Once again, we find ourselves living in “interesting” times. The world is burning. The news is terrifying. We don’t know what will happen, but we also don’t know exactly what “is” happening. It is difficult to sift through the vast amount of information coming at us from all sides to find what is factual, what is closer to “truth” than to “fake.” In this chaos of meanings and content, the circus is often used in articles and reports as a synonym for disorder and stupidity. It is most often referred to in the context of political events. The icing on the cake is analysing the deeds of Donald Trump as a clownish performance. And what does the circus, the real, contemporary* one, watching current events, have to say about this? On the one hand, it is seen as a place where you can escape the hustle and bustle of everyday life. Move to another world where anything is possible, where you can forget your problems. As a flagship element of popular culture, it provides pleasure and entertainment while serving as a safety valve. It allows you to breathe, relieve stress and fears. On the other hand, it has a huge tradition and potential to stick the knife where it hurts the most. To serve up the harshest criticism. Taking on the role of a crooked mirror that reflects reality, provoking laughter but also stinging the eyes.
“In times of uncertainty, art and culture must sometimes hold those in power accountable, place the present in the context of the past, and sometimes show where our actions may lead us in the future.” This is the postulate and goal set by the team organizing the next edition of the PLAY program at Berlin’s Chamälaeon Theater. It is one of the few places in the German capital that is entirely dedicated to circus arts. Its stage usually hosts large, contemporary productions full of acrobatics and precise movement. Among others, Circus La Putyka from the Czech Republic and Gravity and Other Myths from Australia have performed there. This time, the stage was given over not only to slightly smaller-scale performances, but also to socially engaged content, in which not only existential but also identity and political themes could be explored. I had the pleasure of seeing three productions, and all three gave me chills, each for a different reason.
Ode to aged circus bodies
Circus bodies, like any other, are transient. They change, mature, and age. But above all, they carry history with them. Choreographic sequences, spectacular tricks, acrobatics, and juggling calculations are inscribed in their organic tissues. Injuries, overexertion, and stress are reflected in them. The body remembers; it is an organic archive. A field of successes, failures, and struggles with the laws of physics. A map marked by past events that shape the present. The body is also the basic tool and subject of work in the circus. It constantly takes on new challenges, raises the bar, crosses new boundaries, and in doing so expends energy, wears down, strains, overloads, and exhausts its tissues.
Pic. 1: Glorious Bodies by the Belgian collective Circumstances, photo: Heroen Bollaert
Nie ma co ukrywać, scena cyrku współczesnego zdominowana jest przez młode, giętkie i silne ciała. To one mają przywilej widoczności. Ich siły witalne wciąż pozwalają na wysokie tempo performatywnych i fizycznych eksploracji. Z wiekiem ilość tolerowanego obciążenia zmienia się. Ciało ulega przekształceniom, zwalnia. Wiele osób artystycznych często decyduje się wtedy na zmianę dyscypliny, zejście ze sceny czy zupełnie nową branżę. Czy wiek jest zatem czynnikiem dyktującym granice pracy? Jak struktura cyrku traktuje starzejące się ciała? Czy jest w niej dla nich miejsce? I jak z przemijaniem radzą sobie sami występujący? Czy potrafią zaakceptować zmiany? Jakie uczucia towarzyszą im w konfrontacji z upływającym czasem? O tym właśnie opowiada spektakl Glorious Bodies belgijskiego kolektywu Circumstances. W jego skład wchodzi sześć osób specjalizujących się w akrobatyce partnerskiej, a każda z nich ma doświadczenie pracy w klasycznym/tradycyjnym cyrku. Najmłodsza z nich ma 57 lat, najstarsza – 69. Wychodzą na scenę, żeby podzielić się swoją historią, doświadczeniem, ale i zmaganiami.
Pic. 2: Glorious Bodies by the Belgian collective Circumstances, photo: Heroen Bollaert
There is no denying that the contemporary circus scene is dominated by young, flexible, and strong bodies. They have the privilege of visibility. Their vitality still allows for a high pace of performative and physical exploration. With age, the amount of stress that can be tolerated changes. The body undergoes transformations and slows down. Many artists often decide to change disciplines, leave the stage, or completely change industries. So, is age a factor that dictates the limits of work? How does the circus structure treat aging bodies? Is there a place for them in it? How do the performers themselves cope with this transformation? Can they accept change? What feelings accompany them as they confront the passage of time? This is what the performance Glorious Bodies by the Belgian collective Circumstances is about. It consists of six people specializing in partner acrobatics, each with experience working in a classical/traditional circus. The youngest is 57, the oldest 69. They take to the stage to share their stories, experiences, and struggles.
