Reinventing the circus

An elderly gentleman prodding me in the face with his inflatable iguana might expect to command my full attention. As I found my seat in the Albert Hall, though, the gentleman in question had to turn away disheartened, as I was too busy taking in the spectacular set of Cirque du Soleil’s Totem to be distracted by his intrusive pet.

An elderly gentleman prodding me in the face with his inflatable iguana might expect to command my full attention. As I found my seat in the Albert Hall, though, the gentleman in question had to turn away disheartened, as I was too busy taking in the spectacular set of Cirque du Soleil’s Totem to be distracted by his intrusive pet.

A giant turtle shell rose up in the middle of the Hall, and I was so engrossed in its intricate detail that I nearly missed the start of the show, which, like much of the evening, took place closer to the great dome than to the floor.

If I tried to describe the acrobatic feats I wouldn’t be able to do them justice — suffice it to say it was the first performance I’ve attended that generated almost constant applause. But what really set this apart from any old trip to the circus was its standing as a Gesamtkunstwerk, the total artwork.

Dance flowed seamlessly into gymnastics; the singers and drummers of the band regularly ventured on to the stage; and everything came together to tell a story, that of human evolution, complete with recurring characters (it turned out that our man with the iguana was a Darwinesque explorer, who happened also to be an adept juggler).

But if there is one reason to go to see Totem, let it be this: how many shows have you seen in which the stagehands operate not horizontally but vertically?

Totem continues at the Albert Hall until 17 February.