Cirque du Soleil:  Chameleon-like Corteo returns to Cirque’s Vaudeville roots

The last time Cirque de Soleil wedged its eponymous whale of a tent under the Marquam Bridge in Portland was two years ago, in April 2006. That incarnation of the internationally traveling circus, “Varekai”, was a phantasmagorical, flight-inspired ode to that famous doomed Greek Icarus. The circus of “Varekai” picked up where the myth leaves off, hypothesizing just where Icarus fell after that fateful turn too close to the sun: a lush tropical paradise near a volcano, apparently, where a menagerie of exotic creatures teach him to “fly” again. Dominated by outrageously feathered, sparkled, and spiked amphibian costumes, the show featured green lizard women swinging from the ceiling hanging backwards from hoops, winged dancers leaping and soaring across the deep set on long strands of gauzy rope, all lit by splotches of turquoise and teal as if in a carnivorous tropical bog.

The show’s latest manifestation, Corteo, backs away from the outrageous jewel-toned costumes and famous mythological origin of “Varekai” to re-envision its origins as a cosmopolitan circus of the world, drawing from the improvisational, stock-character stuffed commedia dell arte of 16th century Italy, courtly theater from Elizabethan England, American vaudeville, marionette sketches and over-the-top gags left over from Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Traveling Freak Show, set to such disparate music as Irish jigs and Spanish flamenco with a smattering of whiny French violin. To Cirque’s credit, it is a truly eclectic smorgasbord of sampling.

The back story behind Corteo is simple and sweet—an old clown has died and must now be ushered into heaven by a cavalcade of his old performing buddies: acrobats, gypsies, gymnasts, clowns, jugglers, trapeze artists, ladder-climbers, hoop-throwers, contortionists, and even a tiny midget couple. As the show unfolds, the clown’s old troupe performs memories from his childhood and runs through its old gags and tricks for one last show for the old man.

In one of the show’s most dynamic early sequences, drawn from the clown’s childhood, several acrobatic performers bounce between two “beds” with trampolines for mattresses, twirling and flipping and bouncing over and around each other to a joyful musical number, before the angry Ringmaster intercedes, cracking his whip and telling the misbehaving acrobat “kids” to go to bed.

In another eye-popping acrobatic display, two muscled acrobats take turns jumping on opposite ends of a teeter-totter, propelling each other progressively higher into the air with each jump. By the end of the routine, both men are doing double back flips and twisting layouts across the teeter-totter, sometimes crossing mid-way through the air, and always landing perfectly on one end or another.

In between major skits, solitary performers perform little skits. A clown climbs up a giant rickety ladder using only the movement of his body for balance, kicking unbelievably into a handstand at the top—20 feet above the floor and no safety harness. A “Spanish” tightrope walker as high up rides across the line on a unicycle then ditches the unicycle and walks back across swinging 20 red and gold hoola-hoops around her abdomen. A muscled woman wearing a shiny blue leotard climbs up and down a long gauzy rope with another acrobat, who then lets go of the ropes and hangs high above the stage, suspended only by a grip on her long ponytail.

For visual impact, it’s less of a punch than “Varekai,” with smaller stunts and more typical circus costumes—jester outfits, flowing pants and floppy hats. And while several little vaudeville skits interspersed with the high-energy gymnastics routines and contortion stunts keep the show feeling grounded, on a couple of occasions they fall completely flat, like a tired midget mini-show (okay, we get it, they are small and squeaky) and a gag involving a disappearing human golf ball.

The pure athleticism and acrobatics of its performers are no less impressive, however, and one stunt was both truly bizarre and utterly unexpected. About halfway through the show, the tiny midget acrobat Valentyna floats onto the stage, lifted only by five big helium balloons that almost entirely support her weight. As she floats over the stage and out over the audience, she bobs up and down like a half-deflated Mylar balloon, caught in a limbo between floating away and sinking slowly to the ground. It’s fantastic and weird, a meeting of the old (the classic midget gags) and the unexpectedly new (those spectacular, freakish, globular balloons). “Corteo” could be said to suffer from a similar predicament, caught in an uncertain middle ground between the stagy old traditions of circus theater, its clowns and its midgets, and the truly futuristic athleticism and innovation of Cirque’s unbelievable stunts and designs.

Until April 12. Student tickets available for $31. Go to cirquedusoleil.com for more information.

(Edited on April 1, 2008 to match its print version.)