Elisa Monte Dance presented a remarkably unified set of dances for its 25th anniversary program at the Joyce Tuesday night: Though “Treading,” Ms. Monte’s breakthrough 1979 dance, was not on the bill (it predates her company’s formation in 1981), it was unmistakably the prototype for the four dances that were. It was as if “Treading” had undergone meiosis, dividing again and again until it produced a batch of dances with its same DNA.

Ms. Monte’s robust, physical dances — typically set to minimalist scores and pulsing rhythms — have a turbulent energy. Yet they’re emotionally remote. The dancers often project blankness, forcing you to consider them as pure bodies. Having dispensed with the pleasures of traditional music, narrative, and dramatic intent, Ms. Monte has handed her dancers a tough assignment: to command an audience with the sheer intensity of their dancing.

Tuesday’s world premiere, “Hardwood,” was a prime example of the genre. The score (by John King) sounded like a postmodern hoedown; it had the bluesy fiddles and footstomping rhythms, but it was decidedly unsentimental. At times, the dancing looked like a postmodern hoedown, too — the dancers passed their partners ’round, or collapsed inward to form a folk dance circle.

“Hardwood” was a busy, crowded dance. Often four couples crammed into a smallish portion of the stage, nearly bumping each other as they executed elaborate movements.The partnering was full of quick-rising lifts, and tricky holds, and a fair amount of slithering over each other’s bodies. Often the entire group huddled together at center stage, then separated, inundating the eye with a deluge of individual movements.

This contrast — between the huddle at center stage and the scattering of dancers to the four winds — figured so prominently in both “Day’s Residue” (2000) and “Shattered” (2001) that I began to wonder if the troupe had worn a patch in the center of the floor at its home studio. Clearly Ms. Monte wants to attract the eye to the patterns the dancers’ bodies make in space. But her patterns often proved too murky and too short-lived to register.

The group huddle was just one of the elements repeated in “Hardwood,” “Day’s Residue,” and “Shattered,” all eight-dancer pieces with lots of lighting changes and driving minimalist scores. The musical effect — that of hearing a record skipping on a needle, then moving the needle only to have the record skip in a new place — was a lot like the choreographic effect.There was a lot of frenetic, physical dancing, interspersed with jaw-dropping moves reminiscent of Pilobolus (where Ms. Monte once danced). But these dances resisted any tendency towards progression; they went in circles, seldom making an ascent.

The evening’s highlight, “Volkmann Suite” (1997), bore a distinct family resemblance to the other three works, but it was their prettier, more demonstrative cousin.A few light stands stood onstage, simulating a photography studio. The piece — a series of photography poses connected by dance —was performed to Michael Nyman’s String Quartet No. 3, a lusher, more movie-like score than the others.

“Volkmann Suite” is a trio, here performed by a sinewy black man (Fabrice Lamego), a powerfully built white man (Matthew Fisher), and a supple black woman (Tiffany Rea). All are topless, clad only in black shorts, and the light plays off their skin. At first, the poses look ancient, like the carved wooden statues of some lost civilization. Then the poses become tender — a gentle group hug, a man leaning into the woman’s bowing breast.

The casting of “Volkmann Suite” was both its saving grace and its Achilles’ heel. Mr. Fisher, a strapping man twice the size of Ms. Rea, is woefully miscast. With his distracting ponytail and upper body stiffness, he looks like a recruit from the wrestling team, while Ms. Rea, a really marvelous dancer, shows her training in every sleek, gorgeous move she makes, and Mr. Lamego is surefooted and elegant. Mr. Fisher’s bulk makes some of the movements in “Volkmann Suite” look like circus stunts; when the other two dancers leap into his arms, he’s the oak tree catching the two saplings.

But even a miscast partner can’t prevent Ms. Rea from putting her stamp on the piece’s long duet.Ms. Rea’s body has a regal dignity, yet she’s earnestly passionate in her dancing; she moves like liquid, gliding from muscle to muscle, stretching her limbs along long diagonal lines. On Ms. Rea, Ms. Monte’s movement looks different than it does on other dancers — more urgent and vital. When you see her (and you see her a lot, in all four pieces), you see the possibility of raising Ms. Monte’s dances from skilled exercises to searing experiences.

Until September 28 (175 Eighth Ave. at 19th Street, 212-242-0800).