Hotel: Cirque Eloize checks in with fabulous physical feats and lots of comedy
07 Feb 2019

by Drew Rowsome -

Hotels can be wonderful places full of comings and goings and clandestine rendezvouses. This Hotel, a fading art deco beauty, is also full of acrobats, jugglers, musicians, aerialists and clowns. It has a very busy and lively lobby. The staff is frazzled - small wonder when suitcases mysteriously move under their own power, the couches contain living body parts, and the air is apt to fill with flying objects and people - but also prone to breaking into spontaneous dance numbers. It as if the Marx Brothers and La La La Human Steps checked into Fawlty Towers and brought along their great-grandchildren on a break from touring with an old-fashioned big top.

It is a tragedy of elephantine proportions that the freezing rain on opening night left many empty seats (I sincerely hope that everyone gets to rebook, it was worth braving the slush and stinging missiles in the air). But it didn't seem to faze the performers who were in perpetual motion, perpetually astonishing and, in the best circus tradition, desperate for attention and applause. Suave Julius Bitterling wanders through the audience playing a tenor saxophone, the lights dim, and he opens and enters the mysterious blue door set centrestage while the curtain rises.

Bitterling is soon joined, through the same door which has many more surprises in store, by the deadpan and virtuously flexible Cesar Mispelon. They are old friends or new friends or . . . hotels can be transient places. They are also an experienced hand to hand team and their extraordinary feats are played for thrills, theme and comedy all at once. That becomes a Hotel standard, a fusion of circus, theatre and dance with a solid accent on clowning. A hula hoop routine grows in scope and size - including a truly remarkable moment when the previously stoic Andrei Anissimov somehow slithers through hulu hoops without any visible form of propulsion or concern for gravity - until the air is full of spinning golden bubbles and bodies flung in every direction. It is glorious.

There is a vague plot of sorts. Sabrina Halde is a singing narrator and while the opening number is weak, by the time the sound problem was fixed and she cut loose, it was akin to having a full-throated Adele-a-like in the house. All of the performers play some sort of instrument, even if it is only a bass drum suitcase, and the climactic number is, curiously, a musical one that overstays its welcome. That it follows a mindboggling Chinese pole extravaganza that is breathtaking, sucks some of the life out of the grand finale. But, as I overheard a woman say on the way out, "The pole dancing . . . I thought my heart would stop."

Many of the characters seem to be looking for love. Or a connection. Fortunately they are not limited by gender or sexuality and there is a healthy panoramic quality to the group curtain call. The hotel itself is very versatile as it morphs into whatever seems necessary, that is when it isn't, literally, crashing down around the performers or spitting out props. The hapless cutie pie janitor Philippe Dupuis, turns dealing with a leak in the roof into a spectacular juggling of balls and buckets. Chambermaid Una Bennett is literally borne aloft by her sexual fantasies. And Antonin Wicky's struggle with an errant suitcase takes a transformative turn that is too hilarious to attempt to describe.

Slack wire artist and clown Jeremy Vitupier has a dog named Carpet who becomes a character in its own right, while Tuedon Ariri, all glitter and gams, makes showstopping entrance after showstopping entrance before soaring over the stage. The art deco-themed stage design and use of big band music (and vocal snippets, and a stunning lighting effect, from classic films including Casablanca) give Hotel a Grand Hotel feel while never fearing to steal, in the grand circus tradition, from whatever is current or usable. Hence a DJ, Cory Marsh, who provides pounding beats and a turn on a Cyr Wheel. 

It is all a bit of a hodgepodge with a nostalgic core, not just for the circus but also for class, style and double takes. Director Emmanuel Guillaume keeps everything moving briskly and when, 90 minutes later, Hotel was over, I was convinced, I was hoping, it was only intermission. Contemplating the trek home through the still turbulent and unpleasant weather, I briefly considered checking into a nearby hotel to stay dry and warm. But after visiting Hotel, a hotel would be a bitter disappointment.