Circa, Barbican Theatre | reviews, news & interviews
Circa, Barbican Theatre
Circa, Barbican Theatre
Australian theatre circus with stunning theatrical daring
Friday, 12 March 2010
One of the daily tragedies of being human is that notions in our heads of unaided flight, levitation - any thought of lift-off from our material horizon - lie in drastic disproportion to what flesh and muscle permit. As children, we dream of flying, or living, say, on ocean floors without gas-tanks. As adolescents, we dream of many things, most of them impossible. As adults, sportspeople and dancers strain to defy nature, but never do. Most of us go on to live resignedly alongside, or inside, nature, glum in the knowledge that our "machine", as Hamlet terms his mortal frame, will of course wholly fail.
I note this with some feeling, as this week alone I've managed to stub a big toe badly and shatter its nail from the outside in, then, yesterday, to rick my right calf in a storming walk toward to my bank (RBS, since you ask) in central Cambridge - where you can't park - to complain, rowdily, after a new card had malfunctioned for the 15th time. It was thus with positive awe and a growling awareness of my late-40s decrepitude, to say nothing of fury at the limitations of the material world, that I watched Circa last night at the Barbican.
Circa is a Brisbane troupe of 20-something perfomers who do things on stage Health and Safety should probably proscribe - but the BITE (Barbican International Theatre Events) season is a daring entity, and thank God for it. (This time last year I was watching, in BITE, Romeo Castellucci's Purgatorio, featuring a father's rape of his prepubescent son in possibly one of the most demanding, viscerally challenging pieces of drama I've ever attended.) Circa's four boys and three girls career, undulate, explode, entwine and reverberate in an hour-plus of stage hedonism which, in its sheer force of daring and corporeal ingenuity, might - once they and I are serious dust, and as long as someone's recorded it - become one of the Wonders of the World.
Let's be clear about what Circa is not. Though the performers might pay tribute to circus, there's no "circus" here: no flames, no hurdles, mercifully no animals, no paraphernalia. No clowns. The guys, in cotton trousers, are bare-torsoed; the girls are in swimsuits. That's it (plus music: electronica, Jacques Brel, Leonard Cohen, Radiohead). Their show - OK, there's also a bit of trapeze- and rope-work - is an exhibition of trust and understanding. Without them, there'd be no show.
One guy can climb on to the shoulders of one of the girls, and then almost stand on her head with both feet - he doesn't quite manage it - because they know they can try it: they've done it before, and elevation on his colleague's skull with one foot is scary and extraordinary enough. Another girl can fling herself high from the arms of colleagues across at least a metre knowing she will be elegantly caught - and it will be theatrical. These lunatics know exactly what they're doing.
Individuals come into their own. One guy keeps us entranced with his fingers, just his fingers, clicking (audience clicks along), sculpting, playacting; then, after a couple of experiments at standing upside down on the same fingers, first five, then three, he tries to hold himself up with just one on each hand. We know each will break. It doesn't happen. It shouldn't. We're relieved. This is theatrical.
A girl comes on with obscenely high heels - red, potentially lethal. A boy's there, prone, and she walks all over him: spine, shoulders, inside of his thighs. Sexually, it's exploitative. Technically, it's riveting. Much of what Circa does is actually a tad troubling, but it's all so witty and and so beautifully controlled, and so flipping skilful, that a lack of subtlety can be forgiven. Almost.
A review attempting to evoke the sheer bloody exuberance of Circa's work is bound to shortchange them, but they need to be told that 1) they aren't dancers - no circus, but no choreography either - and 2), with these talents, they could surely create something thematically meatier. But this creaking curmudgeon came out into a chill March night feeling, nonetheless - well, knowing, having just witnessed it - that the human body is capable of joyful, fearless defiance. Next time round, Circa, please: more matter.
Circa is a Brisbane troupe of 20-something perfomers who do things on stage Health and Safety should probably proscribe - but the BITE (Barbican International Theatre Events) season is a daring entity, and thank God for it. (This time last year I was watching, in BITE, Romeo Castellucci's Purgatorio, featuring a father's rape of his prepubescent son in possibly one of the most demanding, viscerally challenging pieces of drama I've ever attended.) Circa's four boys and three girls career, undulate, explode, entwine and reverberate in an hour-plus of stage hedonism which, in its sheer force of daring and corporeal ingenuity, might - once they and I are serious dust, and as long as someone's recorded it - become one of the Wonders of the World.
