Edinburgh Fringe dance and physical theatre reviews: Circa: Wolf | A Teen Odyssey | Pickled Republic + more

Circa: Wolf ★★★★★

Underbelly’s Circus Hub (Venue 360) until 23 August

The contemporary circus scene might be big and beautiful now, but back in 2004 when Circa first blew our minds, they were swimming in a very small pool. To see how this company has flourished 21 years later, proves that sometimes, justice is served.

Circa: Wolf | Andy Phillipson

Not only is the Brisbane-based company back at the Fringe this year, but they’re also appearing at the Edinburgh International Festival in Orpheus and Eurydice. Keeping things fresh and exciting for audiences around the world is a heavy responsibility for artistic director, Yaron Lifschitz - but one which he rises to time and again.

On this occasion, he was inspired by the parts of ourselves that can’t be tamed. Wolf takes this wild, ferocious animal and gives it human form, wrapped up in Libby McDonnell’s cleverly designed tight-fitting costumes. Abstract patterns of brown and black give a wolf-like vibe without a hint of parody. Whether the performers are prowling the stage alone or hunting as a pack, there is a sense of the animal about them.

Even the aerial work, usually known for its ethereal beauty, has an angular, gnarly quality with jerking bent limbs rather than graceful extensions. While a routine reminiscent of a gymnastic floor display has canine blood pumping through its veins.

But then Lifschitz has always looked for new ways to do largely the same thing, as is the task of all circus troupes. Now that everyone is doing gravity-defying throws, gasp-inducing people towers, and weight-bearing that brings a tear to the eye, it’s the artistry that sets companies apart. Which is something Circa has always had in spades, and keeps them at the top of their game.

In between the remarkable feats of dexterity, bravery and brute strength (of both the men and the women), brief pockets of creative movement gel the piece together. Breathing as one pack, their bodies swell and contract in time with DJ Ori Lichtik’s primal beats. And meaningful stares out to the audience suggest we might be their next meal.

Kelly Apter

A Teen Odyssey ★★★★

Summerhall (Venue 26) until 25 August

A lack of understanding between teenagers and adults is the cause of many a fractious family moment. For although every parent has the experience of adolescence tucked away as a memory, coming of age in one era can be very different to the next.

Yet, whether you’re a boomer, millennial, or a member of Generations X or Z, we all carry many of the same hopes and fears.

Majorcan physical theatre company La Mecànica set out to explore this notion in A Teen Odyssey, a highly engaging interactive promenade piece centred around our smartphones. On arrival, we download a bespoke app via a series of QR codes pinned to the wall - each one tailored to the period of time in which we were born. In a bid to know us better, an algorithm poses a series of questions, and from then on, our phones dictate our every move.

Instructions flash up on the screen or are spoken, as we navigate the space and each other. Video clips capturing life for teenagers in the 1950s through to present day will bring moments of nostalgia for those who lived them, points of interest for those who didn’t.

We’re encouraged to look at each other and consider what life might be like for the people surrounding us. Fun tasks, such as finding other people in the room with the same animal on screen as you have, bring us together physically. While moving testimonials from teenagers past and present connect us emotionally. As does the touching father/daughter relationship portrayed by the two performers.

By the end, it’s become clear that even if we’re all in danger of falling into the generation gap at one point or another, there is always more that unites us than divides us.

Kelly Apter

Pickled Republic ★★★

Summerhall (Venue 26) until 25 August

Ruxandra Cantir’s incredible physical presence announces itself from the first second of this surrealist solo show. Wrapped inside stretchy red fabric, topped by a large green stem, she is the embodiment of a tomato. Finding herself the last one in the jar, she lives in vain hope each time the fridge door opens that today she’ll finally meet her destiny and be eaten.

With this wonderfully bizarre opener, Pickled Republic sets out its stall. This is a world where fruits and vegetables speak and have recognisable human emotions.

Each costume change heralds a new friend for us to meet and warm to, including a potato working as a hilarious cabaret singer, a proud new mother carrot breastfeeding her young baby, an onion beat poet, and a hyper-masculine gherkin dancing to pounding beats in his sharp green suit.

There is certainly much humour to be found in the anthropomorphic treatment of food, and the combination of Cantir’s natural ability and director Shona Reppe’s keen directorial eye bears dividends. Yet so often, the show feels as if it’s heading towards deeper, more meaningful territory, only to stop short of actually saying something potent.

Kelly Apter

Panoptikum ★★★

Zoo Southside (Venue 82) until 10 August

Nothing quite captures the evolution of humour like the cruel exploitation of 19th century travelling shows. People once flocked in their thousands to laugh at the so-called ‘freaks’, which is anathema to our modern sensibilities.

Created by award-winning Czech choreographer, Lenka Vagnerová, Panoptikum recreates some of the unique individuals such shows put on display, then strips away the facade to reveal the human beneath the forced smile.

Governed by a villainous showmaster, this beleaguered band of players deliver their routines with aplomb. From conjoined twins applying each other’s make-up, to a bearded lady, conjurers, knife tricks and a particularly poignant moment when the crowd mocks somebody suffering from elephantiasis.

A huge amount of technical aptitude has gone into this production, so hats off to the eight talented dancers who have added a new set of skills to their CV.

Magic tricks and illusions are expertly executed, and good use is made of a myriad of elaborate costumes and props. A few more moments of levity in amongst the darkness would have been welcome, as would some editing, but the performers’ final act of rebellion is wonderfully redemptive.

Kelly Apter

Solitude Without Loneliness ★★

Dance Base (Venue 22) until 10 August

The notion that we can enjoy our own company without being lonely is a topic ripe for exploration. Sadly, although this new work has no shortage of energy, it barely scratches the surface.

A choreographed opening holds promise, but from there it segues into drawn-out sequences that do little to serve the premise.

A blind date (complete with the TV theme tune) at a French restaurant lacks vocal projection and comic direction. While a potentially funny meta moment, when they attempt to sell their own show with flyers, could make a much bolder statement about how we value art.

Kelly Apter

Nüshu: Written for Her, on Her, by Her ★★★

C ARTS | C venues | C aquila (Venue 21) until 10 August

With barely audible narration, this piece centring around a secret language used by women in China (Nüshu) sometimes feels in danger of becoming a victim of its own theme.

Writer/performer Jiayi Chen leads an ensemble cast, their bodies encased by the swirling fans and fabric, as they twirl through time to tell the stories of Jiayi’s childhood, growing up in East Asia, her grandmother’s life with Alzheimer’s Disease and the missing and forgotten women married for money of simply disappeared.

It’s the latter that resonates strongest, with Chen’s simply spoken words filled with the very real tension of speaking out. If the atmospheric but at times overpowering string music, chimes and recorded singing could be turned down a notch and the projection of the narration turned up, the piece might shine as brightly as the lotus lamp glowing at the front of the stage.

But with fluid choreography, imaginative direction and defiant distillation of stories stripped down into simple stoic sadness, the mood is hauntingly melancholic. When Chen paints each of our hands with the scripted characters, it connects us with the women who have used them to talk to one another for hundreds of years.

It’s a memorable and quietly powerful conclusion, perhaps because of what you can’t hear, rather than what you can.

Sally Stott

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