“Brown’s book and lyrics is crammed full to the brim with questions, hence the title presumably. Although curiosity is startlingly absent”
There’s a weekly feature in The Guardian’s Saturday magazine titled ‘Across the Divide’, in which two mismatched people are thrown together on a date to see if they can enjoy each other’s company. Their differences may be political, philosophical or cultural. It is sometimes entertaining, sometimes downright dull; but a pleasant diversion to accompany a cup of coffee. Imagine stretching out the general concept into a two-hour musical and you might come up with something resembling “Killing the Cat’, Warner Brown and Joshua Schmidt’s new musical, premiering at the Riverside Studios.
Maggie (Madalena Alberto) is a world-weary, successful scientific author wanting to escape fame for a while, so decides to let her care-free sister-in-law Sheila (Kluane Saunders) whisk her off to the Italian countryside. Meanwhile, hippy-dippy Heather (Molly Lynch), who talks to dead poets in her head, inexplicably decides to drag along near-total-stranger Connor (Joaquin Pedro Valdes) to the same destination. Heather is chasing culture while Connor is seeking certainty, but in a very uncertain manner. In Italy, Maggie swoons over cabbage-vending Luke (Tim Rogers) who sounds like he’s from Sydney but hankers after Hackney. Luke is a born-again spiritualist living with his sister Paula (Kluane Saunders again) who dresses for ‘Oklahoma’ but has the artful cheeky chatter from ‘Oliver’.
Brown’s book and lyrics is crammed full to the brim with questions, hence the title presumably. Although curiosity is startlingly absent. Instead, we are delivered banality and cliché. Songs about molecular science, although with sub-molecular depth, compete with love ballads and debates that turn into arguments – at times resembling those countless conversations in student digs after closing time.
There is no denying the talent and vocal power of the performers. Even if their characters are not in harmony, as an ensemble the cast are perfectly in tune. Whilst each has their own moment to shine (such as Lynch’s delicate ‘All the Dead Poets’ or Alberto’s touching ‘I Think I Want to Go Home’), collectively they discover much needed dynamism in what is essentially a cycle of synonymous songs. The ‘big’ questions in life have been thrown into a thesaurus, the overly long index of which informs the script. The characters suffer from the subsequent shallowness. There is heightened emotion in the delivery, but nothing touches the heart. But then again, too much time is spent discussing whether the heart is just a blob of muscle and chemicals or whether it is the gateway to the soul.
Jenny Eastop’s staging makes good use of Lee Newby’s evocative, white-washed set: a mix of M. C. Escher and Tuscan villa, bathed in Mediterranean warmth by Jamie Platt’s lighting. Schmidt’s score is enlivened by the onstage trio of percussion, keys and cello. There are, indeed, moments of beauty to be found. The musicianship is faultless, particularly cellist Georgia Morse whose presence and musicality is a highlight throughout.
There are leitmotifs and false endings, and plenty of existential angst in the second act. And although the immovable opinions of the characters seem to melt ever so slightly under the weight of the sugary conclusion, there is still little to care about. The two pairs of lovers are not even certain whether they disagree or merely agree to disagree. The questions remain. But the curiosity? Whilst it may rub the fur the wrong way, it is not going to trouble the cat – let alone kill it.
“Amidst the theatricality there is beauty and romance and, of course, comedy.”
Against a throbbing soundtrack, we are drawn into a dystopian future. An urban jungle where civilisation has broken down. Silhouetted figures scramble across racks of caged metal. Chaos reigns; and yet there is an underlying precision. An order. The Timbuktu Tumblers, The Khadgaa Troupe, and The Mighty Khaan govern the ground while Hulan, Duo Garcia, and the Berserk Dancers and Aerial Ballet rule the skies. Somewhere in between, the roar of motorcycles and smell of fuselage heralds The Lucius Team; defying gravity and fatality. Toni hurls knives and axes towards his fearless wife Nikol and a giant robot strides across the terrain. Elberel aims her arrow, perched on one hand, shooting from her feet. Antonio Garcia watches, atop his tower of chairs while Sarah Howard hovers like smoke, spinning webs of silk up in the flies.
Welcome to the Berserkus. The centuries-old tradition of circus skills is given the contemporary treatment as the acts unfold before us at breakneck speed. The company of thirty-five performers have converged, coming from all corners of the world. With Cirque Berserk they have no safety net. Yet still they come. Is it dedication, genius, or plain madness? We watch, with palpitating hearts and palms of cold sweat. Is that madness too? Yet as much as we can’t look – neither can we look away.
You think you’ve reached the pinnacle, but the acts get more extreme. Bodies become the skipping rope, the juggling batons. The acrobats are their own apparatus. Contortion is given a new definition in this world where gravity ceases to exist. The performers are not just elastic, they are fluid – their molecules move in mysterious ways.
There is the sense that the artists need a little more space than the Riverside Studios can offer. The traditional Big Top is missing. But they adapt. Just as Elberel somehow manages to distort and compress herself into a bell jar the size of a pickling jar, they work within the limits. Limits, however, that do little to constrain them and their boundary pushing. Nobody is going to envy the person who has to compile the risk assessment.
Amidst the theatricality there is beauty and romance and, of course, comedy. Paulo dos Santos is the giant of the show. All three feet six of him. The warmth of his personality and comic timing shields and then reveals an acrobatic genius – whether spinning in the rafters or being swallowed by an oversized balloon. There is no ringleader. No spoken word. There is no age limit either, upwards or downwards, for the show. The perfect family entertainment – experienced extremely up-close. Although please keep an eye on the little ones, and keep them in their seats. The backstage crew are busy enough as it is.
Enthralling and entertaining and often hair raising, ‘Cirque Berserk!’ mixes the classic and the contemporary. Mixes? It throws them together like an atom collider. And disproves the chaos theory. They make it seem haphazard, and many laws of physics appear to be broken; but one marvels at the sheer precision, timing, skill and concentration that is needed. It would be glib to say they make it look easy. They don’t. Which is why we come away pretty breathless, but thoroughly beguiled.
