A Line in the Dust

1400 people collectively gasped as an exceptionally fit young woman flew into the air. Hands and feet free, the only thing connecting her to a lifeline was her own hair. The crowd roared, and then were again silenced as she dazzled above the arena, weaving in and out of contorted positions. 

I turned to my children, teens now really, they were transfixed. Their faces glistening in the reflected mottle light of circus wonder. 

I’d seen this expression before. And I’d felt it, worn it myself as my own father had looked at me.

Circus performers have been entertaining us for centuries. Their ‘death defying’ feats have kept us on the edge of our seats desiring more and more.

But is a dangerous thrill, the smell of the popcorn and the risk of a sideshow really theatre? What IS theatre if it isn’t purely fun? Where is the line on the dusty floor? And should there be a line at all?

There’s been a lot of talk about a skinny little actor’s comments about the irrelevance of ‘high art’ like ballet and opera recently. Apparently ‘no one cares’ for them anymore. He’s obviously been walking a tight rope since, but his comments do draw parallels to the way in which circus has been high-hatted in artistic circles for some time.

Stereotypically seen as money-grubbing tricksters who are conning you out of a quick buck, I don’t think their carnival history has done them any favours. Neither has the fact that some of the first performers in Australia were convicts. They invariably came from underprivileged backgrounds, fell foul to the law and were flung to the colonies.

But I don’t think anyone can deny their hard work.

It’s safe to say that their act IS their life. Many put their life in the hands of their act. And they often do it from a very young age.

Years ago we took the kids to the traveling Circus Royale in Nowra. We’d heard about the motorbike Globe of Death and thought it would be good old fashioned fun for our 4 year old boy to see. 

It was loud…and damn scary. 

But it took an even more incredible turn when a child, not much bigger than my own son, rounded the ring on a mini-bike and prepared to enter the metal cage with his elders. 

I think my heart stopped. ‘Death defying’ takes on a new meaning when children are on show.

But this dance on wheels had obviously been rehearsed to the second. Every grunt, every slide intricately choreographed so there were no mistakes.

Something I always observe and admire about the circus is the guardianship. There’s always someone standing by - watching, counting, a calm hand on the back of a landing trapeze, a firm grip on ties and locks and pulleys. They nod when the job is done and quietly smile at the crowd’s response. 

There’s a comradery in courage. A community in caretaking.

And I think it lingers in the air and flies over the crowd, pulling us in.

Bauke Lievens in his essay on ‘Dispelling the Myths of Circus’ says that “the switch between belief and disbelief generates an experience of magic.” He believes that the mix of real hard work and the unreal feeling of fear it conjures in audiences is “one great, delightful paradox.”

He’s right. They know how to get us to suspend our disbelief like no other performer. Suspended mid-air, twirling on a silk in a shiny red leotard, smiling from ear to ear. All the while flexing every muscle in their body and not even breaking a sweat. 

But some audiences would argue that they gain nothing from the circus.

Circus is the glittering epitome of entertainment for entertainment’s sake.

It doesn’t seek to change our thoughts or feelings or behaviour. It isn’t written with moving storytelling that reflects social constructs and insights provocative ideas. 

In fact, the circus was originally born in spite of these things.

These rebellious upstarts who gave half price tickets to children and employed the ‘unusual’ were not willing to communicate and reiterate the moral values of the upper classes. They knew that fun for the sake of it was essential. They presented a relief from the every day; from class systems and bigotry, from hatred and fear of ‘the other.’ They were Romantics, as Lievens states, who longed to “return to spontaneous creativity and inspiration in an otherwise corrupt world.” 

And they still are.

Yes, it’s important to see plays that make us question our world and ourselves. Art CAN make change.

But there IS value in letting all of that go. In dropping the safety net and simply holding out your hands, soaring on high.

There’s a freedom to weightlessness.

And when you land, the line is kicked away with the dust.

And you’re left with a glistening smile reflected in the mottled light of circus wonder.