Oh, you don’t want to talk more about Love Dance? TOO BAD.
Let’s unpack some key choreography decisions for two very different baton acts!
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A post shared by Jennifer Marcus Schwartz (@jentwirls) on Mar 10, 2018 at 9:59am PST
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Jennifer Marcus from Volta gives us an excellent example of a classic Cirque du Soleil batons act - and any act for that matter. She’s performing under a big top with an audience view of just short of 270 degrees. You can see that in the way she performs: she plays to the sides every once in a while, but her back is very rarely to the entire audience unless it’s in a moment of transition or to highlight a trick like a backwards catch.
This is a very common best practice in circus, ballet, and theater: you’re grateful to your audience, you’re acutely aware of them at all times, you’re generous, so you want them to see as much of you as possible. If the audience can’t see your face, how are they going to know what emotion you mean to convey? If you turn away, it’s deliberate and meaningful.
By contrast, the batons act in Ka plays to a forward-facing audience. There are no sides to play to, and it’s a massively cavernous theatre in which to project an emotional message. It’s the key moment of the Chief Archer’s Daughter’s character.
If that’s the case, why does the Chief Archer’s Daughter spend so much time with her back to the audience?
There are a lot of things happening to this character in this moment. She’s just been shown real, meaningful affection, possibly the only kind that’s truly resonated with her in her entire life. It came from her people’s worst enemy. She responded by setting that enemy free, and despite her feelings for him, she didn’t feel she could follow him. She let him go without any guarantee of ever seeing him again.
Watch the act, take note of their meeting, and notice the way the baton repeatedly takes her by surprise and “yanks” her around the stage.
Noriko Takahashi is a world class baton twirler. A champion countless times over, and she’s performed with Ka for fifteen years. The choreography is largely unchanged since its start. That little “trip and catch” moment at 4:04 is no mistake - that’s choreography. That’s intentional.
This act illustrates the push and pull of her home and her heart. Love came out of nowhere, swept her off her feet; every time she thinks of it she’s surprised but comes away with joy and clarity. Notice how at 4:55 she catches the baton as though someone has unexpectedly caught her by the hand.
Who else catches her by the hand at 0:35?
Based on this you could argue that the act is very much “for her.” It’s an exploration of her newfound love, personal and introspective, and her repeated turns away from the audience emphasize that.
But that’s not what’s happening here.
Behind her, extremely well lit, is the only person in the 2,000 seat room that this performance is decidedly not for.
You can watch as he realizes it, too. Before the act begins he’s derisive, amused that someone so foreign could actually catch her attention. Once it starts, he’s caught up in his affection and predicts her routine, evidence of long study of her character. But as it progresses, she repeatedly turns away from the audience and directly to him... but doesn’t see him. We know they have a clear line of sight to one another - how else would he have seen the escape moment unfold? Over time his happiness dies, because over and over he’s reminded that despite looking straight at him, she hasn’t noticed.
Her final pose is essential. It’s the finale of her act, the end of her key moment of character development and self-expression. She’s taken the two batons, a symbol of the two halves of her newfound relationship, brought them together, and looks directly at the person who gifted her the first one at the beginning of the show.
And she still doesn’t notice him.
Love Dance is for the Chief Archer’s Daughter, the Twin Brother, and the audience. Absolutely no one else. And the Counselor’s Son knows it.
Quidam’s cloud swing is a shining example of this show’s ability to create depth through minimalism. Occasionally criticized for its comparatively short length (and exactly how much of that time is spent just... swinging), cloud swing wasn’t the sort of act to make a huge impression on the first time circus-goer. What first timers most likely didn’t know is that it’s also one of the rarest and most dangerous aerial disciplines, the first and last that Cirque has yet featured in any of its shows, touring and otherwise. Quidam’s way of “dressing up” an act for presentation is more like stripping it down, and cloud swing is a classic and immensely successful example of that approach. Let’s take a closer look!
