"Le Con est l'Ange"

[post 303]

Here's a short, award-winning partner acrobatic piece in the style of nouveau cirque, performed by Yannick Thomas and Grégory Arsenal, both products of French and Québecois circus schools. This isn't physical comedy, but what works for me — besides the high level of precise skill — is the theatrical idea of the acrobatics happening to the characters rather than just being presentational. This isn't consistently the case throughout, but when it works it is stunning.

Translation note: the title means something like "That Jerk's the Angel"; the chalkboard at the end goes from fin (The End) to faim? (Hungry?) to entracte (Intermission).




Thanks to Elena Day for the link.
Click here for the web site.of Yann and Greg.

Compagnie Ieto

[post 134]

I don't know much about Compagnie Ieto, another product of the French circus school system. I've never seen them perform, but based on this video — thank you to Jeff Seal for the link — I like, I like. Strictly speaking this is more nouveau cirque than physical comedy, but there's a strong kinship in terms of partner acrobatic work, engagement with the material world, and sheer creativity.

Click here for a review in English.
Click here for a review in French.
Click here for their web site.

INSPIRATIONS

« If your friend limps to the right then limp to the left. »
Renard J, Journal, 1906

— from the Ieto web site

Live from Paris: More Nouveau Cirque!

[post 097]

I've always been a big circus fan, but I have to admit that somewhere along the way I began to tire of the same old acts done the same old way. Tradition is fine and to be seriously respected, but watching performers — be it a hand balancer, a solo trapeze artist, or a clown — do what everyone else is doing, time after time, proved downright dispiriting. Did "classical circus" have to be devoid of creativity? And if a true believer like me often found himself bored at ringside, I suspect many a secular spectator was left with the feeling that “if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.”

And then along came nouveau cirque, with its rejection of animal acts and Barnum-esque hokum, championing instead an aesthetics derived from sources as varied as Chinese acrobatic troupes, post-modern dance, and visual theatre. We immediately think of Montreal's Cirque du Soleil, but it is in France — aided by generous government funding — that circus arts have been stretched the furthest. My annual visits hardly qualify me as an expert, but the shows I have seen have all been strikingly different from one another, each with its own unique vision and execution. In my last post, I wrote about seeing France's Compagnie XY in London. Just a few days later I was in Paris, where I caught Du Goudron et Des Plumes (Tar & Feathers) by Compagnie MPTA out at Parc de la Villette, home for many a nouveau cirque production.

While Compagnie XY presented traditional circus skills in a new way, Du Goudron et Des Plumes is more of a dance-theatre piece, weaving acrobatics into a theatrical narrative that, although abstract, was about something. Five performers (four men and a woman) cohabit the area on and around a suspended platform that rocks their world as it rises and lowers, tilts and sways; alternately a floor; a roof; a ship at sea, swept away by a perfect storm. To survive, they are forced to adapt to a topsy-turvy existence. Dynamics shift, relationships form and dissolve, cooperation gives way to competition, and chaos always looms. Sometimes life is as light as a feather; other times, it weighs them down like a heavy coat of tar.












As with Cirque Mechanics (see my earlier post), the platform and its extensions become a sort of constructivist jungle gym. Its parts are even miked so that we hear it breathe as it moves. And not only does the platform move, but its wooden planks can be reconfigured by humans to create new playing surfaces. As the reviewer for La Terrasse put it, the living confront a machine that binds them and yet inspires creativity, "a metaphor for our world in a state of constant displacement."

If you're thinking this is all very esoteric, maybe even intellectual, you are — I am happy to report — quite mistaken. Not only is the movement a joy to behold, but the show is full of original circus technique and physical comedy. My favorite was the pole act. Look at these two pictures: the one on the left of Chinese acrobats doing a traditional pole act; the one on the right showing two characters interacting on poles temporarily wedged into the platform.
















The Chinese act is spectacular, and any attempt to duplicate it risks being a pale imitation. In Du Goudron et des Plumes, however, the poles were the setting for a two-person scene, with one character manipulating the other like a marionette, up, down and around the poles. The technical skill is certainly there, but the interplay between characters gives it a whole other life that you just don't get with straight presentation. If there were one segment that I could show you on video, this would be it.

