Taking a speech by some gruesome neoconservative tit and turning it into both a transfixing, spooky convulsive reaction and an examination of the way emotions can entrance and poison, Lisbeth Gruwez’s piece is one of numerous transformations. This ain’t exactly an easy one, then, as the Belgian immerses herself in the increasing violence and despair of a televangelist’s address. But in what could well be the most compelling round of gesticulations ever, it fathoms beauty out of a frothy rant.