Heka + Compline
Once I settled down to the stop/start format and the realisation that this was essentially a juggling show with a few magic skills thrown in for good measure, there was much to enjoy. The cast were strikingly dressed throughout, the sound and lighting design was perfect, as was the far-reaching choice of accompanying music.
festival
Billed as a show that reimagines magic, Gandini Juggling does itself a disservice, raising expectations that aren't exactly fulfilled. It's a great pity, as the show itself is a master class in what they do best - the clue is in the name - which is throwing things up in the air and catching them. I am, of course, being deliberately dismissive of a craft the company has honed to perfection since it was founded by Sean Gandini and Kati Ylä-Hokkala in the early nineties. I do so only because this production suggests the company is discontent with presenting their skills in their purest from, and instead has produced a show that seeks to broaden the definition of their trade to encompass, to quote Gandini, "composers, ballet choreographers, fashion designers, computer programmers, sound designers, set makers, and mathematicians”. What really sets Heka apart, however, is the integration of magic tricks, be they sleight of hand or straightforward illusion.
I can't overemphasise the word integration. At no point (actually there is one point, but I'll come to that later) does the action stop for a rabbit out the hat moment. On the contrary, illusion is seamlessly blended into the choreography of this show to the extent it frequently goes almost unnoticed. The opening sequence, featuring a table top of disappearing balls, reappearing hands and dislocated limbs, perfectly illustrates an abiding message. Juggling and magic, at least of this variety, are not so very different - both require astonishing dexterity and stage craft. As balls seemingly vanish we marvel at the skill with which they are handled, rather than puzzle where they have gone, just as we marvel at the ability to juggle those balls, or the multi-coloured hoops which follow.
Less successful was Sean Gandini's chats with the audience. Previously unfamiliar with the company I found his fourth wall break a bewildering hand-break halt to proceedings, and his cod philosophising a little tiresome. A victim of the brilliance of his fellow performers I wanted him off the stage as soon as possible, keen to enjoy whatever was coming up next. A cheekily inventive routine in shared stockings followed and perhaps I should cut him some slack. Was his wearisome banter, in hindsight, merely filler while the jugglers took a breather?
In any event, once I settled down to the stop/start format and the realisation that this was essentially a juggling show with a few magic skills thrown in for good measure, there was much to enjoy. The cast were strikingly dressed throughout, the sound and lighting design was perfect, as was the far-reaching choice of accompanying music. The patterns formed by their synchronised movements were mesmerising, one's eye flickering from one artist to another, the stage a canvas too broad to easily digest. I must have missed as much as I saw - I imagine the ease with which skills were displayed disguised just how clever these folk are.
In a show where magic was largely an adjunct to the spectacle offered, it's ironic that the one truly impressive trick - floating hoops - prove to be detrimental to the trajectory of the performance. I enjoyed it, and enjoyed trying and failing to work out how it was done, but in a show that so skilfully and subtly merged movement with magic, it felt curiously out of place. So did the guff about sock suspenders, but I shall air brush the misfires from my memory, leaving behind the three quarters of a show that was magical in all senses of the word.
Magical in quite a different way was the Compline at the Cathedral which followed. I bang on about this every year so I’ll just get it out my system now, but the festival's scheduling once again throws up infuriating clashes. As I write, I see that today there are four performances, all at the same time. Perhaps it's unrealistic to expect day time shows to be well attended, but can nothing be done to give punters the chance to see more than one show, particularly those of us travelling in from the Norfolk that is supposedly part of the remit? Arguably even more frustrating are instances where performances don't clash, but getting from one to the other is unnecessarily challenging. Determined to defy that challenge, I hot-footed from the Playhouse to the Cathedral in 15 mins, and was so glad I did.
Performed by the Senior Girl Choristers, Lay Clerks and Choral Scholars of Norwich Cathedral Choir, it feels a little crass to pass comment on what was, notwithstanding a billing as part of the festival, fundamentally a religious service. I can only say that, as a card-carrying atheist, I not only admired the artistry of Ashley Grote's direction of the hauntingly beautiful singing, but was genuinely moved by the contemplative serenity of the Cathedral setting. While we were treated to established works by Rachmaninoff and Holst, the choir's rendition of modern pieces from Jonathan Dove and Anna Lapwood were equally thrilling. It was a timely reminder that whilst differing religious philosophies can be the root of so such conflict in the world, faith can also result in art of almost inexplicable beauty.