Staging: Quidam knows a busy stage (skipping ropes or banquine anyone? Zoe’s first encounter with les chiennes blanches?), and an empty one is deliberate. Here we have our aerialist above, Boum Boum on the prowl below, the red haired brat doing what she does at stage left, the bassist in the center, and five reverent, identical masked women hanging themselves at stage right (we’ll get back to all that). With all of this going on, how does the stage still feel so empty? The space between the characters - particularly between the foils of the aerialist and Boum Boum - create a sense of space and isolation emphasized by the sparse lighting in the raking claws of the telepherique. We’re meant to feel the grounded nature of the people below through comparison with the aerialist, but the telepherique above is still illuminated, cagelike. Are these characters’ situations really so different? Even as she swings high above, isn’t the aerialist tangled up in the rope that keeps her aloft? This act exists in a closed world, and we’re meant to feel the weight of that.
Music: This song has no official name beyond just “Cloud Swing,” which is a terrible shame because it’s such a lovely blend and culmination of many musical motifs heard in the show up until this point. We hear Zoe’s original question at the beginning: “What is right and what is wrong?” followed by “karma, karma.” These are the only spoken words in the show, first asked immediately before she’s overwhelmed by the arrival of les chiennes blanches. But Zoe’s not onstage here - why reemphasize this now, so late in the show, when she’s not even present to ask her own question? Maybe this act is her answer, a dark sort of karmic balance of light and dark, high and low.
The dark, heavy bassline is presided over by an immensely talented musician who transitions between metal-inspired bass guitar and tambourine with no shortage of depth and energy. He’s a conductor and a prisoner both, and he draws out the music’s eeriness with a cello bow in what I firmly believe is one of the best musical performances in CdS history. For a closer look at this character’s performance (and a better look at the hanged women’s choreography), I highly recommend this video. I could make a post about that all on its own.
Character work:
Boum Boum - he stalks beneath the aerialist, glaring up at her, trapped under a net. We’ve spent enough time with him at this point in the show to recognize him as a combative, proud, menacing, and ultimately hollow presence. But something about this act infuses him with a new, distinctly jealous energy. Is it because of her apparent freedom? Is it because of her? Me being me, I’d love to believe it’s because of her specifically. He turns away from her biggest tricks as though nervous for her, and some of them knock him to the ground. He glares at the audience as though warding them away from her. He retreats when she lands, the spell broken.
Red-Haired Brat - man, who ever knows what this girl is up to. It’s Quidam, so I’m always inclined to believe there’s more, but from what little I can glean here or through any other part of her stage time, she’s here to emphasize a childish sense of chaos and ignorance.
The Hanged Women - we’ve got an aerialist on a swinging rope, an overdramatic boxer trapped beneath a net, and to knit together the futility of it all is this quintet of identical, anonymous women. They wrap and unwrap their necks with their own ropes, a second, more overt image of suicide after our first dose of it in the aerial contortion in silk act. But notice how they end the act holding the ropes straight out in front of them. Despite their somber presence, they end free and autonomous. Maybe there is hope after all. But not for everyone. Boum Boum has already turned away, still trapped.
Acrobatics: with all of this context out of the way, I’ll let the video do most of the talking from here. Take the long, swinging builds as a moment to breathe, appreciate the music, and admire the atmosphere. The timing and height of each trick is so essential here, the pain unimaginable to those who have never trained aerials. The safety line exists only as an absolute last line of defense. As much as I love this act, part of me hopes this one remains Cirque’s first and only.
Wanna unpack something else Cirque? Send me an ask!
I was writing my review of my most recent viewing of Cirque du Soleil’s Totem, and no matter how I tried to keep things concise I just couldn’t shake the challenge of the show’s Native American representation. It’s a topic that deserves examination, elaboration, and conversation. So let’s unpack it!
I want to open by saying I have zero Native heritage. What research I have done is driven by my general awareness as a person, Google, Sociology and Anthropology courses that I took in like 2010, and my interest in respectful representation in media (particularly circus). I write this only as someone with an interest in learning more, so if you have any thoughts or corrections, I would love to hear them.
TOTEM follows the human species from original amphibian state to ultimate desire to fly. The characters evolve on a stage, evoking a giant turtle, the symbol of origin for many ancient civilizations. TOTEM explores the ties that bind Man to other species, his dreams and his infinite potential.
