The Holy Body Tattoo, Barbican Pit, London<br></br>Mother Teresa, Peacock Theatre, London

Tango, with no holds barred

Submission and control are what tango is about, and it's not so simple as a question of male dominance and female compliance. I have hugely enjoyed the big, highly polished tango shows that have come here from Argentina. But the psychology of this sexiest of dance forms goes beyond the sharp suits and killer heels. And it's that unspoken dialogue of carnal desire, the subtle advance-and-retreat tactics of seduction, which inform the latest work by the Vancouver-based outfit The Holy Body Tattoo.

Holiness is the last thing that comes to mind. The name stems from the notion that all life experiences leave their mark, and performers Dana Gingras and Noam Gagnon certainly look as if they've lived a bit, as well as done their share of loving. The 70-minute show takes the form of a (very) intimate cabaret, ruched red drapes and plastic chandeliers creating an atmosphere of seedy decadence, projected film of crumbling quartiers of Paris adding location and charm.

Eccentric three-piece band The Tiger Lillies do the music, though hardly as background, since falsetto vocalist Martin Jacques is a theatrical event in himself. Grimacing and cackling like some demi-devil stoking the fires of hell, his songs (accompanied by squeeze-box or musical saw) muse on lugubrious subjects in Brecht/Weill fashion. They tell of a pretty girl whose tattoos disguise the bruises inflicted by her pimp, and a man who collects venereal diseases. An unflinching ditty about death ends with the happy thought: "food for the maggots tonight".

The show avoids being merely outrageous owing to the fervent intensity of the dances, which run the gamut of styles in their quest for tango's essential impulses. The pair start with a languorous traditional tango, legs interlocking knee to groin, shins slicing into each other's personal territory like flick-knives. The intimacy of the venue enables you to notice the tiniest details, so when passions begin to simmer, you see each new stimulus as notches on a thermometer.

When the pair kick off their shoes for the sequences that follow, the gloves come off too: literally no holds are barred. One number has them slamming their bodies at the floor or grappling in quasi-sadistic combat. Another has them hovering over each other's mouths as if the ultimate kiss were about to materialise – it never does. The final duet sees them dancing out their brutalising loves with out-flung arms like crucified Christs while film of a Parisian cemetery plays behind them.

Connecting sex and death is hardly new, but The Holy Body Tattoo bring a compelling focus to the old paradox. They also show how a dance can be hard and brutal, yet ultimately glorify love. Which is almost the reverse effect of Maurice Béjart's latest ballet, Mother Teresa and the Children of the World, which made me want to go out on the street and break something.

Smugly virtuous in its spoken quotations from the sainted missionary, this is ballet with a message and then some. Béjart's startlingly young, gorgeous dancers are nicely trained, but their blithe naivety suggests something missing from the neck up. I dare say this Benetton-advert tosh goes down a treat in Switzerland, where King Béjart holds his court, but British ballet audiences are not yet so desperate for new material. Bring on the villains, I say.

j.gilbert@independent.co.uk

'The Holy Body Tattoo': Barbican, London EC2 (020 7638 8891), to Saturday