Fast and Furious: La Soirée Comes To Town!

By Sophie Scott

We stood outside the white marquee, our expectations momentarily disappointed, memories emerging of the brightly panelled circus tents from childhood, as well as damp English-garden weddings. Oh, what fools we mortals be! Who’s Tardis has nothing on La Soirée’s Spiegeltent, the depths of which are home to wooden panelling, red velvet, polished mirrors – with just enough sense of spit’n’sawdust in the atmosphere to compliment the glamour.

Sitting ringside is thrilling. In front of us the fabled ‘small round red stage’ rests; above hover lights, rigging, trapeze swings. The MC takes to the mic, cameras – a dangerous distraction, here – are invited kindly to return to our bags, visits to the bar are encouraged. The Evening (do they exoticise the show’s title in France?) begins.

We’re led a marvellously merry dance, barely able to catch a breath as one act treads upon the previous’ heels, so fast they follow. ‘Are those muscles real? He’s wearing a bodysuit, right?’ I (stupidly) wonder, while The English Gents – Denis Lock and Hamish McCann – perform the most extraordinary acrobatic feats. The sheer, exuberant joy and warmth of Jess Love’s tap-dancing, rope-jumping, hoola-hooper is delightfully infectious. Ursula Martinez executes an act of such elegant wit – performing a striptease (so straightforward it’s almost an undressing), while repeatedly disappearing a red handkerchief. The downtrodden Marcus Monroe has me snorting with laughter and fear as he juggles sharp knives using only four of his senses. And never before have I wanted a woman to throw her shirt in my face, until Tanya Gagné hits the trapeze (thank you, Tanya!).

My guest commented – as we excitedly searched for our dropped jaws – “I hope they enjoy it,” because there is an element of the modern-day Gypsy/Sunset Boulevard cross, here. The front row is a privileged spot. We saw: the wrinkles, makeup, and holes in tights; the nods, squeezes, and flickers of communication; the absolute concentration, and the very real effort and talent. All fully-dressed with the broadest of smiles.

There was a lull halfway through the second act, when my laughter waned and enthusiasm deflated. Some acts didn’t capture me, others had the distinct whiff of filler, and belied the talent of the artists. Ursula Martinez and Jess Love, for example, are far better – more charming, more compelling, more witty – than this particular night’s cross-dressing, under-dressing routine allowed. If this was intended as a salute to Vaudeville of days gone by, it simply wasn’t necessary or successful.

That said, the evening is fun and funny, impressive and ridiculous – an incredible, thrilling spectacle. Several performers are sensational – words will fail to describe Hamish McCann’s astonishingly elegant pole routine, but Gene Kelly will be singing in the firmament, and I hope his widow, Pat Kelly, has seen this. Who cares whether royalty runs in your blood, when sweat and toil can produce such excellence. Go. Marvel. You won’t believe your eyes; you will feel good.

The acts performing on the night this review refers to, were: Puddles Pity Party, The English Gents, Jess Love, Scotty the Blue Bunny, Marcus Monroe, David and Fofo, Tanya Gagné, Asher Treleaven, Ursula Martinez, Jonathan Burns, Hamish McCann.

La Soirée's Spiegeltent is at the Southbank Centre's Winter Festival until 11th January. for more information and to book tickets, visit: http://www.la-soiree.com/.

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