A scene from Cirque du Soleil production. AP/Cirque du Soleil, Olivier Samson Arcand
If you can scream “Wow,” “Bravo,” “Woo-hoo” and “Oh My God” in 20 languages, you are ready to experience the visiting Cirque du Soleil.
Yes, only then—and that still wouldn’t cover the aftermath—when you must tell all your friends about the troupe’s touring show, “Varekai,” ongoing at the specially built Grand Chapiteau in Rizal Park. This undertaking will require synonyms galore for “nimble,” “dexterous” and “superhuman.”
Oh, and it would help to prepare your left brain to come to terms with the right. You’ll be stunned into submission to the here and now, even as your rational faculties protest the logic of many things that take place in the two hours that it will take to whip your head around (often literally).
What on earth is that language they speak? (Romani, says Wikipedia.) You don’t recognize the words, but you understand what is being communicated. Which is not to say you can tell what is about to happen. Maybe on third watching (certainly not the first); even then, a question is bound to get caught in your throat (you simply stop using your brain) with each act: “Is that possible?”
There’s something to be said, too, about the circus-tent setup—bright blue and yellow stripes visible from Roxas Boulevard. First, it makes giddy kids out of even grouchy kids. Second, it makes giddy adults out of even grouchy adults. It’s cozy, and promotes friendly and spontaneous interaction.
“Varekai” premiered in Montreal, Canada in April 2002. (Cirque is based in Quebec.) The word means “wherever” in Romani, and the show is described as “an acrobatic tribute to the nomadic soul.”
The plot is based loosely on the Greek myth of Icarus, whose wings melt after he flies too close to the sun. Rather than drowning in the sea below him, in “Varekai” Icarus lands in a lush forest, where creatures teach him how to fly again.
Whether or not you get it isn’t likely to pique you, since a parallel plot, a more personal one, would most likely start running in your head less than 10 minutes into the show, as Icarus materializes onstage in his wonder net.
Intoxicating
Reportedly, 65 container trucks were used to transport 1,200 tons of set, costumes, and other equipment (not including the Grand Chapiteau). There is ample reason to believe this. The visual component is so rich, you don’t know where to look at any given time.
The “Varekai” troupe consists of 56 performers, of which there are a few principal characters—“principal” in reference to the plot line, not necessarily to specialization.
Among the biggest crowd favorites are the comedy routines meant to break high-gear sensory stimulation by astounding—astounding—aerialists, contortionists, foot jugglers, wee acrobats, trapeze artists, Georgian dancers… the driven Limping Angel, the exquisite hand balancer on canes and the heart-stopping Russian Swing.
Seven musicians and two singers perform the soundtrack live, combining the sounds of Hawaiian rituals, 11th century French troubadour songs, traditional Armenian melodies and gospel music. It is intoxicating.
“Varekai” has been viewed by more than six million spectators around the world. Aside from Canada, it has been performed in Australia, New Zealand, Belgium, Britain, the United States, Spain, the Netherlands, Germany, Austria, Portugal, Russia, France, Switzerland, Taiwan and Korea. From the Philippines, it proceeds to Brazil.
Don’t reserve your wildest whoops till the finale and curtain call—because when these parts come, you may be too busy deciding whether to laugh since you’re still flying high, or cry because it will soon be over.