The Foot Monsters

I'm really bad at throwing things away. I can also be very stubborn and tend to be proud of curious things. When you combine those qualities, things like this tend to happen:

Those would be my show shoes. They are partly held together by duct tape. Many chunks were hacked off or out in order to keep them looking and feeling shoe like.

They should have been replaced years ago. But they were still kind of okay. And you couldn't tell from the audience. And I liked them. They were good for acro and nicely broken in. I kept thinking, the tour is almost over. They just need to last until June.

Then the tour got extended. But that was okay. I wasn't about to buy another pair for just a few more shows in the fall.

Then it got extended again.

By the end, they didn't have toes so much as gaping holes. When insulted, the holes became mouths and started to talk back. Eventually, the shoes developed their own personalities.

Sadly they, like so many other accessories, did not survive the post tour clean up.

May they rest in pieces.

Retirement

I have a confession to make. Some of you may find it pretty gross, but I stand by what I did. I may not know what started it, but once I realized what was going on, I was committed.

These are the socks I wore for my act during the show.

 
Every performance, every run through, these were the only socks I ever wore.

And I never washed 'em once.

It's probably fair to say that by the end, it didn't matter what I did. They knew what they had to do...

Bad, Bad, Bad...

Typically, when night falls on Circus Island, I tend to retire to the warmth and safety of my caravan. But on this particular night, I thought it might be a good idea to swing by the office caravan and hit up the internet.

There was a knock at the door.

There shouldn’t have been a knock at the door.

And yet for some reason I thought it might be one of my colleagues who lives in Paris. She tends to drop in from time to time. Apparently I decided to ignore the fact that she would have texted me to tell me she was coming, and why on Earth would she be coming to an empty circus island at that hour?

I opened the door to find a man.

I will spare you my first horrified reaction as it involves telling an entirely different story. At any rate, what actually happened may have been worse.

This man and his wife had come to see the show!

Seeing as I’m the only one here and there’s absolutely nothing in the tent, that was going to prove to be difficult. I was beyond mortified. Normally, ticket holders had been notified of the change of dates, and tickets had been reimbursed or exchanged. Moreover, that very afternoon I had received an e-mail from the office asking if there were any signs on the island notifying the public of the change of dates (answer: no).

To make matters worse, the island is only accessible to the public from 8am to 8pm, and by this time, the island was closed. I don’t have a key to any of the gates. And while my friends who have come by after closing just jump the fence, I was pretty sure that such a suggestion would not go over terribly well with this elderly couple.

Shit.

A few frantic phone calls and deeply embarrassed conversations later, I was able to find someone on the grounds that could help. Of course, he didn’t have a key either. Such is the wonder of Circus Island.

By this time, the couple was understandably irritated. Fortunately, this led to the clarification of some key facts.

First off, they had purchased their ticket on Monday. Monday! The dates were changed weeks ago! If the FNAC is selling tickets to shows that don’t exist, that is a very big problem. Secondly, upon closer inspection of the ticket itself, it was discovered that they had purchased tickets for the 26^th of October.

I think I actually felt the embarrassment slide off of me and latch on to the two of them.

I was in the clear!

Of course, they were still trapped on the island.

The good news is a key was soon located. The bad news is, when the couple was let out, there were more people found at the gate hoping to get in and see the show. The only silver lining there is that they were hoping to get tickets at the door. But the entire debacle highlights some serious public relations issues.

I, for one, removed myself from the situation entirely and went to shower. Of course the water heater had gone out and I could not for the life of me get it to light again.

Frickin’ Circus Island...

Brazil

So... hey. I performed in Brazil last month. I probably should have brought that up sooner.

The last time my company performed in Brazil was kind of a disaster. Not in the sense that the show was poorly received. Not that at all. It was just that all the material for the show arrived three days later than expected and theatre was just massacring the artists (umbrella spine through someone's leg, nose smashed in by a double bass, the usual).

For the most part, things went much more smoothly this time around. True, the audience wasn't as full as the last time, but at least this time everyone left intact. There was, however, one monumental moment of drama.

As always, it was a show like any other. And then, during the second to last act, the point used for the two aerial acts decided it had had enough and just ceased to function. It would no longer go up or down. This was during the dance trapeze act, and act which has a whole helluva a lot of going up and down.

