SINNER, Harborfront Center Theatre, Toronto

"A man walks into a bar..." and all hell breaks loose. SINNER, created and performed by the members of a two-year-old British company that calls itself Stan Won't Dance, makes reference to a 1999 incident in a gay pub in London's Soho district. Fired by homophobia and racial hatred, a 23-year-old man left a nail bomb at the bar that exploded, killing three and injuring 80 others.

You don't need to know that news story to feel the fear represented by a gym bag under a spotlight at the beginning of this show, with the ominous wreckage of tables and chairs strewn behind it.

SINNER is physical theatre in the style of DV8, the company where Rob Tannion and Liam Steel, Stan Won't Dance artistic directors, once performed. It is dark and dangerous, with a sinister strand of humour running through it: like dialogue out of Harold Pinter matched to movement inspired by a wrestling match.

"A man walks into a bar... to have a little drink, to make a little mayhem. He could be anyone..." So begins the narrative spoken in the third person by a slight man (Steel), who is the lonely guy sitting in a gay bar, fidgeting. The tension builds as he shifts to a more personal tone. He says to himself, "you're wearing the wrong clothes."

Then in comes the second character, in identical jeans and a sweatshirt also embossed with a faded Union Jack, but of a different colour. "He's wearing the right clothes." This is Martin, performed by Ben Wright. He draws out the shorter, slighter man, who says his name is Robert. "You quite a closed person," Martin observes.

Martin's casual talk grows menacing with repetition and insinuation. All the while the two are engaged in a form of contact dance, grasping, moving in exaggerated symmetry.

Sudden shifts in mood only serve to further discombobulate the observer. Robert rips off his sweatshirt to reveal a garish Jesus T-shirt. Martin wears one, too. They go into a wild man-tango, sweeping each other around the floor to Michael Bublé crooning "When marimba rhythms start to play / Dance with me, make me sway..."

Drug-induced romancing gives way to uninhibited racism, about fat people, people who wear big glasses — losers. Meanwhile, Martin and Robert have exchanged clothes and identities. Now you can't tell the victim from the aggressor. Each of them uses the phrase that gathers more terrifying meaning as the story moves on, "you could be anybody."

Body language contradicts the spoken text as SINNER gains momentum and a faint sign is projected high on the back wall, either a swastika or a big H for hatred. Platitudes ("virtue is its own reward") make for soothing conversation while rude touching and groping tell another story.

SINNER is a powerful, complex layering of mood, feeling, thought and movement that explodes outward from the chat between two blokes in a London pub to the wider reality of hate-driven terrorism, suddenly pinning you to your seat in the theatre.