[Total Aside: It's amazing where clicking on a web link can take you. Not being a frequenter of strip clubs (no, really...), I had no idea that strippers had gotten into serious acrobatic training to enhance their pole dancing acts till I stumbled upon this blog post. And did you know there's even a U.S. Pole Dance Federation? Stranger still, it turns out their 2009 championships were held all of four blocks from my NYC apartment building. Man, nobody tells me nuttin'!]

Also quite imaginative was an upside-down mirror scene. We've all seen mirror gags, and you've probably seen acts where the aerialist performs everyday acts suspended upside-down; there's been one featured in Circus Oz for like forever. Here, however, two performers mirror each other vertically, one standing on the platform, the other suspended by his feet from it so they are feet-to-feet. Quite nifty.

I haven't found even a promo video for the show, just this little slide show:




Here's a YouTube video of another piece by director Mathurin-Bolze, just to give you some idea of his style; unfortunately, the camera operator seems to have fallen asleep after the first minute and a half.




The program notes, like most French writing on culture, are full of metaphors and allusions that are either evocatively poetic or ridiculously pretentious — all depending on your point of view. Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men is listed as an inspiration, as are other texts, but they are ultimately irrelevant to the final product, which speaks for itself.

Compagnie MPTA's motto is Les Mains, les Pieds et la Tête Aussi. They have indeed succeeded admirably with their hands, their feet, and also with their head.

You can read a collection of reviews (in French) here.

Live from London: Circus Festival at the Roundhouse

[post 096]

I blazed through London for three jet-lagged days on my way to Paris, and managed to catch part of a circus festival (ongoing through May 16th) at the Roundhouse Theatre in fashionable Camden Town.

The Roundhouse is a great space. Originally a steam engine repair shed, it was first used as a performance venue in the 60s by political playwright Arnold Wesker, and soon was hosting such attractions as Jimi Hendrix, Pink Floyd, Peter Brook, the Living Theatre, and the Doors. When funding dried up in 1983, the space went dark until 1996. In 2004 it closed again, but this time for some big-time (and handsome) renovations, reopening in 2006. It is indeed round and quite impressive — its main space can house 1,800 people seated or 3,300 standing — and reminds you of such permanent circus buildings as the Cirque d'Hiver in Paris. The similarities don't end there: circus and variety arts constitute a major portion of their programming.


The show that impressed me most was a nouveau cirque production from France, Compagnie XY. One trademark of nouveau cirque is its choice to not use animal acts. Compagnie XY went much further: they chose to perform without circus hoopla: no applause cues, no "Ta-Da's!" no glitzy costumes, hardly any props (three, to be exact), and no dramatic music — not even a drum roll — just some charming Parisian melodies, full of accordions, and more reminiscent of the world of Edith Piaf than of the world of the circus.

It begins in the semi-dark. Very slowly the performers wander into the ring, eventually gathering themselves into a shadowy pyramid, after which they casually disperse. It of course picks up steam from there, but throughout retains a matter-of-fact manner; intense focus, of course, but calm nonetheless.

What we get instead of over-the-top pizazz is an ensemble of performers — all of them in the ring 90% of the time — working together to explore the countless possibilities of group acrobatics; more specifically, throwing each other every which way and constructing a dazzling array of pyramids. That's it. No jugglers, no wirewalkers, no clowns, no daredevils on motorcycles. Just group acrobatics. The only human cannonballs are launched by human hands and human feet.

The technical level is high, with many a 4-high in the mix, but what impresses is the inventiveness and the contagious joy of all these group creations. . As always, you had to be there, but this two-minute video shows the kind of work they do, though not the effect of the whole evening.



And some more photos:




Partner work this strong and inventive is at least a second cousin to physical comedy partner work, but I think it's more difficult to do actual comedy as part of a show like this. What do you play off of? There's less suspense, not much in the way of defined roles. There are no stars and no star turns. The (warm) message is one of mutual trust and cooperation. The few comic bits they tried work quite well, however, especially the attempts of the one rather heavy member of the troupe to perform feats usually associated with a light and lithe acrobat. Of course he ultimately succeeds as a topmounter, much to everyone's astonishment and delight. I also liked the flying "trust" leaps into the hands of about 10 catchers, all of whom collapse upon impact while the flyer walks nonchalantly away.

