Ten days of circus, this year in truly autumnal conditions for the first time in ages. Storm and patches of rain, flooded lawns really only enhance the fun between and especially in the tents set up in the Railway Park. I will take home three lessons from it.
1: Circus is a lonely profession
Whereas a circus performer used to be someone who perfected one act to the extreme and thus joined a circus revue, today's creators are also people who create their own hour-long programme, which they can use to tour independently. On Sunday I saw Peluga, a programme by Julia Campistani on the pros and cons of waxing and human hair in general, and yesterday ´Brick', a bizarre and vulnerable hour in which performer Samuel Bey gives a very distinct interpretation of the concept of a DIY worker.
The spectacle is in the stillness and concentration with which he builds a tower out of bricks. We hold our breath with him, and - apart from him - are baffled by the obsessive effort he makes to get the stage spic and span afterwards. It is restrainedly laughable, and raises bizarre questions, but ultimately convincing.
Such vulnerable projects do make you realise how lonely the circus profession can be. You wish such a boy an ensemble, a club of friends to travel the world with
2: Circus is romance and nostalgia
Cirque Pardi is a circus troupe such as can only come from France. Based in the southern circus city of Toulouse, the colourful collective has been touring Europe with its own tent for ten years. They have jugglers with them, trapeze workers, clowns, grunge musicians, a breakdancer, acrobats, balancing acts, a couple of families with a total of six children and a teacher who strictly adheres to French educational laws.
Always on the move, short at festivals and long when they can settle down in a city somewhere for a few weeks.
Actually, that romantic aura alone is enough for us, the audience members who think of Fellini composer Nino Rota at the mere sound of a trumpet. Their show Low Cost Paradise is a pleasantly deranged amount of loose sand in which theatrical scenes are tied together by a wafer-thin narrative. It's about a lot, there are some spectacular surprises in it that are a shame to give away.
That lack of a tight storyline with a build-up to ever bigger, ever better, ever higher does break things up. That is a bit peculiar to the collective way of working. When I spoke to a few members afterwards, it turned out that this collective is also very strictly enforced: no one is in charge anywhere, there is no director or choreographer, everyone contributes their own talents.
Refreshingly old-fashioned, when I think about it: like much in France, there is a pleasant 1970s atmosphere around Pardi, and that was, compared to now, a time when life still seems without problems.
3: A choreographer works wonders
The six acrobats performing in Glorious Bodies were already in the arena in those 1970s. I spoke to them beforehand, and that conversation was already inspiring. When I attended their premiere on Wednesday 18 October, I was deeply moved. Choreographer Piet van Dycke provided the loose arts with a continuous rhythm. The design is telling. The stage is a square shrouded in curtains. When it begins, we see the shadows of the acrobats, then ageless and graceful.
As the performance progresses, the curtains disappear, leaving a raw and bare stage. On it, the seniors perform their still breakneck acts, but now their trembling muscles are visible and almost palpable.
Here we see people who do not know how to give up, but who also no longer have to hide how hard the work is for them. You feel the admiration the choreographer harbours for his performers and notice how intensely people enjoy that performance.One more time then. I grant them a long tour. With Piet van Dycke, they are in good hands.
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