At this point in the show, those who aren't directly implicated in the trapeze act are busy setting up the structure and trampoline for the finale. Fortunately, we've gotten good at this and it happens really fast.

I say fortunately, because right around the time we managed to set everything up, things started to get a little crazy backstage.

The technician that mans the ropes during the trapeze act was yelling for assistance and everyone with a free hand was trying to fix the unknown problem. You know that wall of ropes that controls all the fly bars and whatnot in a theatre? Well A decided that the best course of action was to climb those ropes and hack at the rigging of the trapeze.

The aforementioned ropes

While this successfully dislodged a sandbag from the ceiling, a sandbag that had the courtesy not to land on anyone I might add, it did nothing to help the trapeze situation.

It was at about this time that F, the technician in charge of pulling the trapeze act, started yelling at D to get off the trapeze and, well, off the stage. B decided that the best course of action was to go on stage and dance around while the rest of us scrambled to get the next scene in place, but despite our good intentions, we had to stop. We managed to get the trapeze a little higher, and while it was technically out of the way for the trampoline number, holy crap, it was still just above the trampoline!

Notice the painting that is the shadow

of the trapeze? Awesome.

Like I said, it wasn't technically in the way, but seeing a trapeze hanging over where you're about to jump... it shakes you up a little bit.

The technicians were worried it would be a seven hour repair job, but thanks to a mysterious length of cable hiding in one of the trunks, it only took about two and a half hours. And hey, this time no one bled, so that's kind of a win, right?

Too Hot to Handle

It was the night before the premiere and we were doing a run through. There was a bit of apprehension regarding just how much electricity the show would require, and just how much was available to us. Just to be safe, they decided to do the run under real show conditions, meaning that the crepe pans and such would be up and running at the bar.

We had about a half hour of the show left to get through when the safety lights suddenly came on and the director came running down the stands yelling "Stop! Stop!"

There seemed to be a problem with the breaker box.

It had melted.

Upon inspection of the smouldering remains, it was discovered that most of the fuses weren't so much actual fuses as random strips of metal.

Oops.

I should probably add that it wasn't our breaker box that melted but the breaker box of the site we are using.

Double oops.

We had managed to get trough most of the show, but D hadn't had a chance to do her act and for her, it was pretty important to have that run. There was about 15 minutes left on the security lights, so if there was a enough light for her, she could do it. The only problem was that without electricity, there would be no sound. We use an electric keyboard and the piano really does hold her music together.

In the end, she ran her act with an acoustic version of the music. Assuming the role of piano, was the accordion.

It was awesome.

Fortunately, the circus had it's own breaker box and we were able to get that in place in time for the premiere. And while that's all well and good, I can't help but feel that the tone that has been set for this run of shows is a little on the worrisome side.

Race Against the Clock

It was the last weekend in Lyon before we broke for Christmas and yet another multiple month break. There were only three shows to get through and, of course, something had to come along and complicate the home stretch.

As we had had a four day break between shows, pretty much everyone took off. I'm sure that most of you have already guessed what happened next.

It was just after 5pm and I was about to go for a stroll through the park to clear my head. As I was heading off site, the head stage tech stops me and says "I just got a phone call from A. There's a problem with his train and he might not make it back in time for the show. It might work out, but just in case, we're having a meeting in 15 minutes. Don't go anywhere and spread the word."

Great.

Apparently there were massive wind storms across the country and many of the train tracks were covered in  branches and fallen trees. Trains were either delayed or stuck sitting in the middle of nowhere. Many possibilities were proposed, even having him take a cab from whatever the next stop was, even if it would cost over 200 euro. But it was decided that at that hour, on the weekend before Christmas, near a city like Lyon, the traffic would be horrendous and there was no way he would even get to the tent on time.

As such, it was decided that we would come up with an A-free version of the show and hope that he at least made it back in time for his act, which is in the second half of the show. We'd also delay the start of the show in order to gain a little more wiggle room.

So we went through the show and tried to figure out how to adapt already complicated transitions so that we could skip the bits with A. Stressed and tired, we came up with a plan and hoped for the best.

