Dancing is possibly the hardest of all performing arts. A good dancer has to be not only a good actor, but one with frighteningly flexible legs, and supernatural stamina too. Not to mention captivating grace. Signatures, the annual ADC show of The Cambridge University Contemporary Dance Workshop, can make the promise to 'engage its audience with its exceptional variety and celebration of diversity of styles in the art of dance', since the society offers a vast and potentially daunting selection of classes in almost every genre of dance imaginable. So while waiting for the lights to go down on the bare ADC stage (no set – no script – not enough dancing in Cambridge!), I was quite intrigued by how the promised melange would (or would not) work in performance.

Duets, solos, ensemble pieces; Oriental beats, ballads, opera. One thing’s for sure: this show did not lack variety. Opening with a piece in which four of the most technically apt dancers of the company performed, the show oscillated between formulaic and original elements. At times, in its attempts to be avant-garde, the contemporary choreography used movements that are by now overdone – movements that have, in fact, been around since the 90s.  The random pointing of fingers and jerky wafting of hands above heads soon became stagnant. Had the dancers moved with a sense of purpose, these wouldn’t have seemed so out of place, and had they persuaded me that they were utterly passionate and sure of what they were doing, maybe I wouldn’t have noticed. This is Signatures’ main problem: lack of expression.

Many eyes were cast downwards, instead of projecting energy out to the audience, and many movements were carried out half-spiritedly and with a half-pointed foot, or a half-bent knee (all criminal offences according to dance laws). I wanted to feel that the dancers were enjoying it – so I could enjoy it too. I didn’t want to feel their pain, their tiredness, their nervousness: a dancer keeps that to himself. The Lindy hop group was one of the exceptions, as they hopped around stealing each other’s partners in a theatrical piece complete with vibrant expression and a comic note; it was a pity that the flare of chemistry between partners was scarce. Most of the soloists failed to fill the stage with their presence, and kept their movements timid and small, but there were moments of magic, like the magnetism of Paraskevi Kollia’s belly-dance, the supple movements of Ben Jammin’s body, and the angelic performance of Jennifer Hersch: all were highlights of the show. Light design was impeccable throughout the performance, and always complemented the choreographies, helping to set the mood: at times uncanny, sometimes playful, and often romantic.

Yes, the show was full of variety. So much so that it confused me. There was nothing tying the pieces together – no storyline, no conceptual backbone – and it felt a lot like going to see a children’s dance-school show, where poor parents (mine suffered too) have to sit through hoards of unpolished choreographies for hours. This show is short, at least, and it isn’t a bore. It hasn’t got it all right, but there’s good stuff scattered about. And it’s different: this is an annual dance show, after all. Just beware of the dance sport rock ‘n’ rollers – they have some impressive lifts and jumps, but they almost gave me an anxiety attack. Relax, people.