Let's be clear about what Circa is not. Though the performers might pay tribute to circus, there's no "circus" here: no flames, no hurdles, mercifully no animals, no paraphernalia. No clowns. The guys, in cotton trousers, are bare-torsoed; the girls are in swimsuits. That's it (plus music: electronica, Jacques Brel, Leonard Cohen, Radiohead). Their show - OK, there's also a bit of trapeze- and rope-work - is an exhibition of trust and understanding. Without them, there'd be no show.
One guy can climb on to the shoulders of one of the girls, and then almost stand on her head with both feet - he doesn't quite manage it - because they know they can try it: they've done it before, and elevation on his colleague's skull with one foot is scary and extraordinary enough. Another girl can fling herself high from the arms of colleagues across at least a metre knowing she will be elegantly caught - and it will be theatrical. These lunatics know exactly what they're doing.
Individuals come into their own. One guy keeps us entranced with his fingers, just his fingers, clicking (audience clicks along), sculpting, playacting; then, after a couple of experiments at standing upside down on the same fingers, first five, then three, he tries to hold himself up with just one on each hand. We know each will break. It doesn't happen. It shouldn't. We're relieved. This is theatrical.
A girl comes on with obscenely high heels - red, potentially lethal. A boy's there, prone, and she walks all over him: spine, shoulders, inside of his thighs. Sexually, it's exploitative. Technically, it's riveting. Much of what Circa does is actually a tad troubling, but it's all so witty and and so beautifully controlled, and so flipping skilful, that a lack of subtlety can be forgiven. Almost.
A review attempting to evoke the sheer bloody exuberance of Circa's work is bound to shortchange them, but they need to be told that 1) they aren't dancers - no circus, but no choreography either - and 2), with these talents, they could surely create something thematically meatier. But this creaking curmudgeon came out into a chill March night feeling, nonetheless - well, knowing, having just witnessed it - that the human body is capable of joyful, fearless defiance. Next time round, Circa, please: more matter.
- Circa is at the Barbican until 14 March: book here.
- Check out what's on in the 2010 Edinburgh International Festival
more Dance
All You Need Is Death review - a future folk horror classic
Irish folkies seek a cursed ancient song in Paul Duane's impressive fiction debut
MacMillan Celebrated, Royal Ballet review - out of mothballs, three vintage works to marvel at
Less-known pieces spanning the career of a great choreographer underline his greatness
Carmen, English National Ballet review - lots of energy, even violence, but nothing new to say
Johan Inger's take on Carmen tries but fails to make a point about male violence
WAKE, National Stadium, Dublin review - a rainbow river of dance, song, and so much else
THISISPOPBABY serves up a joyous tapestry of Ireland contemporary and traditional
Swan Lake, Royal Ballet review - grand, eloquent, superb
Liam Scarlett's fine refashioning returns for a third season, and looks better than ever
First Person: Ten Years On - Flamenco guitarist Paco Peña pays tribute to his friend, the late, great Paco de Lucía
On the 10th anniversary of his death, memories of the prodigious musician who broadened the reach of flamenco into jazz and beyond
Dance for Ukraine Gala, London Palladium review - a second rich helping of international dancers
Ivan Putrov's latest gala was a satisfying mix of stars and young hopefuls
Nelken: A Piece by Pina Bausch, Sadler's Wells review - welcome return for an indelible classic
A new generation of gifted performers for us to get to know
Dark With Excessive Bright, Royal Ballet review - a close encounter with dancers stripped bare
The Royal's Festival of New Choreography launches with an unforgettable walk in the dark
La Strada, Sadler's Wells review - a long and bumpy road
Even the exceptional talents of Alina Cojocaru can't save dance adaptation of Fellini film
First Person: pioneering juggler Sean Gandini reflects on how the spirit of Pina Bausch has infiltrated his work
As Tanztheater Wuppertal Pina Bausch's 'Nelken' comes to Sadler’s Wells, a tribute from across the art forms
Manon, Royal Ballet review - a glorious half-century revival of a modern classic
Fifty years on, Kenneth MacMillan's crash-and-burn anti-heroine is riding high
Add comment