Fast forward to the wings just before the show. We warmed up, we waited, we paced. Finally, ten minutes before the official start time we got the call that A had arrived in downtown Lyon. As good as the news was, it didn't change the fact that it took a little over half an hour to get from Lyon to where we were performing. But it looked like we were going to make it.

We continued to wait when suddenly, A bursts into the tent still clutching his back pack. He wasn't warmed up and hadn't eaten since 8 o'clock that morning (it was now almost 9pm) but he not about to cause any further delay. He's extremely stubborn and there really isn't any arguing with him. So, stressed and agitated, he changed into his costume and we all got into place.

The show went off just fine, though I don't think anyone really relaxed until it was over. After my act I ran to the kitchen and grabbed some bread for A so that he would at least have a little something in his belly to get him through the show.

What should have been a three hour journey ended up lasting over twelve hours. And people wonder why I prefer to stay on site on weekends.

Overheard Onstage

“Well I just got fired…”

Ewwww...

This is the moon.

The moon is made by having D, A, and myself lay down a on a giant mirror so that our projected reflection makes the above shape. It's always a bit of a gong show to try and get in place quickly and discretely, and in order to create the shape, we need to squish together/lay on top of each other.

You'd think that being in such close proximity would lead to some rather uncomfortable events. Amazingly, that has not been the case... until now.

It was a show like any other. We were almost done with the moon when A utters the unthinkable:

"Oh no... I have to sneeze..."

At this moment, A has his face buried in my hair. Before I can even get the horrified words out, it happens, and I feel the place of impact hot and humid on my head.

That's when we burst out laughing.

And they say that close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades...

Overheard Onstage, Throughout an Entire Act

“Fuck...”

Aw, Man!

How do I not notice when this happens? And how do I manage to get paint on myself underneath my costume? You know, I once had paint my face like a big gash over my eye? Ridiculous. Just ridiculous.

Extensions

I remember when I started here, I would always be excited about the possibility of a run of shows being extended in a given city. It was always marked on the calendar as an option and always struck me as a big deal. One more week by popular demand! Yeah!

I was then told flat out that we almost never do the options.

Well, never say never, my friend. If this show has been about anything (aside from having replacements) it’s been about doing the options.

We extended in Besancon. We extended in Dijon. We extended twice in Lyon, and I have a pretty good feeling about the possible extensions in Toulouse and Strasbourg.

But that’s nothing. You know why? Because now the show has been extended. Forget June 2012. This bad boy is going until December 2012!

Why?

Because it’s convenient to the director… why else?

Dream Team

Damn right.

Close Enough

The stage was just repainted and all the marks had to be redone. I was lucky enough to be able to see my old mark beneath the paint so I just put a new line of tape over top.

Fast-forward to today’s show. I was in the middle of my act and had just placed my wheel for the diagonal. After a couple of hundred shows, I’m pretty good about manipulating my wheel to just about the right spot at the right angle without too much hassle. But tonight, I was way off. I mean, seriously way off. The angle that my wheel was at and the angle that my mark was at almost seemed perpendicular to each other. But I looked out in front of me and the angle seemed good. I was behind the mark so I knew that I had enough space to do the line. As such, I ignored my mark and kept going.

After I finished my act and was getting changed for the next part of the show, one of the technicians came up to me in a rush and said “When we were cleaning the stage last night, your mark came off the floor. We put it back where we thought it was supposed to go but forgot to tell you. Sorry.”

I started to laugh and told him it was okay. I noticed that the angle was funky so I just had ignored the mark.

As he walked away it hit me that that mark makes sure I don’t fall off the stage. That’s really not the kind of information you want to neglect to pass on.

It’s a good thing I pay attention and don’t just blindly follow bits of tape.

After the show, I went with the technicians to look where my mark was and where it should have been. We corrected the mistake and redid the mark. This time, in ink.

Trampol-aaaaaaarrgh!

The last act of the show is a group trampoline-wall act. It’s not the most technical of numbers by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s high energy with lots of different things happening all over the place, and really, it’s just a lot of fun. It’s a great way to end a show.

It’s also a great vehicle for hilarity.

Yup, there’s no greater combination for comedy than an object that will fling you into the void with no mercy, and the unyielding eyes of all your colleagues upon you.

