Thirty
years young and showing no signs of becoming routine Circus Oz
are back with a blend of traditional circus acrobatics and new
takes on tradition that can only be described 'Circus Oz-esque'.
The new recruits perform like seasoned old timers and even if
the act is brief it’s either jaw droppingly dangerous or
side-splittingly hilarious. Sometimes it’s both at once.
A rollerblader (Flip Kammerer), for instance, does an act that
is only a few minutes long and is disguised as comedy but culminates
in every wannabe blader’s deepest wish – a full on
mid-air somersault.
Some acts are presented in a traditional looking
way, as though the skill involved in doing it and the thrill involved
in watching hasn't diminished over a century or more. Aerial contortionist
Rockie Stone dressed in a shiny red outfit, less modest and less
bulky but similar to the traditional acrobat's costume that Degas
documented in his cabaret and variety theatre pictures. Like her
ancestors Stone swathes herself in rope and, high in the air,
spins and spins until she is a red blur while the band's playing
grows more frenzied as she spins. That traditional view of the
aerial contortion act gets the Circus Oz treatment in the second
part of the show.
The
second half is traditionally where Circus Oz strut their bizarrer
stuff and their unique takes on the traditional circus act and,
most importantly when the 'upside down man' appears. Opening with
sketch to highlight the band, one of the best to have played for
Circus Oz, everybody, musician or not, is involved in a deliberately
dreadful parody of symphony orchestra that ends with the real
drummer – not an acrobat – plummeting into the timpani.
Early in the second half the aerial contortion act that we’d
seen earlier was morphed into a Frankenstein parody. A gibbering
mad scientist wheels in a trolley bearing a cadaverous hunk (Ben
Lewis) that would put Rocky Horror to shame and squeals with glee
as the monster is hauled up on ropes to receive the life-inducing
bolts of lightening. With each electric charge Lewis spasms through
the air, in the final charge appearing to fall out of his restraining
ropes and tumble to the floor.
Underscoring this macabre spectacle, the band impersonates
a theremin laden vintage horror movie score. The band, headed
by accordion sporting Svetlana Bunic – of Monsieur Camembert
fame - features another minor musical genius Michael Lira. They
contribute every imaginable musical style throughout, accompanying
the aerial act with an Astor Piazzolla tango, Surfie Stomp for
the clowns or cartoonesque music channelled from the likes of
Raymond Scott or producing the sound of a banjo to slyly hint
at the Skippy theme for the kangaroo acrobats that end the first
half.
Circus Oz would not be complete without the Upside
Down Man (Tim Coldwell) who also makes his appearance in the second
half. Like the Skipping Girl, 'the Clocks' and Gog and Magog,
Coldwell is an institution amongst things we love looking up at.
I've lost count of the number of times I've looked up at his iconic
act that invariably involves him trying to eat or drink something
while suspended from his custom built ceiling. I was kind of hoping
he'd be trying to eat a 30th birthday cake but his act this year
was to literally turn a scene from a Raymond Chandler detective
novel on its head with an appropriately 1940s sounding score from
the band.
Thirty
years young and showing no signs of becoming routine Circus Oz
are back with a blend of traditional circus acrobatics and new
takes on tradition that can only be described 'Circus Oz-esque'.
The new recruits perform like seasoned old timers and even if
the act is brief it’s either jaw droppingly dangerous or
side-splittingly hilarious. Sometimes it’s both at once.
A rollerblader (Flip Kammerer), for instance, does an act that
is only a few minutes long and is disguised as comedy but culminates
in every wannabe blader’s deepest wish – a full on
mid-air somersault.
The
second half is traditionally where Circus Oz strut their bizarrer
stuff and their unique takes on the traditional circus act and,
most importantly when the 'upside down man' appears. Opening with
sketch to highlight the band, one of the best to have played for
Circus Oz, everybody, musician or not, is involved in a deliberately
dreadful parody of symphony orchestra that ends with the real
drummer – not an acrobat – plummeting into the timpani.
Early in the second half the aerial contortion act that we’d
seen earlier was morphed into a Frankenstein parody. A gibbering
mad scientist wheels in a trolley bearing a cadaverous hunk (Ben
Lewis) that would put Rocky Horror to shame and squeals with glee
as the monster is hauled up on ropes to receive the life-inducing
bolts of lightening. With each electric charge Lewis spasms through
the air, in the final charge appearing to fall out of his restraining
ropes and tumble to the floor.