Alegria: a timeless Cirque du Soleil production as fresh and exciting as the day it was first presented
8 Oct 2019

by Drew Rowsome - Photos Marie-Andrée Lemire/Costumes Dominique Lemieux/Cirque du Soleil 2019

Alegria was, 25 years ago, the second Cirque du Soleil production that I ever saw. At the time I was mesmerized and have been a Cirque du Soleil fan ever since, having seen dozens of productions both here in Toronto as well as Las Vegas and Orlando (reviews and previews are throughout this blog). The tagline then was that Cirque du Soeil was reinventing the circus and yes, a first encounter with Alegria was revolutionary, a huge step forward for in the evolution of the art form. Alegria was also the production that turned Cirque du Soleil from a scrappy little outfit into a cultural powerhouse and, eventually, a corporation, an entertainment behemoth. 

If one wants to consider the current incarnation of Alegria a nostalgia piece or a retreat from the constantly evolving experimentation Cirque du Soleil is known for, think again. Alegria is as fresh, startling and wildly entertaining as it was when it first arrived. My experience was enhanced by the occasional jolt of recognition, but I was so caught up in the show, so mesmerized again, that it was a new adventure. I could write pages on how the show was streamlined, technologically improved, or comparing the acts but that would be a disservice to both productions. What matters is that I left elated and overjoyed. And that we ran into a woman who had been a Cirque du Soleil virgin and she, with literal tears streaming down her face, was now a enraptured fan.

Alegria's host, a variation on the concept of the ringmaster, is Mr Fleur (Eric Davis) who is a marvellous cross between David Johansen and Tom Waits, all akimbo lithe sex appeal with a side of debauched desperation for applause. He also seizes a writhing phallic scepter that appears to confer some form of power over a ragged gaggle of aristocratic clowns. None seem to take him too seriously, some seek to undermine him, and fortunately there is also a rebel force of hunky Lost Boys acrobats who are plotting revolution. Except for the lithe sex appeal, Mr Fleur could be a prescient, Alegria dates from 1994, Trump satire.

That is the basic plot though, as is typical for Cirque du Soleil shows, the effect on the senses and soul is more important than any narrative throughline. And it doesn't matter because the entire evening is highjacked by the two clowns Pabo Bermejo Medina and Pablo Gomis Lopez. And they provide an emotional core to Alegria that is the most powerful I have experienced. Judging from the audience's very vocal reaction, it wasn't just my own personal biases. Medina and Lopez, "Tall Clown" and "Small Clown," have a Laurel and Hardy-esque competitive bromance that blossoms into much more, a gay romance, complete with kiss.

That the clownmance is played for maximum poignancy and non-mocking comedy is wonderful, that when they do reunite after a tearjerking (tears of laughter and of empathetic sorrow) spat, in a variation on Slava's Snowstorm, a mass catharsis of joy shakes le grand chapiteau to its foundations, is extraordinary. Extraordinary.

Of course the plot is, theoretically, just a conceptual framework to string the circus acts into a sequence. And when acts perform, they counteract the upstaging by Tall and Small. Jonathan Morin displays physical prowess and a flawless physique in a cocky crossed wheel solo. That builds into a trapeze duo from Roxane Gilliand and Nicolai Kuntz that is full of breathtaking moments, before Lisiate Tovo literally ignites the stage into flames with his Fire Knife Dance. Tovo's act hits that sweet spot between a circus skill and a sideshow act, one winces as often as one is dazzled. And he reveals the secret of a big top experience, while balancing flames on the bare soles of his feet, he turns to offer a sweet smile of satisfaction. Not only are we seeing spectacle, but the space we share is intimate enough for a moment that small and resonant to register.

The second half opens strong with an aerial straps routine from Catherine Audy and Alexis Trudel that has a high quotient of death-defying derring do. Trudel has a scar across his ribs that must have been placed there by the make-up department so that the audience would realize that his phenomenal fantasy form is actually human. The remaining acts rely on spectacle, building to a finale, but what fascinated me was how, if my attention dared to wander, the sidelines were alive with characters. Characters all in character. Not an inch of stage or a moment of time was wasted by anyone. The concluding trapeze act generates much suspense but not as much payoff in prowess. 

No matter, the theme song, which is now a permanent part of our collective unconscious, explodes in a fanfare and the cast troops out. They have been smiling all evening, except for when a different emotional state was required, but they beam at the end. And the audience is just as ecstatic. And I had to marvel, as I had while the Powertrack acrobats flipped and flew across the stage, that much of the cast was not even born when Alegria first premiered. Yet they are performing a timeless classic born of a timeless tradition. A new, and timeless, experience for a new generation. And for those of us who are lucky enough to get to experience it again.