Fun work
Galumpha gallop triumphantly across Project Artaud's stage.

By Rita Felciano

A GROUP THAT practices skills and cultivates an imagination has the makings of a good act. Throw in a dose of humor, and you have Galumpha, one of the zanier acts to hit San Francisco in a while (they'll be at Project Artaud Theater until the end of the month). Galumpha are three ordinary-looking guys: Andy Horowitz and Greg O'Brien met in college and, in 1987, formed the Second Hand Dance Company. In 2002, joined by Marlon Torres, they reshaped themselves into the current lineup.

The word galumph is a fusion of gallop and triumph; according to the Oxford English Dictionary, to galumph is "to march exultingly with irregular bounding movements." That description fits a trio of mavericks who – in between extraordinary feats of athleticism and lyrical beauty – stomp and scream like banshees. Racing through 14 numbers in 65 minutes, these appealing actor-clown-acrobat-dancers are unlikely to test even the youngest audience member's attention span. On opening night (May 7), one kid had to be repeatedly restrained from storming the stage, while grown-ups marveled at the group's power and elegance.

Galumpha's approach is connected to the Pilobolus, Momix, and Cirque du Soleil strain of acrobatic dancing. But they get by without showy costumes, elaborate lighting, or spectacular props. Theirs is a workingman's version of athletic poetry, straightforward, unadorned, and characterized by an appealing down-home quality. Perhaps because of the minimal lighting, props, and costumes (jeans, tights, and in one case, white tails) the focus stays squarely on the movement. While it's great fun to see the final images (bugs and sea anemones, giants and grandmothers, bridges and tunnels) the trio manage to create, the show's charm and fascination stem from watching the reconfiguration process in action.

At times the trio look like a Tingueley mobile, with its pistons, weights, and pulleys effecting transformation. Galumpha's actions could often have a place in physics class demonstrations: you can see how a current of energy runs its course; you can try to calculate how far a cantilever can be pushed, or when gravity takes over in a rocking balance; and you can frequently observe weight and counterweight in action. Still, the evening was dominated by kaleidoscopic images that formed and dissolved before they could be deciphered.

Most of Galumpha's acts are performed to music, pretty much on the beat. Czech band Jablkon create the timing for many of the trio's precision moves, and the colorful goofiness of their sound supports Galumpha's sense of humor as they hop, slide, tumble, and burrow over and around and under each other. Rachmaninov (set to Sergei Rachmaninov) commenced with a bursting piano chord that prompted three bellies to pop over waistlines, and it was all comedy from there. The shimmering Human Fly (to "The Horse Flies") teased viewers into attempting to count insect legs. Window-7, performed in a rectangular space – created by lighting – between the back curtains, was the evening's most poetic offering. To the music of Plastic Nebraska, the trio floated, dove, and flew through changing fields of color.

During some numbers the trio had to rely on their own timing, performing without the structural support of music. Less acrobatic, these vignettes were nevertheless effective. A huge purple cloth was a prop for the gently humorous Weird Sisters, in which the titular witches grew from babushkas into a giant only to melt like the Wicked Witch of the West. In Velcro, which involved audience participation, the team put on sticky helmets, and three white balls became food, adornments, weapons, and trophies. At one point a dancer launched himself from a one-armed support, with his legs folded up and behind him, to catch the ball on the top of his head. It took two attempts, but he succeeded. In Clackers, with pots fastened to their bottoms and hammerlike objects attached to their heels, the trio redefined the conversational art of tapping.

The opening-night show suffered from a few technical problems, and some of the pulley-involving interludes looked gimmicky. But this is an attractive, highly proficient group of artists, and their performing persona – not buffed and slickly oiled muscle men, just three guys who work for a living – is among the show's most inviting qualities. Working men is exactly what Galumpha are, and they work wonderfully together.

Galumpha perform through May 30. Wed.-Sat., 8 p.m. (also Sat., 2 p.m.); Sun., 2 and 7 p.m., Project Artaud Theater, 450 Florida, S.F. $15-$25. (415) 392-4400, www.cityboxoffice.com.