Pic. 3 i 4: Glorious Bodies by the Belgian collective Circumstances, photo: Heroen Bollaert
At first, only their shadows appear. It is difficult to tell who they are, let alone how old they are. When the first layer of material falls and we can get closer to seeing them, subsequent curtains are dynamically moved across the frame, effectively preventing us from seeing the acrobatic elements of the choreography. The curtains interfere, blocking the performers from view. At the same time, they arouse curiosity about what we are not allowed to see. The artists themselves also sabotage their work. They push each other off the stage, flee from the light, avoid being the center of attention. Are we allowed to look at them? Finally, all the curtains fall, there is no escape, complete visibility is all that remains, and with it an acrobatic feast and a poignant display of circus community. Mature bodies create breathtaking figures, dynamic choreographies abound in throws, drops, and complex balances. And everything is based on cooperation, understanding, empathy, and constant support. The artists pat each other on the back. They cheer each other on. They enjoy what is happening. They joke around. They challenge each other. Who can last longer? They run around the stage until only one of them is left. When it seems that it’s over, that we’ve seen everything, we get even more. The audience is forced to redefine their perceptions. The appearance of mature bodies can cause anxiety and doubt.
Pic. 5: Glorious Bodies by the Belgian collective Circumstances, photo: Heroen Bollaert
Can this even work? Or will it be more like some kind of circus art therapy, where the applause is more out of politeness than admiration? Circumstances shatters stereotypes. It overpowers them not only with its skills, but also with its acceptance of the changing body. With courage and an uncompromising stance in talking about old age, but also with warmth, humor, and finally, the right dose of sensitivity. In the end, very metaphorically, in a tight rank, embracing each other, they move toward the light. Fully satisfied and fulfilled, they look into the eyes of the grand finale.
Experimental negotiations
EZ means “no” in Basque. This is also the title of Zed Zanzu’s performance. “No” is not a source of conflict here. Quite the contrary. Its presence creates an opportunity for “yes” to appear; it is an invitation for it, but also a necessary condition for making a conscious choice with its consequences. ‘Yes’ can only truly resonate in the presence of “no.” A person appears on the dark stage, their body tightly wrapped in harnesses. With a series of calm and coordinated movements, they attach themselves to one end of a hanging rope, on the other side of which is a cylindrical container filled with water. A choreographic dialogue begins. It is not entirely clear who is circling around whom, who is setting the rhythm of events. Zed gives space to the object, following its movement. At other times, they give it direction, setting its trajectory. They rise and fall. Together and alternately. Their choreography is accompanied by music. Finally, the body and the object stop, suspended above the stage. Zed takes a deep breath and submerges their head in the water. They hold their breath. Silence ensues.
Pic. 6 i 7: EZ, Zed Zanzu, photo: Mila Ercoli
In the following scenes, more unusual objects appear. Zed blows into a hanging metal pipe, watches it spin, balances it on their mouth. Everything is done without haste. The calm pace makes some of the audience fidget and look around. Zed does not offer the excitement of big tricks, a feast of sensations overwhelming with their magnitude. They operate on a different level. They invite us to co-exist and co-create on completely different terms. Zed raises many questions, undermines the audience’s relationship with the performer, which is based solely on expectations. Can we put them aside for a moment, asks the artist, or reinvent them?
Pic. 8: EZ, Zed Zanzu, photo: Mila Ercoli
Zed feels most comfortable up high, suspended, away from the hustle and bustle and people. Without having to confront preconceptions or conform to standards. However, Zed steps out of their comfort zone. They seek contact with the audience, based on communication founded on conscious consent. Without it, nothing can happen.
Pic. 9: EZ, Zed Zanzu, photo: Mila Ercoli
Zed reaches for the rope. With precision, they begin to wrap it around their head. They create a net reinforced with knots. The dream of hanging by the hair has embodied itself in a complex suspension structure supporting the head, inspired by the Japanese technique of shibari. The rope also passes over the face. The method of tying itself looks spectacular. The act of putting on the harness resembles the putting on of a mask. Zed makes a proposal, an invitation. They are looking for someone from the audience to join in the continuation of the performance. It is the presence and cooperation of this person that will allow the next trick to be performed. A long silence is broken by the sound of a chair being pushed back. A figure approaches the edge of the stage. The invitation has been accepted. Zed describes the next steps, asking for consent/permission each time. They wait for reactions, taking every possible response into account. Soon, the two negotiating parties will be connected by a single rope. They will enter into a choreographed improvisation based on the principle of counterbalance. Their bodies remain in close dependence on each other, the movement of one directly affecting the other. Their dance is full of trust, tension, and dynamics. It is hard to believe that these two people did not know each other before, that we are not part of a classic circus trick with a stand-in artist. Zed risks a lot by giving a stranger not only their body but also one of its most fragile parts, the neck. They trust and show that it is worth it to trust. While we experience the most rampant capitalism, which pushes us towards “faster” and “more,” Zed slows down.
They seem to say that something may happen but does not have to, because it is not about a spectacular trick but about an agreement that makes it possible to perform. It is conscious consent that is the main character here. Unforced but firm, without any burdensome pressure to succeed. “Yes” is only one of the possibilities here, and each of them is a potential. Zed proposes, listens, follows, and creates a performance from the available elements. Through their actions, they touch on the meaning of humanity, empathy, and respect. They seem to talk about personal boundaries that do not exclude or cut off, but rather mark out paths of understanding. They involve the audience in their experiment, sharing responsibility for the performance we experience together. We are not passive observers here, but participants in the process.
