Skip to main contentI have seen cynics melt into giddiness at the very mention of Cirque du Soleil. The famed Canadian circus, spread across the inhabited world now in a series of shows, has redefined one of the oldest forms of theatrical spectacle in a little over 15 years (prophetically, the circus' first tour of the States in 1987 was titled We Reinvent the Circus).
Disability and animal torture have never been a part of Cirque's make-up; rather, it has taken its cues from the better European circus traditions, where feats of strength and daring are honored. Cirque du Soleil is a ring in which to celebrate and marvel at human achievement with the hope, as Alegría's artistic director, Pierre Parisien, says, that we might be inspired to improve our collective nature in other areas. Well, Cirque has changed our perception of circuses in a brief span; could it not iron out certain character flaws of ours in another 15 years?
Alegría, which premiered in 1994, has been Cirque du Soleil's greatest success, even topping the veteran Saltimbanco, which was Portland's first Cirque experience three years ago. All the trappings Portlanders have come to expect in a Cirque show are here: an assertive aesthetic; a sophisticated musical score; a bizarre congress of clowns, first-rate acrobats and contortionists; and a narrative thread. The unique storylines that distinguish the circus of Cirque are usually tenuous and are often communicated through the employment of particular props and images. What ideas are to be found are always subordinate to images.
While Dralion, seen here last year, was based on a dream, Alegría was founded on discussions about power and the dangerous arrogance of our species. Considering the cafe-infused gypsy strains found in Alegría's score, it's not surprising to learn that the fate and transition of Eastern Europe played a significant role in the piece's creation. However, it is shocking to learn from Parisien that another element was provided by the brutal Bulger case in Britain, where two young boys kidnapped and murdered a smaller boy. Consequently, one of the primary motifs in Alegría is of a classic circus strongman who is on hand to protect the littler beings on stage.
The highlights of Alegría, seen on a recent trip north to Seattle, where Le Grand Chapiteau (the Big Top) is currently staked, were the more dangerous acts. The eight-man aerial high-bar performers continually won gasps, as did the troupe on the Russian bars (flexible poles held by two performers, while their colleagues effortlessly flipped and bounced from one to the other). The fast-track gymnasts were also a crowd pleaser, though the synchronized trapeze work and the Flying Man routine have been stronger in the past shows.
I must admit that the clown work was also not of the quality I'd come to expect, as much of it seemed to be rehashed silent-film routines. However, the clown who ends the first act is exceptional, as is his entire scene, which seemed steeped in a heartbreaking nostalgia. The clown begins by bidding himself a sad farewell at a train station, only to then morph into the departing train. The end of the scene is an unforgettable coup de théâtre that will stay in your memory weeks after witnessing it. It's a moment that truly needs to be experienced, although it's such an overwhelming moment of spectacle that it's difficult for the second act to live up to it.
There are, of course, concerns that Cirque du Soleil is spreading itself too thin, and that the freshness it brought to the dishonored art of the circus is staling. The frenzied souk in the Grand Chapiteau's fore tents, along with the corporate banners hawking IBM and Bravo everywhere one turns, shouts "sellout" to some of us (an association with Disney didn't help). But a major concern is the loss of the fire and passion of the performers, something Parisien is keenly aware of and what he calls "the greatest danger." In truth, of what I saw in Seattle there was a bit too much performed by rote; at times, an obvious rehearsed joy and smugness marred the proceedings.
Still, at its best, Alegría becomes a bright world within the greater, darker one of our daylight hours. Parisien's one wish is that audiences leave this small world of fearlessness, gaudy togs and clownery with hope. That we do is a testament to Cirque du Soleil's artistry and humanity.
Cirque du Soleil at the Grand Chapiteau, under the Marquam Bridge, Southwest Moody Avenue, (800) 678-5440. 8 pm Tuesdays-Wednesdays, 4 and 8 pm Thursdays-Saturdays, 1 and 5 pm Sundays, Oct. 2-26. $45-$65.
WWeek 2015