By Michael Feingold
By Elizabeth Zimmer
By James Hannaham
By Christian Viveros-Faune
By Christian Viveros-Faune
By R. C. Baker
By Michael Feingold
By Michael Musto
Who knows what dreams Orpheus may have had as he searched for his lost Eurydice? Might he not have envisioned her high in the air, trapped in an immense waterfall of thick gray ropes that occasionally snake around her flailing limbs? Or, could that scuttling creature with arms and legs crooked like a grasshoppers be she, enchanted by a giant malevolent bug?
As demonstrated in his magical Au Revoir Parapluie, James Thiérrées imagination is tethered to reality only by the frailest of golden threads. This brilliant director, dancer, mime, acrobat, and musician has barely touched down on the Orpheus legend. Inspired by it, he has designed a free-floating narrative of love and loss, in which a man travels in and out of his memories, encountering bizarre obstacles. Time is fluid; space is flexible and full of surprises. A black velvet tent-in reverse (corners suspended, center flattened on the floor) turns into a shabby garret with a skeletal gold rocking chair that can whirl a man (Thiérrée) through many slow evolutions. Later, floor panels are pried up to create a lake, and helmeted crew members ring it with rushestwo of which become foils for an absurd duel between Thiérrée and the bumbling (but athletic) clown Magnus Jakobsson.
Beside Thiérrée and Jakobsson, who plays an interfering workman, the remarkable cast includes Satchie Noro, a dancer and aerial artist, as the heros beloved; Kaori Ito, a dancer and choreographer, as their elfin child; and actress-singer Maria Sendow, who portrays a cross between a sorceress and the Queen of the Night in Mozarts Magic Flute (in other words, a mother-in-law from hell).
Thiérrée was raised in the beyond-bigtop Cirque Imaginaire, created by his parents, Jean-Baptiste Thiérrée and Victoria Chaplin. His personathe poet-dreamer as beleaguered Everyman owes as much to Marcel Marceuxs Bip as to the Little Tramp of his celebrated grandfather, Charlie Chaplin. But his take on classic mime is subtle and individual, and rarely does </>Au Revoir Parapluie traffic in the whimsy and pathos often associated with French artists like Marceau or songwriter Jacques Brel. When Thiérrées own jacket entraps him, fluid ease trumps puzzlement and irritation. Its just my coat, he seems to be saying; it gets this way sometimes. And hes a marvelous dancer; when he pauses by the pond, he becomes fascinated by a bunch of reeds hes plucked andforgetting his quest for a whileflourishes it, wheeling and twisting softly in an imagined wind.
Linear narrative, unchanneled, permits such detours. When Thiérrée is about to embark on his dangerous journey, his heart beats loudly (on tape), but, groping around his chest, he cant find it. Suddenly suspicious, he pulls up a trouser leg. There it is, pumping just above his knee! He maneuvers it back into place. At one point, Jakobsson somersaults in, bearing a map. This leads to a hilarious act by the two mena befuddling labyrinth of gestural directions. Jakobsson also grabs the limelight for a mimed magic trick: See what I have in my hand? (actually nothing). Now, see what Im holding? Its vanished! Hes undaunted by our laughter.
Places, people, and situations shift at a moments notice. Now Thiérrée is grasping Noros inert hand, dancing in front of her with increasing fervor, wanting her to join him. After hes exhausted himself, she comes to life and kites around the stage like a leaf in a windstorm. She hangs on his back, and he doesnt know it. Sometimes she and Ito are safe in bed, snuggled up together; the next minute theyve vanished swallowed by the lashing gray bundle, their arms and legs protruding from it high above the stage floor. (Tiny Ito, by the way, is not actually a mischievous, nimble ten-year-old boy, but a gifted and preternaturally flexible female dancer.)
The music ranges from instrumental taped Bach to liturgical chant and rasping folksongs in an unfamiliar tongue. Sendow sings in many guises and in many situations, e.g. cranking a little circus organ while being wheeled around on a cross between a chariot and a crane. She also appears in some fantastic outfits (costumes by Thiérrées mother and Manon Gignoux), including a sort of fabric seashell out of which a voracious fishs head shoots, and an elegant Edwardian summer-white outfit with a train that has a mind of its own and a hat that spins.
There are few longeurs in this entrancing show (one occurs when the family members rest on a suddenly erected tightrope while a set change is completed). The aerial work has its own metaphoric power. When the lost bride hangs onto a giant suspended hook and flies around the stage while her husband tries to soar to her, shes just as unattainable as Eurydice queening it in the Underworldonly more beautiful. Thiérrées sense of fantasy is redemptive. The world is alive with pitfalls, and things that are not what they seem to be. If we have wit, imagination, and resourcefulness, he might be saying, what we want most will alight beside us and allow us to embrace it.
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