Hofesh Shechter's Sun, Sadler's Wells, Review Oh, he's a crafty one, that Hofesh Shechter. His latest piece, Sun - here getting its UK premiere - opens in his customary pitch blackness, with the Israeli-born, Brighton-based choreographer-percussionist-composer assuring us through the speakers that "no animals were harmed in the making of this show." He also announces, similarly deadpan, that he's going to give us a few seconds of the work's climax, just to reassure us that "everything's going to be OK." He and his 16-strong, pantherine troupe - here decked up like some bizarre, commedia dell'arte-inspired band of travelling players - do just that. But this snippet leaves you with no idea of what's going on. And nor does it make things seem very "OK" at all. Although just 75 minutes straight through, it would take a week to list every one of Sun's vignettes in detail - there are dozens, with each one, thanks to razor-sharp sound- and lighting-cues, cutting with Hitchcockian speed and brio to the next. But, to give you some idea of how it progresses, the next thing on stage is a cardboard cut-out painting of a sheep (looking perfectly contented, in case you were worried - Shechter wasn't lying). It stands still, in a solitary beam of light, as Abide with Me - on bagpipes and brass - blares out through the sound system. Then the solitary ruminant vanishes, only to be replaced by the full company, executing almost balletic port de bras. An almighty sonic thud greets us next, and soon there are more sheep, a wolf, and an ear-splitting scream from the audience. "There may be trouble ahead..." pipes up drolly, as the company jig methodically along in the shadows. There's even some "proper" (and superb) dancing, too. The ensembles, both small and large, often start out executing hyper-controlled poses (as earlier), but generally slide back into Shechter's distinctively feverish, round-shouldered, intricately orchestrated moves as his frequently cacophonous score thunders thrillingly on. And this, I think, hints at what Shechter is doing. Having tried to get his mind straight in In Your Rooms, and then taken us on a warm-hearted whistle-stop tour of an imaginary galaxy of oppressed peoples in Political Mother, he now seems to be admitting a sort of bleakly cheerful defeat in the face of our own, uncontrollably chaotic world. That cardboard sheep/wolf tableau is later echoed by parallel examples of American Indians and a US soldiers, a besuited commuter and a menacing hoodie. But, although there's compassion here, there's little implied moralising, no rousing message. Rather, the sheep start merrily headbanging and the whole lot end up twirling about the stage in demented unison. We're all possible prey, he seems to be saying; all potential wolves: watch your step, face the music, and dance. And, if that isn't necessarily the profoundest or most focused message, nor this Shechter's tightest or most satisfying piece, he's still the only dance-maker on earth even attempting shows of this crazy wit, energy and ambition, and three cheers to him for that.