CAVALIA

CAVALIA, Entertainment Quarter, Moore Park to June 26, 2013.

BY CAROLINE BAUM

Twenty years ago I saw a show in Paris that burned itself into my memory as one of those unrepeatable experiences you treasure for a lifetime. Described pretentiously as an ‘equestrian opera’, it was a spectacle unlike any other: performed in a sawdust ring inside a replica Russian wooden church in a dodgy part of the city. Spectators were ushered inside by the solemn tolling of bells, as if to attend a service. There was something sacred and profane about what followed. An intoxicating dreamscape in which man and horse became centaurs, dancing to the ragged, swirling sounds of a band of Rajasthani gypsies who clashed cymbals and beat drums to make the blood race.

The show was masterminded by a scary looking bald gypsy dressed in a black skirt known as Bartabas, who looked like an underworld crime, and performed by Zingarro, his motley troupe of Romanies. Word soon spread, tickets were literally fought over ( I have never seen such displays of anger and hysteria at a box office) and the company became legendary. 

Later, I begged Leo Schofield to bring the troupe to the Melbourne Festival – he was, of course, totally au fait with their unique, feral brand of magic – and patiently explained that the quarantine laws made such a thing impossible without an Olympics budget.

Now Cirque du Soleil has attempted to harness some of the romance, danger and sexiness of Zingarro and mould it to their brand. The result is tame by comparison, but has moments of beauty and risk that have the power to thrill, particularly for the many little girls in the audience dreaming of a pony of their own. And, for the most part, clutching oversized stuffed toy versions in their arms. Cirque is nothing if not brilliant when it comes to peddling merchandise.

The logistics of such an enterprise are daunting, not just because of the quarantine issues but because of the care that a stable of 46 stallions requires to get them through the show in good humour and good health. The accommodation, the food, the exercising alone must cost a motes and require an army of support staff. Which probably explains why tickets prices are so high (and grumbled over). There have been complaints about sight lines too, with patrons frustrated that paying top dollar does not guarantee you’ll be within a flared nostril or a tail’s swish when the horses approach the front of the slightly cramped stage for their bows.

The Cirque equation is probably to squeeze as many people as possible into the space. For that kind of money, and for greater theatrical effect, a traditional riding ring would have greater impact.

The horses interact with acrobats (including some humans bungy jumping, upside down, right in front of their noses) without a muscle rippling on their glossy flanks and barely the shake of a coiffured mane. Both male and female riders all sport fetching long robes and rippling shiny manes themselves (they should have a shampoo sponsor). They sit proud in the saddle like princes and princesses in ancient pageants as their steeds dance in precisely choreographed patterns against a gorgeous changing video projection of a forest through the seasons. These sequences are sometimes a little slow, and sometimes a little dull in their repetition, but they have a pleasingly courtly rhythm more suited to the adults in the audiences. 

In the second half things speed up in a sequence of daredevil stunts. There is also a liberty sequence in which the horses run free, controlled only by a man on the ground with a switch. On the night I went, there was a bit of a power struggle going on, with the leader of the herd nipping at any horses that tried to overtake him, creating a certain amount of confusion and a couple of kicks at the scenery. A demonstration of just how unpredictable even trained animals can be.

I must confess that I am not a Cirque fan (their Vegas show O being a notable exception). Partly it’s because I just can’t stomach all that Lycra. So it was good to see they could abandon the stretchy, shiny stuff for a more natural look, showcasing the grace and athleticism of handsome, intelligent animals. Horses don’t look good in Lycra, unless it’s Black Caviar wearing her compression suit to travel to Ascot.

It’s gratifying to see Cirque committed to bringing a show on such an ambitious scale to Australia. Under the circumstances and by all accounts, it’s proving popular though there were no moments on the night I went of soaring public reaction, no standing ovation, no gasps of wonder, just a few whinnies here and there. It was all a little muted, a bit like the show itself.