Wim Vandekeybus and his distinguished dance company Ultima Vez from Brussels have exited a long time ago. Formerly regulars at the ImPulsTanz festival, they were presented for the last time in 1999 with the male ritual In Spite Of Whishing And Wanting. Thereafter, 2001, the female piece Scratching The Inner Fields was created.

This strict separation of the sexes must have its effect on the creative process of the Flemish choreographer, who accordingly probably redefined his ideas of feminine and masculine conduct. When Vandekeybus lets women and men perform together again in Blush which was created in the spring, they are, strictly speaking, on opposing sides.

There are many situations in life, moments or vibrations, be it shame or the prickling spell of being in love, which redden the face of homo civilis. With Vandekeybus it are also temptation and lust, grisly and frightful, which make the blood simmer, which makes the ten-headed troupe - including Vandekeybus himself - frenetic. The remainder is provided by the music which was composed especially for Blush by David Eugene Edwards and played live by his band Woven Hand. The music, which sounded lyrical and every now and then rocky, illustrated the scenes and pushed the events forward.

The scenario resembles a dream world in which the fantasy expands, the instinct dominates, absurdity exists besides reality. It are wild, self-assured women who populate this intermediate realm, who take what they want, who immediately introduce their lust into the equation.

Like a sworn horde of furies behaving like animals they storm the stage, they utter croaky strident primeval sounds, swiftly climb up and down poles. To the contrary the five-men strong male team almost operates gently. Even though odd ideas crop up there too: they provoke with a frog, which winds up in a blender and made into a drink is handed to a blond maid, who drinks the green swill and converts it into fits.

Already in the first scenes Vandekeybus confronts us with his familiar, still overwhelming powerful dance language that he has cultivated since the late eighties. People jack-knife dive across stage near the dust-level. They jump screw-like into the arms of others, glide through the video screen and return, as a touch of genius, as projected graceful water-creatures, who peacefully weave through the seaweed and who are not averse to contact.

There are also scenes in Blush, whose logic is hard to follow, that irritate. Furthermore you want tension and suspect that Vandekeybus deliberately elongates matters. Like a short rest to get the engine going again, to wrest the last physical energy from the dancers: a final dramatic sprint, in which the most pugnacious pas de deux grows soft, so that finally there is room for an emotional exchange between the sexes.

Wim Vandekeybus immediately comes to the point: it's about sex (represented as life-act on stage). And about love which is (not always) involved. But: in contrast with bodily excitement, love is hard to grasp, even impossible to explain. Is it nothing but "only a chemical process in the brain", which benefits the blood circulation, as somebody imparts the audience? Or does it hit you, "wham! - in the pit of your stomach" like a fighter squadron of easeful tickling butterflies? There are no answers, also not tonight with "Ultima Vez". Instead you are elevated by a wave of emotions, which, shortly before you are submerged in the polar sea of desperation, washes you ashore on the warm beach of inner upsurges and giggling alleviation.

"I'm a destroyer", says Vandekeybus - and he doesn't let illusions arise. Hardly has the young boyfriend, blinded by love and jumping for joy, refreshingly charged with energy, banged into the wall. Then his darling girl immediately seizes him by his hair, scolds him and throws him away like a rucksack that has become useless after the first climb. Women taken men (asleep), menfolk take women (and drink their tears of despair), they harrow each other (by, two at a time and unmoved, standing on the hands and feet of the third person lying-down). If a couple finds each other, someone hurls himself between them.

On stage David Eugene Edwards' band plays oppressive beats, loud wistful rock. Destiny's gravity lurks at the dark edge of the stage. And yet, life can be so easy: unawares the female dancers find themselves again on a screen as they swim with dolphins in green shimmering water. Again and again they take a run, jump through the wall with strips, which swallows them without a sound. The male dancers copy them. They are allowed a short flush of joy.

The battle of the sexes lasts two sweat producing hours. People talk (in foreign languages), scream, clamour, do gymnastics and fight unmindful of their bodies. At the end a giant lamp is lowered above the haggard actors. It does not give off heat. It illuminates the damages with which the neurotic little group staggers into an uncertain future.

A woman in a short black dress lies on the floor, heralding a mournful scene of a kind. Wim Vandekeybus bends, like a veterinary surgeon, for treatment and tries to pull something from between the legs of the person lying-down. Instead, gentle words come out of the woman's mouth. A scene you can interpret in multiple ways - apart from its instant nausea. It can also work as if it concerns fathoming the secret of women.

"Blush" is the name of the dance-theatre of Belgian Wim Vandekeybus, who presents himself now in the Volkstheater as dancer, choreographer and director with his new ensemble, an actress and rock singer David Eugene Edwards & band.

"Blush" is a frantic farrago of scenes on the subject of love, which pulls the women in the centre. Vandekeybus stakes his money on nature and sensuality and out of dancing vigour and energy he concocts a brew that doesn't miss its provocative impact. With live music, film, climbing acts and audience participation he puts down his stakes on a show that appeals to the senses immediately. Athletic dancing, from which Vandekeybus does not exclude himself, and intense drama scenes take turns: the woman who ravenously grabs at the food that is thrown to her and who answers with loud grunts. The woman who clamours for help and at the same time rejects any aid.