Irish step dancing. Who are these four people, dressed so disparately (by Maile Okamura) in bright, festive outfits suggesting children playing make-believe? And what, if any, are their relationships? At one point they take turns killing one another with imaginary guns. Mr. Heginbotham's answers come by way of collage. And this is his chief weakness; though there are pleasures to be had in the disparate parts he assembles, these parts don't do enough to support and complicate one another, so that their wholes become rather too predictably episodic. "Twin," a premiere set to music of Aphex Twin, also suffers from this structural limitation, even while it is buoyed by a similarly varied range of movement choices. Here there is a stronger sense of story and character. John Eirich, a particular delight among the six fine dancers, seems lost or trapped in a world of not-quite humans (in striking black-and-white uniforms by Ms. Okamura). The lone figure in white, wearing a long skirt, he is perhaps meant to symbolize the idea of twins; or maybe he is in search of a missing half. He and "Twin" keep moving, circling. The child with the remote doesn't ever fully settle.