In 2006 Rosie Kay, one of our more enterprising young choreographers, hit a bull's-eye on the Edinburgh Fringe with a rousing, raucous dance-theatre interpretation of Joseph Mancure March’s cultish, jazz-age narrative poem The Wild Party. This sweaty, sexy little show merits attention, not least because of Kay’s sheer determination to keep it alive. It has taken her more than a year to get the piece funded, up on its feet again and out on the road. I caught it at the Warwick Arts Centre, Coventry. This week it plays the Belfast Festival, followed by six other British venues before the end of the year. More dates will be announced for 2008.

Kay’s source material is a sharp slice of gin-soaked text, florid yet economical, and centred on a debauched evening that culminates in violence. Queenie (Kay, in a performance showing flashes of magnificence) and Burrs (Nick Carter) are louche lovers locked in a relationship of loathing and lust. Impulsively they decide to throw a party, inviting their usual crowd of decadent, egocentric revellers. One is an eager little sexpot (the deliciously dirty Sung-Im Her), who drags along a dapper yet callow young stud (Morgan Cloud). Libidos are unleashed as festering jealousies erupt with a fatal finality.

Kay’s efforts cannily mirror today’s culture of go-to-hell hedonism, in which celebrities with names like Doherty, Winehouse and Spears are in the spotlight more for their self-destructive behaviour than for whatever talent they may possess. Kay underlines the bigger picture of privileged permissiveness by suspending centre stage a placard that reads “YE$”.

Another, more immediate, layer of the work is the framing device used by Kay, the director. The “backstage” tensions between her and her fellow cast members, plus a live jazz trio, are meant to parallel the desire and discord in the script. The postmodern blurring of identities is often clever, if ultimately a tad shallow. Its biggest pay-off is the faux interval, during which you might want to stay put in your seat.

Although not trained as actors, the performers sink their teeth into their roles. With their brawling energy and broad, sardonic deliveries, they sometimes bite down to the funny bone. Body language and movement, however, outstrip spoken text. Kay’s choreography is a strenuously sensual marriage of polished recklessness splattered with lascivious amusements. The dancers push, pull, swing, fling and, at the climax, flail through the mechanics of savage sex. As a bonus, all of it is set to the musicians’ percolating rhythms.

Old Museum Arts Centre, Belfast (028-9023 3322), tonight, October 30, - Saturday November 3. www.rosiekay.co.uk

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