One night, I barely managed to pull off this rinky-dink figure that I do at the very beginning of the act. I swear, if my arms weren’t as strong as they are, there’s no way I would have made it back to the wall. M thought my failed attempt at full turn to sit was hilarious and, hidden behind the wall, laughed his ass off. Fortunately, karma was on my side and he damn near bit the dust after flailing through his solo a little later on.

But that’s nothing. The past two nights have offered some quality falls.

First there was H. There’s a moment in the act where he purposely falls off the trampoline. He actually executes it brilliantly; it’s a wonderful fall that covers at least three metres. But that night, something was amiss. I think he actually got caught on the padding over the springs and basically, he just dropped to the floor like a stone. It should be noted that at this moment, the entire troupe is watching him. The six of us acrobats started laughing and could not stop for the remainder of the number. A, who actually disappears into a hole just after H falls, could be heard laughing from wherever the hell it is he lands. It was awesome.

But it gets even better!


The very next night, A took a spill. I know I shouldn’t take pleasure in other people’s mistakes (look at what happened to M), but when you see someone falling, and you can see that they’re very much aware of what’s going on spatially, and you can tell they’re going to be okay, you really can’t help it.

Well A’s fall was just that kind. Not only that, it happened in multiple stages so it was almost like watching it in slow motion.

It all seemed to go to hell when he tried to do the cat twist. Normally he does a double but he was off and singled out. It looked like one of those situations where you know you gave too much so, mid-move and mid-air, you stop doing anything at all and just wait for the botched attempt at the skill to be over. Fine. No problem. Happens all the time.

Except for whatever reason, when he landed in the bed, he got turned around in the bounce back up. Then, inexplicably, he ended up underneath the padding with his head in the springs. He was then unceremoniously ejected from the trampoline and landed on the stage with a loud thud.

The audience applauded heartily.

Joke’s On You!

There are a number of practical jokers in the troupe, so it’s not at all uncommon to find yourself in the middle of some strange war or other. For example, the two clowns seem to be going through a phase where they place each other’s belongings in trees. Camping chairs, bicycles, and such like…

Well, one Sunday matinee where the levels of concentration were particularly low, A bested everyone. He managed to pull a doozy on… himself.

We were getting into position for his number. At this time, I cross paths with the bass player. Normally he makes some silly face or weird noise to try and make D and I laugh. But this time, he made awkward hand gestures and a big sad frowny face.

Uncomprehending, I turned to face centre stage when I saw A with a face like a deer in the headlights. He was holing the bass player’s bow in his hands and it was quickly dawning on him that his really awesome joke might not be so awesome after all.

Incredulous, I stared at him unsure how to proceed. I know I’ve mentioned in the past that I actually love a little bit of on stage drama, and this kind of situation was right up my alley. His act involves a lot of personal torment (don’t ask) and there’s a lot of maniacal swinging involved, so the bow was definitely in danger. Plus, L kind of needed the thing to play the music properly.

A’s first instinct was to place the bow in the middle of the stage. Not the best choice, if you ask me. Then he considered trying to slide it over the few meters it needed to travel in order to get to where the bassist was standing. Seeing as a bow isn’t the heartiest of objects, it’s a good thing A quickly thought better of that attempt.

In the meantime, I kept mouthing to D that I was going to get it. I didn’t know how and I didn’t know when, but I was going to get it. Finally, a moment presented itself, and in act that I can only hope made sense theatrically, I retrieved the bow.

Of course now I was brandishing the bow like an idiot with a sword. Plus, it still had to find it’s way to the bassist’s hands. And for the life of me, I couldn’t remember at what point the bow was needed for the music, so it had to happen fast. With some more quick thinking and what I thought was some pretty smooth moves, I got the bow to L.

L’s reaction to the whole thing was something along the lines of “Whatever, man. It’s his own music that he’s screwing up. Not my problem.”

A, on the other hand, staggered into the next scene in a daze muttering something about being fired…

So It Is

Waiting in the pitch black for B to pass by so I could make my way into the wings, I turned to the bass player and asked him if he needed a Kleenex (the poor guy was sniffling up a storm). Suddenly I’m on my knees in immense pain, little green lights popping in and out of focus in front of me.

When I turned to the bass player he turned toward me too and damn near gouged my eye out. He later said it was just his pinkie finger, but his pinkie finger is as big as my index finger. I finished the rest of the show with one squinty, watery eye and, nearly 24 hours later, my eye still aches.