That’s it, that’s the theme. That’s what Cirque du Soleil gives us to go on when asked what Totem is about. What we see onstage is a burst of sound, color, people, and animals that do their best to get to the heart of this theme. Among them are several characters with Native American inspiration: two hoop dancers, a singer, and a duo that perform a roller skating act. The hoop dancers and singer in particular are framed as guides to the rest of the cast, shepherding mankind along in its development and tracing the evolution of our species. In this way they’re “above” the evolutionary theme: they have a wisdom beyond the others and are more of a conduit for the audience to understand the message. The hoop dancers and singer are all of Native descent, and in the singer’s case was deeply involved in the creation of the show. That’s pretty good, right?
Cirque’s good at that! They’re good at distilling themes, images, and emotions into their purest forms. It’s what makes their shows so nuanced and arresting - we can see ourselves in the big picture as much as the details. But the Native American elements in Totem still feel uncomfortable at times. There are none of the usual hallmarks of stereotyping (no war bonnets, none of that hand-over-mouth war cry shit, etc.). All Native characters in the show are depicted respectfully.
But Native American culture isn’t singular. There are hundreds of different peoples, nations, and tribes, and part of their oppression has taken shape in the distillation of their different traditions and images into one. Though Cirque does a good job of framing these characters and traditions in a positive light, I wonder if using them in this context perpetuates that same disregard for individuality.
The most uncomfortable moment takes place during the roller skating duet when the female artist appears to bless their platform, a giant drum. Their entire act is steeped in what looks like ceremony, but there’s no larger meaning - it reads like ritual for ritual’s sake. It’s also a rather sexual performance - a reverent and tasteful one, sure, but it kind of makes you wonder what exactly they’re blessing and why. Since it’s the only full act with a distinctly Native inspiration (hoop dance is divided into two separate parts, one on either side of the intermission), something about it just makes me feel icky. The hoop dancers feels like real people, important ones with an important role. This duo feels more some really beautiful, elaborate foreplay.
And that’s not to say sex doesn’t matter! It doesn’t mean sex can’t or shouldn’t be treated with beauty and respect! It doesn’t mean that some Native tribes don’t or didn’t have rituals around it - I don’t know of any specifically, and even if I did, I’m in no position to evaluate or comment on them! But we also live in a world where in 2019 Yandy has 44 different results for “sexy indian costume.” That’s fucked up. And Cirque du Soleil doesn’t feel like the company to be tackling that kind of gross exoticism.
The roller skate artists are also Italian, so. That’s weird.
Cirque gets to the bare essentials and conveys a message. That’s what they do. They also created a show about human evolution and all but positioned Native Americans at its pinnacle. And it would probably be too tall an order to actually cast an acrobatic roller skating duo with decades of experience and Native heritage: they involved Native Americans in the creative process whenever possible and put them in the spotlight in many key moments. But given the way Native Americans have already seen their cultures distilled, reduced, and twisted into stereotypes, maybe this just wasn’t the best choice. Maybe a French Canadian circus - however tasteful - just wasn’t the right medium.
What do you think? Is Totem’s representation worth its cost?
Let’s unpack the Alegría Gala Célébration 2019 Performance
This is the most substantial look at the Alegria revival to date, and there’s a lot to take in and evaluate. Before we dive in, a few key points to keep in mind:
Yes, wigs and headpieces will come. Yes, the makeup is still likely in development.
Yes, Vai Vedrai will pair with this acro duet instead of a trapeze act. Yes there is still a separate swinging trapeze act.
Yes, this is one of our official singers. The other is Virginia Alves.
No, this is not the complete act.
No, these are not likely the versions of the songs we’ll hear live. Similar yes, but not exact.
And to stay fair, here are a few questions I can’t answer at this stage:
What the fuck kind of reverb am I hearing during “Alegria”
What the fuck is going on with the White Singer’s dress
Who decided this song was an appropriate fit for an acro duet
What the fuck are the nymphs’ wings
Why is Cirque testing my faith like this
It’s clear this duet has been working together for a long time. Many tricks are incredibly smooth and it’s only in the transitions that they falter, if at all. This will improve as the show takes shape and they adapt their act accordingly. In fact I’m not at all concerned for the quality of the act, but I do have some questions about the pairing of the act and this song and the overall look of the show as we hurtle closer and closer to the premiere date.
