Kurios show is not to be missed
Cirque du Soleil’s Kurios is a must-see
Do believe the hype: Cirque du Soleil’s Kurios — Cabinet of Curiosities is a whirling, beautiful fusion of art, terrifying physics and ages-spanning technology — taking “circus” to new heights on almost every creative front.
From the lovely live band to the show’s comedic charm, Kurios is weird, sexy and nerve-racking in a relentless rotation of acts and muscular human limbs. The overall esthetic — a sort of BioShock nautical steampunk thing with a pinch of Star Wars’ comedic scale-contrast — lives in a very rare place my mother and I can both find cool.
It is, in short, perhaps the most surprised and least bored I’ve ever been watching a live performance. Some of its imagery and daring — particularly in an act called Upside Down World — still echoes in my dreams.
The framing story as such explores the dream world (hallucinations, perhaps) of a scientist named Seeker (Renald Laurin). The cast of almost 50 flowing smoothly around him for the next 21/2 hours includes robots and acrobats, balancers and rope swingers, even an alluring pair of dancing hands wearing finger-sneakers projected large onto a balloon hanging above.
The score, performed by a live band, is a cilia-like mix of Chinese classical and Les Triplettes de Belleville soundtrack, drawing one ever deeper into the waves of action, actual instruments working like just another perfectly considered detail, down to the carpet in the foyer.
And now, the main event! Where to begin?
Before the show even starts, clowns provide comic pillows and blankets to an audience member as we first absorb the copper-piped intricacies of a new round stage, the circle from which all circuses draw their name. A character named the Aviator — more on him soon — folds and fires paper airplanes into the 2,600 seats arranged in a three-quarters ring around the action.
Suddenly, time stops on an overhead clock at 11:11 and we enter the otherworld, and over the next few hours we marvel, gasp and scream at jugglers and drummers, a big Russian tossing his little cohort around his body on a high platform, aerial cyclist Anne Weissbecker riding her bike upside down on a wire over our heads, and the aforementioned Aviator (James Eulises Gonzalez), in his “Rola Bola” act, balances on a sort of plexi skateboard, first on one tube, then on a multi-axis tower of tubes, then all that — seriously — on a giant swinging platform pushing back and forth into the crowd. After this, I had to re-adjust certain of my anatomies … and remember to breathe again.
Atop a giant mechanical hand, four utterly mesmerizing contortionists appear as a backlit, writhing octopus of limbs. They begin to twist backwards, folding in on themselves into a sort of human font of cursive letters speaking words in some strange language, as they climb and balance on top of each other like Japanese sea crabs. It’s just beautiful.
As a sort of bookend to this in the show’s second half, also in fishy costumes, a handful of men springs right to the roof of the tent on the Acro Net trampoline, flipping and vogue-ing like fishing magazine cover shots, seemingly frozen at the peak of their bounces.
The single, tiny off-note at the opening was when a talented and often hilarious clown, Facundo Gimenez, pulled a woman from the audience, took her to his couch, and sort of Pepe Le Pewed her, hoping for return affection in a tense date scenario. This he did in the form of a convincing, pantomimed cat, generally hilarious and one of the evening’s highlights. But as a laser pointer beam rolled around on the woman’s chest — the joke being that this would make him pounce on her uncontrollably as cats do — it crossed a line into icky.
But so much wonder! Later on, an aerial-straps duo declares the beauty of two musclemen swinging, and Tomonari (Black) Ishiguro does interesting yo-yo work, almost as an exhale through all the flying bodies.
Perhaps the most clever thing of the night was the Invisible Circus: a small-scale circus within the circus, which through excellent puppetry has a unicycle ride itself along a tightrope. An unseen diver splashes real water from his pool and, best of all, invisible lion Felipe jumps through a ring of paper fire, escaping into the crowd.
And then there’s the Upside Down World. Seated around a table are a handful of characters as hand balancer Andrii Bondarenko starts stacking and climbing chairs up from the tabletop. As he rises, from the ceiling, a mirror image group of acrobats is building the same construction, but lowering and hanging chairs, one by one, down to the floor. By the time it’s all built, top to bottom, two halves of the same image, you’re pinching yourself. Just amazing.
Director Michel Laprise, designer Stéphane Roy, costume designer Philippe Guillotel — and truly everyone involved in this kinetic magic — deserve praise, awards and their faces carved in stone.
It is truly art like nothing you’ve ever seen before and I’m already dying to see it again.
Go. Just go. And prepare to resent blinking.