Showing posts with label circus. Show all posts
Showing posts with label circus. Show all posts

Friday, 23 April 2010

Compagnie XY: Le Grand C


European Art House cheer leading: is such a thing imaginable? Possible, even? If it is, this was it: Cheer leading without the cheer, so to speak, a more sombre affair minus the smiles and chants, with less synchronised routines and more abstract dashing hither and thither; instead of Colgate brilliant smiles, blonde ponytails, rippling pecs, pop-tastic tunes and letter-emblazoned tight tees, imagine french plaits, German woodcutter sideburns, trousers held up with braces, vintage leotards and sporadic bursts of French Cafe music.
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Compagnie XY's production of Le Grand C on the circular stage of The Roundhouse begins in the half light, in silence; each of the acrobats walks on stage slowly, deliberately, only to climb upon one another shoulders to create a human wall. men and women stand three people high, scaling each other like cliff faces to get into position - elegantly, neatly, confidently, calmly, unshowily. and so the performance continues - soberly in the main, with what can only be described as art house humour... for example, at one point each member of the company walks on stage alone to climb and stand atop a narrow, circular column of wood. yes, that's the comedy. there's also some weird staged falling over. odd.
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But in the main i rather enjoyed myself. The women are thrown about with inventive, agile, feisty gusto - upside down, side to side, like a cannon ball... with the men catching them on their upstretched hands. yikes. i spent much of the hour-long show taking in sharp breaths and muttering 'i can't bear it', but loving the tension in truth, obvs.
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The bodies of the gymnasts were utterly transfixing - thighs made of steel, rippling backs like a mountain range with deep ridges and crevices; both the women and the men with incredible poise, posture, elegance and grace - they made every human juggling act look like they were balancing, throwing and playing with merely fruit rather than an entirely breakable body.
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Still, call me crass, unsubtle and cheap, but i would have liked a bit more pizazz - a bit more 'here's our fantastic final number - huzzah!' and maybe some kind of narrative thread which would have elevated it from a something which seemed more like a polished rehearsal warm up into something really to write home about.

Friday, 15 January 2010

la Clique

Marawa




Ursula Martinez

Unnecessary nudity. Crude humour. Pornographic magic. Men writhing around to music like Bad Things (had to download that the moment i exited, sad loser that i am) while suspended from the ceiling in a cage. Leopard-print-catsuit clad girls hula hooping. Obviously La Clique is so up my fucking strasse it's a wonder i haven't run off to join them... my god this show is totally life-affirming, heart-racing and invigorating. it manages to be sexy, funny and fresh with virtually zero cringe factor, which you might have though was tricky when a girl's doing a magic show in the buff, pulling red hankies from her punani, or there's some guy dressed as Freddie Mercury doing a choreographed juggle to Queen songs. It should also be pointed out that this formula can go suicidally wrong, as evidenced by my experience outside Battersea Power station about a year ago, where i saw the similarly conceived Madam Zingara, which was so abysmal that i wanted to hang myself from its velveteen big top with one of the overabundant feather boas. the good thing about La Clique is there's an enormous cast, so you get completely different people performing every night. the exception that proved the rule of universal excellence the night i went was the Swedish magician/clown. but then i FUCKING HATE CLOWNS and general clowning around, so that was no shocker. apparently there's a term for it. fear of clowns: Coulrophobia.