All in all, a sweet and terrific show. We were there opening night, and they got lots of applause without signaling for it, and a final ovation that was foot-stompingly loud and enthusiastically sustained.

From Meyerhold to Cirque Mechanics' "Birdhouse Factory"

[post 092]

This post was supposed to be almost as easy as my last one. Surely I could knock it off in an hour or two. I'd caught Birdhouse Factory a while back in Newark, found it more than a little interesting, figured I'd write a paragraph or two of observations, throw in some pics and a promo video and be done with it.

As usual, one thing led to another, and I started making all these links between this and that — this being Cirque Mechanics and that being Russian constructivism, biomechanics, and eccentric acting — and before long I was spending days trying to connect all these dots. At this rate I'll never get those other ten chapters of my Clowns book up here before I have to return to my other lives two months from now, much less keep up with Pat Cashin! Oh well, you can't fight your own DNA, can ya? But no, je ne regrette rien; some good stuff here.


Acrobatics + Machines + Theatre + Circus = ??

Cast of characters:
• "Birdhouse Factory," cirque nouveau production by the Las Vegas-based group Cirque Mechanics. The show had its premiere at San Francisco's Circus Center in December, 2004 and has been touring North America pretty extensively ever since.

• The Russian constructivist art movement of the 1920s, and specifically the work of the Russian director, Vsevolod Meyerhold, whose (anti-Stanislavsky) productions and "biomechanical" movement for actors borrowed a lot from commedia, circus, and the variety stage. Meyerhold was the darling of the avant-garde in the early days of the Russian Revolution, but ended up being executed by Stalin for not towing the party line.










The Story:
The creators of Birdhouse Factory are performers with experience with Cirque du Soleil, Pickle Family Circus, and even the Moscow Circus, and its program lists such influences as "the Detroit industrial murals of Diego Rivera, the outrageous illustrations of cartoonist Rube Goldberg, and the gentle political slapstick of Charlie Chaplin in Modern Times." Their work aims to make connections between the functionality of industrial machinery and the pure physics of circus acrobatics. Founder Chris Lashua explains that "we want to see every gear, every cog, every relationship between chain and sprocket, every gear ratio and mix with people flipping and doing acrobatics in the air and utilizing the machines or the factory setting."

In a landmark 1922 constructivist production, Meyerhold took Fernand Crommelynck's dark bedroom farce, The Magnanimous Cuckold, and physicalized the abstract concept of "farce machinery" with a set that was part machine, part jungle gym, and performed upon by actors trained in what he called "biomechanical" movement.

Here's a performance photo showing Lyubov Popova's original set in action:

And a poster for the production...


Before you knew it, constructivist artists were in demand as theatre set designers. Here's Alexander Vesin's set for Alexander Tairov's 1924 production of The Man who was Thursday.



Fast-forward 80+ years:







In his book The Theatre of Meyerhold: Revolution on the Modern Stage, Edward Braun explained that Popova's set functioned both as a dynamic playground for the actors and scenery for the storyline:

"At his invitation Popova joined the teaching staff of the Theatre Workshop and agreed to build a construction for The Magnanimous Cuckold. It consisted of the frames of conventional theatre flats and platforms joined by steps, chutes, and catwalks; there were two wheels, a large disc bearing the letters 'CR-ML-NCK', and vestigial windmill sails, which all revolved at varying speeds as a kinetic accompaniment to the fluctuating passions of the characters. Blank panels hinged to the framework served as doors and windows. As Rudnitsky says, the aim was simply 'to organize scenic space in the way most convenient for the actors, to create for them a 'working area.'

But despite the skeletal austerity, the grimy damp-stained brickwork of the exposed back wall, and the absence of wings to hide either stage-crew or cast, Popoya's contraption evoked inevitable associations with the windmill in which the play was supposed to be set, suggesting now a bedroom, now a balcony, now the grinding mechanism, now a chute for the discharging of the sacks of flour. Only in the isolated moments when it enhanced the synchronized movements of the complete ensemble did it work simply as a functional machine. In the theatre, whose whole allure depends on the associative power of the imagination, every venture by the Constructivists led to an unavoidable compromise of their utilitarian dogma and each time demonstrated the inherent contradiction in the term Theatrical Constructivism."