Pic. 10: EZ, Zed Zanzu, photo: Mila Ercoli
Tożsamość ziemniaka
How does a pomegranate differ from a potato tuber? The answer seems simple, but is it really? In German, the names of both plants have a common etymological basis – “apfel,” meaning apple (germ. granatapfel and erdapfel). Do they also have similar roots? Can they be considered identical in a twisted way? We can certainly find them in the same section in almost every supermarket. They carry different associations – exoticism and familiarity – although it is worth remembering that the road to domesticating the potato was quite long. It began on the ships of Spanish colonizers/conquistadors, who brought it with them from what is now Peru as an exotic curiosity. Who knows, maybe 16th-century Europeans looked at it the way we look at pomegranates today. It was only after centuries of presence and the discovery of ways to use it that it became ordinary, “ours.” Will the same happen to the pomegranate one day? How long does it take to become part of the local menu? How long does it take to become part of a culture? How many years must pass before someone or something is accepted, fully integrated, and defined as “one of us”?
Pic. 11: Omâ, Roxana Kuwen, photo: Carla Dacar
Roxana Kuwen of Compagnie Bolbol uses both plants as a metaphor in her performance Omâ, but also as a description of herself. Her roots combine the exotic and foreign with the domesticated and familiar. An ironic question about their similarity opens up a profound reflection on identity, belonging, and privilege.
She talks about her Iranian-German roots, sharing her sense of fragmentation and the contradictions that come with the heritage of both cultures. She invites us to a family tea party with her grandmothers, each from a different country and wearing a differently tied headscarf.
Pic. 11: Omâ, Roxana Kuwen, photo: Carla Dacar
In reality, the women have never met. We sit down with them at the table, delving deeper into their stories with each sip. We learn what they were like and how they influenced the artist’s life. We add a little more sugar to our tea. We hear stories and anecdotes that open the door to understanding different areas of life. Each boundary we cross with them marks a new area of what is permitted, what is appropriate for whom and where. It opens and closes possibilities, especially for women. Over tea, languages mix, the German dialect and Farsi, so different and yet so similar. We sit comfortably in a dark Berlin theater hall while Iran burns, engulfed in war. Is there anything we can do? React? Stand on the table, make a speech, rouse the crowds? “Where are you from?” the artist asks provocatively. “Do you even care about what’s going on?”
Pic. 12: Omâ, Roxana Kuwen, photo: Francis Rodor
The themes addressed in Omâ sound like something that a socially engaged documentary theater would gladly take on. However, Roxana Kuwen is a contemporary circus artist. She mixes various performative tools and methods. She dresses socially relevant content in the language of juggling, movement, physical comedy, contortionist bends, and personal memories. She conducts a monologue. Improvises. Makes people laugh. Talks to the audience, actively involving them in the course of the performance. The light directed at the audience ensures that no one is anonymous. Every answer has the face of a specific person. She thus confronts us with what we bring with us, with our stories, with the baggage of privileges assigned to the face of the “European potato.” The performance is a declaration but also a deconstruction, a sharing of doubts and a series of question marks. It is a circus that sees and comments, pointing out where it hurts, but it does not do so in a moralistic way, pointing a finger at the guilty and punishing them. Instead, it invites you to watch a story full of personal experiences and adventures, which will be funny, beautiful, and impressive, but not always comfortable.
Pic. 13: Omâ, Roxana Kuwen, photo: Kolja Huneck
Ferment
The PLAY format is not only about performances, but above all about meetings, exchanges of opinions and thoughts. Sharing impressions. In addition to conversations held behind the scenes and animated by the organizers, it was also possible to express one’s opinion on paper. Respond to questions posted on a festival postcard and place them on a wall specially created for this purpose or in a guest book. Alongside the enthusiasm, memories, and emotions, there was one comment that stuck in my mind, the content and message of which show once again how much work still lies ahead of us, circus performers and circus enthusiasts. “Not enough circus, too much politics. The task of circus artists is to bring joy, make people laugh and delight them.” In our society, the image of the circus as a temple of entertainment, simple fun, allowing for laughter and respite, still persists. I do not deny that this is indeed one of the most important dimensions of this art, but it is not the only one. Such a description only skims the surface, beneath which lie rich reservoirs of content, often commenting on the reality we are currently experiencing. Reducing the circus solely to the aspect of “entertainment” takes away the opportunity to enter these less obvious spaces. It makes it difficult to understand its transgressive potential, its subversive power, and the sharpness of its criticism.
It makes us forget about the history of the circus, which was close to ordinary people and understood their problems, often becoming a place of ferment and discord. PLAY is a program that draws on this tradition. It shows a multi-layered and multi-faceted circus. Beautiful, with breathtaking tricks, evoking thunderous laughter, but above all conscious and attentive to what is happening around it. For stepping out of the comfort zone and immersing us in the circus universe, with all its consequences, I would like to thank the organizers of PLAY. Let’s hope for more!