I guess mom was right. It really is all fun and games until somebody loses an eye.

Overheard On-stage

“It’s huge!”

“It’s a nuclear butterfly!”

Tit for Tat

The other night, right before the bazooka number, I was about 10 cm away from accidentally kicking the drummer in the nuts.

The next night, just before we went on stage, he 'accidentally' elbowed me in the boob.

Justice, or a pre-emptive strike?

The battle goes on…

Take Two

As it turns out, the Great Bass Disaster wasn’t even the result of a faulty bass. The bassist thought there was a problem with his instrument (he’s been having trouble with one of the chords coming unsoldered) but when he grabbed his other bass and it didn’t work either, he realized the problem originated in the sound booth. While very frustrating for him, we managed to have a good laugh about it after the show.

The following night, I told him that should it ever happen again, he’s to come on stage with the double bass instead of the electric bass and just play the bass line on that. It may not be as loud, but at least the instrument is so damn big that maybe the other musicians will see him and not get so lost. Before the show he gave it a try. It was the stupidest sounding thing you’ve ever heard.

Right before I went onstage, he came up to me and said he decided that, when it was time for my act, he was going to skip the electric bass altogether and just come out directly with the double bass.

Ha ha! That’s a good one!

The number starts, I’m doing my thing, and then I hear it. And of course, by hear it, I mean don’t hear it. Once again, there is no bass.

The good news is the other musicians are now veterans when it comes to suddenly missing bass players and actually manage to keep it together. Even better, the bassist manages to make it back in time for our big dramatic moment. We say more with one look than most people ever manage and, laughing, I carry on with my act.

But I must admit, when I have a moment later on during the show to pull him aside, my tone is stern.

Where the hell was the double bass? That was a golden opportunity! True, it probably would have ‘ruined the show’, but there are some things that are bigger than the show! And a gag that is hilarious both visually and aurally, though admittedly and inside joke between only two people on stage, but coincides with an event whose timing makes the joke even funnier, again, to only two of the people present… I mean… come on! What are the odds?

I tell ya, if there’s a screw up with the bass for a third night running and I don’t see a big ass double bass come to the rescue, I will be most put out.

The Glue

A funny thing happened during my number the other night... It kind of fell apart.

Already, the cards were stacked against me. We were coming back from the weekend, and for once, I had actually skipped town. The train ride in from Paris seemed so strange on a show day and I must say, I was not feeling it. Fortunately (unfortunately?), this seemed to be the case for just about everyone.

Now I’ve done shows where my wheel basically did the act without much help from me. And I think that’s probably what would have happened were it not for the bass. And by bass, I mean lack thereof.

The music for my act is pretty rock and roll and has a killer bass line. It normally does, anyway. I’m not entirely sure what happened, but from pretty much the beginning of my act, the bass, as well as the man playing it, disappeared. Now you would think that one missing musician, while noticeable and unfortunate, wouldn’t be completely disastrous. But my music soon went from sounding a little off, to no longer really sounding like music…

The piano soon turned to mush, the sax didn’t seem entirely sure whether or not it should play at all and so cut in and out half-heartedly, the guitarist seemed to be lost without the bass player by his side, and I’m pretty sure the drummer was just trying to hold everything together.

It is a blessing to perform with musicians playing live by your side. But man, when things go awry, do you ever feel it. Already, I was struggling to get through my act. There is one moment where both the guitarist and the bass player step forward and we have a nice, dramatic little moment. I was relying on that moment to give me that little push to make it through the number. So when I turned toward them and saw that the bassist was still nowhere to be found and the guitarist was 80 billion kilometres away because he either forgot or didn’t feel like stepping forward for our exchange, I felt completely and utterly alone. My heart sank and I continued to limp my way through my act.

Later on, one of the technicians could be heard saying (in reference to my act) that the bass is a pretty damn good thing to have, come to think of it. And you know what? I had the same reflection while on stage. And that was well before things really started to get awkward. Without that solid base (sorry), everything just kind of ripped apart at the seams. I’ve always relied quite a lot on the bass player as a friend for moral support, but that was the night I learned that when it comes to my act, he’s kind of the glue.