Cirque du Soleil performs "Varekai" in New York City
On the white painted face of it, the Cirque-haters have a few points. Who is uncomfortable mocking mimes? Who wants to see the strutting of street performers you would flee from if they performed on your street? Who enjoys the threat of being yanked from the anonymous discomfort of a wooden seat to be the butt of a clown's slapstick raillery? Who hopes that all this medieval merriment will be encased in two hours of New Age music? And who is ready to pay $95 a ticket for the privilege? The expected antiphonal response: "Nobody" times five.
Many savvy folks of my acquaintance would rather endure a colonoscopy supervised by Michael Moore humming Reba McIntire songs than attend the new Cirque extravaganza "Varekai" (now playing on Randall's Island in New York City), or read about the show in their own magazine. I not only know these people; I work for some of them. So, humbly, I defer to their worldly wisdom.
And fervently, I say they're wrong. Not simply because I'm the official Cirque du Soleil reviewer for TIME magazine, but because each of the debating points can be concisely and conclusively rebutted. To wit:
The lack of animals? No loss: humans are easier to train, and they come potty-trained; they only thing missing here is the stench of elephant dung. The mimes and clowns? They consume maybe 15 mins. of a two-and-a-half-hour show; and in "Varekai" two of the three clown spots provide inspired comedy. The audience participation? Should you be chosen, you'll be spared the humiliation that would be your lot on any TV show — no Simon Cowell will sneer your efforts into embarrassment. The world music? It evokes a world of music, from Ladysmith Black Mambazo to "Hava Na Gila," but it's really just the pumping pulse to the acrobatic artistry awaiting you. The price? It's about the same as for a Broadway musical, and kids get in for 30% less. (Their enraptured thanks should cover the cost.) As for the seats: if your butt isn't cushion enough, bring a pillow.
I can understand the resistance of my cooler friends to the Cirque trappings, though to me the forest tones of "Varekai" have their own humid enchantment. But beneath Cirque is a circus, a demonstration of acrobatic skill and sorcery: humans doing, 10 times a week, what most humans can't do. Viewers who fail to be impressed, moved by the performers' dedication, their strength and finesse, are beyond blas. They're emotionally inert. (Except, of course, for my friends and employers at TIME. They have unusually high standards.)
Some of you don't need my badgering, since more than 6 million people have seen a Cirque du Soleil show. And if you don't live near one of the 10 cities where "Varekai" will be playing this year or next, tune in to the Bravo network Saturday (the 14th) for a TV version of the show. It's preceded by a half-dozen Cirque specials, which give you a hint of the wonder that Guy Lalibert and his alchemists have been manufacturing for nearly 20 years. But just a hint: the TV shows don't come close to capturing the in-person Cirque sensation. You can't lock magic in a box.
GYPSY IN THEIR SOULS
Each Cirque show has a different, often arcane name, to match the hazy twists of the "plot" that binds the show's dozen acts. "Varekai" has no such obscurantist aims. Andrew Watson, the writer-director, spells it out in the press notes and house program. The word "Varekai" means "wherever" in the Romany language — appropriate for the theatrical and circus gypsies who have come from all over the globe to Montreal, only to wander across North America for the show's three-year run.