Alas, there's no film record of Meyerhold's production, but here are two promo videos of Birdhouse Factory that provide glimpses of this interaction between set and performer.

The plot, such as it is, is set in a gloomy, gray factory run by an unfeeling boss. That begins to change when a stray bird gets loose inside, and by the second act the factory has been transformed into a joyous playground. The setting gives free rein to all kinds of experimentation mixing machines and acrobatics. The message, according to Lashua, has to do with finding the spirit of joy:

"Even though it takes place in a 1940s setting, Birdhouse Factory speaks to audiences of the twenty-first century. There’s a timeliness to what we’re doing in the sense that here are people that are lined up to work in a factory, and it’s the harsh kind of working environment. And as a result of things that happen in that place, people will find the spirit or the joy in what they’re doing, and it’s as important a message today as any other time.”

In some cases the circus acts and the factory environment really work together well, while with others it's pretty much a case of traditional circus acts being performed against a factory background. The trampoline act, which you can see glimpses of in the first video, above, makes brilliant use of a wall at the back of the tramp in the shape of a stack of boxes. The act becomes about scaling the wall and strutting atop the boxes. The ground below (trampoline bed) exists only as a launching pad. The boxes not only multiply the number of tricks possible, they add dynamic possibilities for attitude and posturing and interaction, all of which the performers make the most of. It's one of those acts that you just don't want to end.

__________

Update (4-9-10): Saw Cirque du Soleil's Ovo last night, and its crowd-rousing finale is a trampoline and tumbling act where three tramp beds are used to help propel the acrobats up a rock climbing wall.

__________

But even when Birdhouse Factory really isn't working 100% as theatre, it's damn good circus simply because of the caliber, presentation, and originality of the individual acts.

Comedy

But I know what you're saying: this is a physical comedy blog; what does any of this have to do with comedy? A lot, as it turns out. The main character in the piece is a worker-clown, played very nicely by Jesse Dryden, who by the second act has taken over as factory boss and is instrumental in the transformation of the workplace. The new-found joy and exuberance herald the triumph of the clown spirit, as the downtrodden, slumping workers rediscover their bodies and take flight.

Dryden also does a sweet audience participation piece involving a very old radio that mostly emits static — unless you're touching it, in which case it plays "It's Only a Paper Moon." He brings a woman up to dance with him but of course as soon as his hand loses contact with the radio, the static takes over, end of dance. So he brings her significant other up on stage as well and gets him to keep his hand on the radio. Predictably, the guy sabotages their dance by removing his hand and Dryden is forced to be the radio holder while the couple get to dance romantically without him. As a final twist, this being 2010 even if the radio's from 1930, Dryden dances with the man while the woman holds the radio. I have a real problem with clowns who use audience participation to make fun of spectators instead of making fun of themselves, but this was just the opposite. Bravo!

My favorite piece of physical comedy had to be a tightly-choreographed tango performed atop a giant industrial spool. I'm not sure who the performers were and I can't find any video, but it was full of character and some sharp partner acrobatic moves. The flavor was combative, somewhere between tango and apache dance, with many delicious moments.

Movement & Choreography
Back in the heady days of the Russian Revolution, choreographers were drawing inspiration from the industrial age for human movement. One such project was the Factory of the Eccentric Actor, whose 1921 manifesto begins "Wear Clown Plants and be Saved." Meyerhold introduced a system of "biomechanical" training for actors, meant to harness the findings of Taylorism as to efficient physical movement, though in reality most of the biomechanical exercises were directly derived from the physical comedy tradition.

Birdhouse choreographer and co-director Aloysia Gavre took much of the show's body language straight from Rivera’s industrial paintings—clear body positions, sharp angles, and deep motion. But the twist is including the “kookiness” of moves from Chaplin’s world. “It’s that juxtaposition of everything,” Gavre says. “It’s not dance choreography, it’s movement choreography.” (interview with Jennifer Pencek)

More on the Factory of the Eccentric Actor and on biomechanics in two future posts, but meanwhile some useful links:
• Meyerhold Museum
• Video documentaries about Meyerhold and the Russian Avant-Garde by Michael Craig
• Cirque Mechanics website
• Chris Lashua interview with Jennifer Pencek
• NY Times review of Birdhouse Factory