Fearless shtick comes together in sweetly poetic show

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This article was published 27/02/2024 (935 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

Squeals of laughter filled the Centennial Concert Hall Sunday afternoon, as the Winnipeg Symphony Orchestra presented the penultimate program in its Kids Concerts series, Cirque Symphonique, to the delight of 1,700 audience members of all ages.

The sweetly poetic, 60-minute show (no intermission), led by assistant conductor Monica Chen, featured internationally renowned circus artist Jamie Adkins in a zany combination of his two prior productions, Circus Incognitus and A Fool’s Errand.

The Gatineau, Que.-based artist first stumbled across street theatre in his birthplace of San Diego, Calif., at age 13, and was instantly inspired to learn the ropes — literally — of juggling, acrobatics and clowning. He performed with San Francisco’s Pickle Family Circus and later Cirque Eloize in Montreal, before creating his own shows, TYPO and Circus Incognitus in 2007, with the latter performed more than 1,000 times in 27 countries around the globe.

Comedy is a tricky balancing act on the high wire of the arts. Clowns have long been either embraced as jokesters, bringing levity to the world, or reviled as the stuff of nightmares, unpredictable loose cannons whose entire raison d’être is shocking viewers with their unbridled antics.

Mercifully for the crowd — and especially for this writer — Adkins is in the former camp, appearing as a (mostly) wordless Everyman, with his all-too-human vulnerability recalling a young Charlie Chaplin or Buster Keaton, and paying homage to Italy’s time-honoured legacy of Commedia dell’arte.

He proceeded to win us over with his fearless tricks and shtick, matched by his charming wit and performed to a program of light classics featuring composers including Bizet, Prokofiev and Ponchielli, among others.

In today’s digital world, what’s particularly refreshing in Adkins’ character-based show is its simplicity. There are no high-tech gizmos, dazzling digital effects (other than several nifty lighting cues), or other showbiz trappings hindering his ability to immediately engage every tot and toddler (not to mention all the adults) in the house right to the very last row.

Many hollered advice and guidance after the artist appeared befuddled while trying to hang his jacket on a ginormous coat rack, or re-hook a large rope to the ceiling, which magically lit up the entire stage after being yanked at the top of the show.

He also possesses the athleticism, agility and reflexes of a man easily half his age, tossing off tumbles and pratfalls that would be right at home in a 1920s vaudeville revue. Performing a nail-biting handstand on a chair is also something you don’t want to try at home.

Some sections went on a tad too long, such as when Adkins juggled a slew of ping-pong balls, at times popping them out of his mouth, or bouncing them off a wooden chair into his suitcase. However, catching a single grape on a fork held in his mouth after tossing it sky-high astonished, as did his spearing oranges in the same manner, after inviting gleeful kids to hurl pieces of fruit at the stage.

His gravity-defying finale saw him balancing on two large stepladders, breaking them apart to use like stilts, straddling them precariously as they tipped and swayed, and stomping their “legs” as he roared like a monster while Fucik’s iconic Entrance of the Gladiators circus theme played; it could have gone on forever.

A beaming Chen neatly cued her players — often spied in stitches themselves — throughout, proving an ideal supportive partner.

All good things, including circus shows, must come to an end; the artist finally wheeled offstage on a teensy bicycle, waving a fond farewell to the cheering crowd now on its feet. This seemingly anticlimactic ending only underscores the humble roots and origin of Adkins’ populist art form, taking its own ringside seat in this hallowed hall.

Holly.harris@shaw.ca