Review – Papillon

If the Romans had it right, all we need in life is bread and circuses. I had a sandwich before seeing circus-cabaret mash-up Papillon and was thus halfway to a fulfilling life. That’s about as close as I got.

The Wonderland Spiegeltent down at Docklands is a nightmare to get to at 7pm but if ever there was a space to make you look cooler than you really are, it’s the booths around the edges of this tent. Come here, impress a date with the ambience.

But you won’t impress your date with the show. Let me give you a run-down of everything that happens (spoiler warning for anyone reading this before 1901): some men balance on things that men find difficult to balance on in positions men find difficult to balance in. Some women balance on other women in poses that are inherently antithetical to that goal. Objects are made to balance on each other when their doing so seems superficially unlikely. Forgettable karaoke. People jump in the air. Someone jumps on broken glass. That last one was mildly alarming. All of these should have been alarming.

But I didn’t really care about any of the performers. I didn’t buy into their stories, I didn’t get to know them, worse, I didn’t feel they felt it. When you’re spinning through the air over my head I should be thinking “My god she’ll be killed!” and I can’t if the character you’re showing me died long, long ago.

Papillon was poorly lit, primarily in too-bright washed-out pink, and was costumed and presented with no real themes or ideas. The feats of skill and daring were impressive, but executed with the supreme skill and focus of athletes, not the imagination and flair of artists.

This is all bread, and no circus.