Imagine a group of playgroup workers running a summer play scheme – getting coked up and deciding to break all the rules of health and safety – all in the cause of giving the kids a day they’ll never forget.
A dozen or so acrobats and gymnasts, diminutive, pretty and young, swing in to the Roundhouse, above the heads of the audience, on globes, inflatable whales and other devices, walking sideways, upside down, inside out, shouting, yelping and roaring for glee.
Ah! They’re so happy, so many smiles, such emotion, they epitomise the exuberance of youth.
They entreat the audience to move, to clap, to yelp, to dance. But don’t they know. This is London. And Londoners don’t dance! Instead, when beseeched, we wiggle our hips or shoulders, reluctantly, until the performers gaze moves on. As the performers’ gaze moves across the crowd so a Mexican wave, or perhaps a Mexican ripple of awkward movement passes through. Olé!
There’s water, baths, wind tunnels, rain, explosions and thousands of bits of paper.
This all goes on over the heads, amidst, through and at the side of the audience – stood up in the centre of the Roundhouse, and delighted to be herded around like sheep to fit the show.
What does any of this actually mean? Almost certainly nothing.
Are there any 20 to 35 year olds there? No, not in Camden at 5.30pm.
Is it mostly families, with granny in attendance, and couples and friends in their 40s and 50s and beyond? Yes.
Does the demographic inside the Roundhouse look a lot whiter than the demographic outside on Chalk Farm Road and Camden High Street? Yes. Is that a problem? No. Is that interesting? Yes. What does it tell us? Not sure.
But there’s drums, loud music and noise, noise, noise.
And smiles.
And at the end of the show, love and happiness on the faces of the acrobats.
All in all, like being hit in the head by a bullet.
Fuerzabruta Global at the Roundhouse in London, Camden. Saturday 10th August 2024.