Poor chap finds his nose pressed against her crotch a lot. ) and the usual teeterboard and charivari and tightrope-walking.The show ends with a charmless Chinese chair balancer, but he is outshone by a ‘wheel of death’ duo who run round little hamster wheels attached to a giant, suspended spanner which rotates over the stage like a wind turbine.
An Asian couple to my left solemnly ate chocolates.
Kouza is the latest Cirque De Soleil show on the block and seems they're reigning in the celebrities to try and generate some serious publicity.
Sarah Harding was one of the first in line to check out the new show by the circus masters and she was all smiles as she posed on the red carpet on press night.
Early January at the Royal Albert Hall means just one thing: the Cirque du Soleil, that Canadian mega-show of tumblers, acrobats, contortionists and unicyclists from far-flung lands, all fused into a faintly sticky, sterilised, wordless ‘plot’ of impeccable insignificance.
They spin it out for two-and-a-half hours (a full 30 minutes for the interval, the better to make money at the bars and souvenir stalls), and given that the thing does not start until 8pm — presumably to allow the American bankers time to make it west from London’s skycraper zone of Canary Wharf — you’re looking at a late bedtime.
This show, Kooza, is similar to past Cirque efforts. The Cirque, which has shows on several continents, is a global brand, like Heinz tomato soup or Hertz car rentals.
Too much deviation from the format would offend the marketing department.
The two female singers, with their siren dresses and long hairdos and floaty shifts, bubble away like Dame Cleo Laine singing through an oxygen mask, crooning in what might well be Pingu-speak or a cousin tongue of that spoken by our old friends The Clangers. The ‘unexpected universe’ is unexpected only if you have never been to a Cirque show.
The stage is lit with blues and greens and oranges. A childlike figure is trying, sans success, to fly a kite. Three Mongolian women bend their limbs like rubber pencils, as they always do.
The central bandstand has tented coverings which rise to suggest that we are entering some magic kingdom. This, the 50-plus page, advert-packed, trilingual programme tells us, is ‘The Innocent, eager to discover a dazzling new world . A French woman with a Rod Stewart wig takes to the trapeze and does what trapeze artistes invariably do, which is grip hold of the bar with hands/feet/thighs, but not, this time, teeth.
A Russian geezer wobbles round on a unicycle, holding his female partner while she performs various gymnastics. We have the usual hoops manipulation lady (she dropped one — ha, ha, silly sausage!