Andrew Merrell’s Slack Dance presents Flowery Language, dance works of existential ennui, moribund malaise, histrionic hors-d’oeuvres, and bourgeois babes. It is a baker’s dozen (minus one) of delicious dancing divas engaged in ferocious limb tossing and pathological pathways. A father’s cinematic obsessions, a mother’s coffee dates, and a lover’s death plot propagate the postest of post-modern dance theater. Oh mon dieu! The joie de vivre! The je ne sais quoi! Je m’appelle Barbra! Très avant garde!