Ink review: This spectacularly splashy Sadler’s Wells show is a dance duel for power

Ink, by choreographer Dimitris Papaioannou, is both dreamlike and very practical. Papioannou conjures images of water, of sea creatures, of sexuality, all pragmatically created on stage. He goes from directing shimmering light to making sure the taps are on.

Papaioannou, who was a painter and comics artist before moving to performing arts, has a bold eye for stage pictures. He’s created work for venues from underground squat theatres to the opening and closing ceremonies of the Athens 2004 Olympic Games.

The show starts with water. The stage is awash with it, with more coming from a power hose, in long, bright arcs. The lighting design, by Lucien Laborderie and Stephanos Droussiotis, turns it into dazzling patterns, from radiant mist to stark lines of water. There are more reflections and ripples in the draped plastic sheeting of Papaioannou’s set, while David Blouin’s brilliant sound design catches every glug.

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When we begin, Papaioannou is already drenched, splashing as he adjusts the hose or fills a glass globe with water. A second man, Šuka Horn, emerges from the depths: naked and wriggling under more plastic sheeting, like a sea creature within its membrane. Papaioannou chases and wrestles with him through the sheet, creating a soundtrack of splashing and reverberating plastic.

You can always see the choreographer pulling the strings, adjusting the flow of water or hoisting up a glitterball to change the lighting. He tries to control Horn, too, pushing him into position and then raising the stakes. Horn holds a handstand, clutching the globe between his knees, keeping an impossible balance as Papaioannou uses the floorcloth to pull him across the stage.

Over the next hour, we see more encounters and more power games. Papaioannou uses a fleshy, highly realistic-looking octopus as an image of sexuality: pulled out of pants, spread over groins, stuffed out of sight again.

It works best when their roles are unpredictable. In one scene, Horn wanders among rows of wheat, bathed in golden light, while Papaioannou lurks as a shadowy figure on the edge of the land. Both flip between human and creaturely, just as they show the different vulnerabilities of being naked and being soaked to the skin.

Other scenes are more heavy-handed. Papaioannou puts on a frockcoat, cracking a whip like a ringmaster as he binds Horn with red rope. The show meanders in its second half, the pursuit of control and balance becoming repetitive. But Ink creates a distinctive, watery world, both fluid and highly strung.