Fans of the more than 30-year-old alternative circus spectacle Cirque du Soleil understand that most of its now many, many productions offer different kinds of entertainment, but will generally deliver variations on a few consistent elements:
1. Astonishing feats of athleticism, balance and physicality.
2. An innovative set that takes advantage of both classic "tentertainment" staging and cutting-edge technology.
3. Comic relief.
4. Music meticulously created to bring the audience up and down with the show's dynamics.
5. A narrative structure, a simple and dramatic story that links the acts thematically and to which different shows adhere with varying degrees of closeness.
Wednesday night, most of the folks filing into the stylish big top lit in shifting colors — this time situated in the parking lot of the Tampa Greyhound Track between Bird and Waters in Tampa — looked like they knew what to expect from Volta, the newest Cirque offering on tour. Adults grinned with childlike anticipation as they took advantage of the fried mac & cheese bites, fruit-and-cheese skewers and drinks passed by wandering servers on their way in. Inside, lines at the bars and merch booths were long; those who climbed the steps into the arena and took their seats early spent a lot of time squirming and standing to let beverage-laden latecomers pass.
Volta begins with drably dressed characters with numbers on their backs — The Greys — exhorting specific sections of the audience to cheer for them, before a ringmaster takes the stage to inspire a little competition among the crowd. The Greys with the loudest cheering sections are chosen for… what? We find out quickly. After a single, introspective character takes the stage to melancholy video of a lonely childhood on the upstage video screens, the show begins in earnest as a dazzling, Hunger Games-meets-Japanese TV game show called Quid Pro Quo, complete with lavish postmodern costumes and a synchronized dance routine. The emcee introduces the show's host — it's Waz, our formerly forlorn loner, now decked out like a golden god — and The Greys are called to the stage as contestants in an exhilarating rope-skipping competition.
(Our section's Grey, Number 2, immediately passes out, apparently from overexcitement, and is dragged from the stage never to be seen again.)
At the end of the game show, Waz surrenders his golden helmet and leaves it on the stage, to be found by Quid Pro Quo's confounded cast. Clearly, Volta's narrative is one of an individual unfulfilled by fame and fortune, turning his back on empty celebrity and in search of a more profound and meaningful life.
What follows is a series of the sort of evocative, jaw-dropping performances one has come to expect from Cirque, each tied loosely (and sometimes not in any discernible way) to Waz's story. A muscular man soars high above the stage, carried by a single lamp on a cord. A freestyle bicyclist and ballet dancer engage in a fluid dance. A group swings and balances on the Swiss rings while two bungee dancers twist and flip. A woman spins gracefully through the air, suspended by her hair. The stage shifts and contorts to accommodate each act — risers lift and a catwalk drops from the ceiling for the parkour troupe, folding ladders emerge from below to provide a gravity-defying playground for acrobats. The feats are accompanied by pitch perfect, though often overtly emotionally manipulative and occasionally cheesy music, frequently featuring vocalists and an instrumentalist or two on the stage or in raised alcoves behind it.
These exciting displays are broken up by some of the best bits of comic relief this veteran Cirque attendee has seen. In one, the unconventional clown (no fright wig, no giant shoes) does battle with three recalcitrant laundry machines; in another, he takes to the jungle — in search of the missing Waz? — and eats an indigenous plant, only to embark on an hilarious psychedelic journey.
This is where Cirque excels as entertainment, and parts of Volta are easily as thrilling as any of the company's beloved earlier shows. At times one wonders why they bother with story at all.
Then, at the show's big finale, one is forcibly reminded.
A set of see-through quarter-pipe BMX ramps are brought onstage and set into place, an operation that takes a bit too long, completely changes the look of the production and takes the viewer out of the fantastic sense of wonder Volta spent two hours nurturing. Then, helmeted cyclists zip past one another, doing aerials and tailwhips and backflips on the ramps at a hectic, nearly industrial pace completely at odds with everything that came before. Where the balletic ground tricks of the single rider earlier in the show felt perfectly, organically in sync, this modern X Games-esque display is so incongruous as to be jarring. What does this have to do with Waz?
As it turns out, it doesn't matter. After the BMX act, the lights come up, the cast comes out, and it's over. There's no closure, no clear end to Waz's journey, no satisfactory conclusion to the ups and downs of a mostly amazing experience. It's as if, during the bombast of the big finish, Waz and his story realized they were the ones that no longer fit, and crept away, never to be heard from again.
This article appears in Feb 15-22, 2018.