Lloyd Evans visits the NoFit State Circus in Wales and watches an unusual rehearsal
T here are lots of things you can’t do any more. Smoke in a pub. Buy a video recorder. Trust the bloke who runs your bank. And you can’t run away to the circus either. These days the wannabe stilt-walker or trapeze artiste needs to study at college for three years and gain a BA (Hons) in Circus Arts. It can’t be long before the gypsyish traditions of the ring are welcomed into the Olympic family and acknowledged by the Nobel committee. As it becomes more middle class, the circus has modified its bill to suit the prejudices of fashionable morality. The cages and whips have gone. The leotards have been recycled. The elephants are in the zoo, the bearded ladies have had laser surgery and the dwarves are working as disability liaison officers, rather than being fired out of cannonballs.
This revolution has been led by Cirque du Soleil, the world’s largest circus franchise, which has four resident shows in Las Vegas, another ten or so touring Asia and Europe and a turnover of half a billion dollars a year. This world-dominating corporation was started in 1984 by a couple of jugglers busking on the streets of Montreal. But there are drawbacks to their supersized approach. Their shows are often criticised for their Disneyfied slickness and for a militarised ‘beautiful boot-camp’ atmosphere. Sequinned platoons enacting well-drilled routines for an army of passive observers.
Thankfully, there are other methods, other hues on the circus spectrum. A Welsh company, NoFit State (whose new show tabú runs at London’s Roundhouse from 28 March to 19 April) specialises in an interactive approach. There are no seats in the big top.
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