The song choice I think I covered in my previous post. Vai Vedrai is a moment of departure, transition, and flight. The meaning does not and I suspect will not resonate as much with a ground act, no matter how good. Plain and simple.
But the look of these costumes dismays me even more. The White Singer is barely white, and she looks like she’s been dragged out of the Frozen moments of Disney on Ice. The original White Singer was born in the trappings of her setting but broke free from them: she wore a corset, but her hoop skirt was exposed. She had the air of aristocracy, but she was aligned with the young revolutionaries. What are we meant to glean from this White Singer’s costume except tatters? Where is she coming from and what is she leaving behind? Perhaps more will become clear when we see the rest of the show, but for now this is extremely disappointing.
The nymphs are hardly worthy of notice at first except to point out that for some reason they’ve retained their swirly shell bras when that was probably the most dated part of their original costumes. They look exceedingly out of place in this sleek new redesign. But most egregious of all are those wings.
The old wings? Absolutely sumptuous. You can feel the magic, royalty, and luxury of them just by looking at them. Things wings tell us something about the characters that wear them. And now all we’ve got are cellophane.
I need to believe those wings are still a work in progress. This can’t be the final work of the same company that gave us these original nymphs, or Nouit, or the Red Bird, or Icarus, or Luzia’s hummingbirds, or Kooza’s hoop artist. Cirque gets wings and feathers. The idea that they would phone it in to this extent for arguably their most iconic show is almost too ludicrous for me to believe. I have to cling to hope.
I also hang onto hope for these renditions of the songs sampled here. These sound like a CdS studio album, which we should be all too familiar now after Varekai, Kooza, and more recently Luzia. It’s not uncommon that the songs used for press events and promotions do not sound exactly like the live versions, and that’s my honest to god hope because though I could get used to Vai Vedrai, that Alegria arrangement is not sitting with me at the present moment.
Four months to premiere. A lot can happen in that time. We’ll see.
O is full of emotional interludes packed with symbolism and meaning, and “Nostalgie” is one of my very favorites. A melancholy laundress, her essential work unnoticed and unappreciated, collects the discarded clothes of the wedding guests. She’s the brightest lit onstage but no one so much as glances at her, and her work is made needlessly difficult by the sharp edges of the stage that rise and fall so easily for everyone else. Even Guifa, at this point still a guest in this world, goes through the motions as though it’s already habit, but note that while he discards his hat (which he’ll later give away for a second, more meaningful time), he hangs onto the red fabric Aurora has given him and keeps it tied around his arm. Eugen, who surely knows his cyclical “washing” is still yet to come, fiddles with his shirtsleeves but does nothing.
Ever the tolerant mentor, Eugen models an appropriate demonstration of affection for Guifa. By now we know Eugen to be traditional, venerable, and courteous (if a little bit peculiar), and Guifa could be the same if he weren’t so busy fluttering from thing to thing. He provides Guifa with a red rose - is he preparing Guifa to present something else to someone else later on? Perhaps another something red...?
I think there’s a good chance he is.
Even though all I want in this world is to talk about how much I love this moment between Eugen and Guifa, back to the laundress, because she’s the star of this scene even if no one else is acting like it: Is this her wedding? Her hair is different, but she wears the same makeup as the other brides. Is she the bride that didn’t see the man in front of her? Or did she launch herself into the arms of another without realizing she was alone?
Eugen, uncharacteristically surprised, dives in after the bride. Neither look particularly happy when they reach the surface - Eugen even gropes for help out of the water - but both tear off in the excitement and hubbub of the wedding once they’re out as though suddenly intoxicated. The bride joins the countless identical others onstage as though it never happened, and even if it had, you wouldn’t be able to pick out which one it happened to. The laundress sinks beneath the surface and the celebration goes on without her. The spots, marks, and dirt are hers to hide and make clean again.
(Want to unpack another Cirque scene? Drop me an ask!)
