"That," said my companion as the lights went up, "That was weird." And she was right. The show we had just seen was weird - delightfully, deliciously, spectacularly and gorgeously weird. We had just seen "O" - the extraordinary Cirque du Soleil production. It was my second time. And I was just as captivated this time as I had been originally.
The joy of the show is at many levels. In the Program, O is described as an homage to the theater. But just as theater is always more than the story that is directly told, this is so much more, as well. Because the show might just as well have been described as delving into the theater of the mind, the circular, dark and colorful places that we explore only in dream life and in times of openness to the unconscious. The show is about the elemental - water, fire. It is about more: Color, light, perception. It is about creativity, athleticism and skill. It is all amazing.
We are introduced to this world of possibility with the throwing back of the scarlet curtains. No, they aren't thrown, seemingly alive, they fly apart, passionate scarlet silk, dancing, diving across the stage into the wings. But actually our introduction began earlier. With the clowns, yes - because this still is a circus. But then with the presence of the scarlet-coated, well, who are they? Courtiers? They look uniform, formal, of another time and place, and they move in elegant, rigid unison. They are bewigged, wearing tailored scarlet coats that, during dance and flight, may fall open to reveal black stockings and garters. The courtier meets the show girl? But it is not that simple: It is not erotic, but it is unexpected, like so much about "O," it is puzzling.
No matter the costumes, though they are compelling, the audience is summoned to attention by these figures. It is one of the courtiers who spreads incense, swung in an incense burner as would be used in a religious ceremony. With the audience thus cleansed, anointed, there appears a whip-cracking character and a laughing ballerina to escort us into the depths. It is confusing, disorienting, tantalizing. And the red courtiers? Still we wonder, "Who are they?" It is not clear if they are male or female. It doesn't matter. Throughout the experience they participate in the events: They fly, they ride horses, they move across the stage. At times they seem to provide visual and emotional continuity, grounding the audience, a formal, scarlet structure linking us with the characters, linking our conscious with our unconscious.
Nothing is as it seems. A man sits quietly engulfed in flames as he reads the newspaper. The expected never occurs. Sitting at the edge of the pool, one waits for water to be splashed on him, for him to jump in. For there has to be some safe rescue from the almost unbearable fear that he will be burned. But instead, he quietly, calmly, interminably picks up his chair and ambles off the stage. Sometimes we remain in the fire.
And then there is the water. The title, "O," is taken from the sound of the French word for water, and in homage to the visual similarity of the letter to infinity, the sense that there is no beginning and no end. The water is a character: It is deep, it is shallow, it is a net of safety, it is engulfing. It is the place from which life emerges, and it is the place into which life descends. Under the water there is a team of mostly unseen characters, black wet-suited divers, providing air for the performers, but who are seen for a few moments as they beach themselves, like black, primal frogs, waving their flippers playfully in the air.
Characters emerge from the waters, float and dance in them, play, swim and dive into them, and display the extraordinary capacity of the human body to move, bend, contort into beautifully elegant and breathtaking positions. And as we all eventually will, characters descend into the blue void, slowly, unexpectedly, quietly. The characters doff their street clothes, which are collected by an efficient, apron-wearing maid. When she is finished, she slowly pushes her clothing-filled cart and she, and it, quietly descend into the waters. The piano player - and the piano - similarly descend. It sounds laughable and yet in some strange way it is moving.
The show asks a lot of us. Put aside your linear thinking, it asks. No it demands. Give yourself over to the mysteries of the unconscious, the irrational, the beautiful, the grotesque, the elegant, the frightening. Let yourself be immersed, visually, emotionally, in the waters, in the light, in the color and in the choreographed randomness of it all. Horses fly and so do humans. Be awestruck. Laugh. Be moved. Be curious. Be repelled. Be frightened. Be engaged. Be open. Just don't be closed. Because to be closed is to miss so much of what the performers are generously giving.
It is an immensely generous production. Generous in its physical beauty. The costumes, colorful, gorgeous works of art, engineered to withstand twice nightly immersion in chlorinated water. The performers, generous in their feats of daring, exquisitely elegant, sensuous, strong, confident. Their feats of coordination in the air, in the water, on the stage, are breathtaking. The story - no, the lack of a linear story - is generous in its invitation to put aside assumptions about the everyday world, the day world, the world of light and reason, and to descend into the world of darkness, possibility, chance, the irrational, the passionate, the curious, that which cannot be understood, drives, fears. That which lives within all of us, but which we usually cannot or do not wish to acknowledge, let alone engage in conversation or dance. The show: A Rorschach test for the audience.
The Program articulates the invitation into the darkness: Of the characters it asks, first - Who will we play with? And more than that, more deeply, Who will we be? What masks will we wear? The Courtesan? The Jester? What, of ourselves, is revealed, is challenged, is stirred in this journey?
So, yes, my companion was right: O is weird. But it is so much more. And it is more than just an athletically compelling show (though that it certainly is). O provides a two hour period, in the sanctified space of the theater, to accept or decline the invitation to let ourselves go and submerge ourselves in fantasy, in this journey into the theater of the unconscious.
I still think about O. I look at the gorgeously produced Program. I realize that part of the power of O for me was that it came at a time when I was seeking validation for giving voice to my own creativity and imagination, for submerging myself in the creative process. Talk about serendipity and timing. The show came to me just at the time when I might be most open to its journey at all its levels. I was ready to accept the generous invitation from the characters to play, to be embraced by creativity and passion, and to be reminded that such an endeavor is worthy.
The image at the top of this entry is not from O. But he (or she) is from another place that invites us to be immersed in creativity and mystery: Venice at Carnivale. It turns out that Venice apparently did provide some inspiration for some artistic aspects of the show. So, the Jester smiles and extends an invitation to play. I will accept the generosity of the invitation. And, of course, I will continue to wonder about the mysteries of scarlet courtiers in garters.
