Slava’s Snowshow

There is a child inside all of us, but in today’s world we are loath to let that child out for fear it will be damaged, or even killed. Slava’s Snowshow caresses that inner child and reminds us how wonderful the worlds of wonder and imagination are. Though there was a large proportion of actual children, full of delight, at the opening night, it was the adults who were touched the most. The “oohs” and “aahs” and murmurs of astonished pleasure, as well as the unrestrained laughter from adults (many of whom were seasoned theatre-goers) were contagious and before long we found ourselves jumping from our seats to catch “snowflakes” – battling a giant spider’s web – playing “snowballs” in the auditorium and passing gigantic balls around as clowns danced along the back of our seats. It was sheer magic, an evening to treasure forever.

Clowns are a special breed; their success or failure relies on their ability to convey innocence and guilelessness even when behaving knowingly. It’s a dying art, and now we mostly get to see it on film through the likes of Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton, Jacques Tati and Norman Wisdom. The clown is larger than life, and yet stands outside of life, never part of the clan. When Slava Polunin founded his Theatre of the Art of Modern Clowning nearly 30 years ago, it was in the hope of preserving a dying art. But Slava’s style was deeper than mere comic pratfalls and slapstick. In the tradition of the greats he so admired, there were philosophical questions to be answered about the individual, and where he fitted in; and about the nature of imagination, and being part of something greater than the self. It’s an extraordinarily sophisticated approach which allows the show to work on a number of levels so that anyone of any age can find something to relate to. Who hasn’t imagined making a sail boat out of their bed and setting off to great adventures? Who hasn’t been afraid of what is under the bed, or a shark infested ocean which doesn’t exist. These clowns, through their perfectly physically portrayed insights, know our inner child better than we do ourselves.

It’s not surprising then that the laughter and joy the audience displays is borne out of empathy and delight. And when the mood turns poignant, as with “Slava’s” touching farewell to an overcoat on a hatstand, magic happens and we accept it without question. Slava no longer tours, but the legacy lives on. His clowns are beautifully trained and skilful performers. But more than that, they are the physical reminder to never take the world for granted; to live each day with a sense of wonderment. We are scarcely aware of lighting, props, sound and set, so caught up in this special world are we, and yet all of them are perfection.

With music as diverse as Concerto de Aranjuez, Jobim and Peter Gunn, the entire show was a feast for the senses and the imagination. We would all be better for seeing it. After all, what possible price can you put on sheer joy?

Coral Drouyn

Image (L–R) Bradford West, Robert Saralp and Nikolai Terentiev in Slava's SNOWSHOW.  Picture: John P. Harvey.

John P. Harvey, Jay McKee and David Spicer also reviewed Slava's Snowshow during its Canberra, Brisbane and Sydney seasons. Their reviews follow.

You know how sometimes you see your inner life, and perhaps everybody else’s, portrayed honestly on stage?  Clowning sometimes seems to be all about that: the big outer smile and the inner uncertainties and failures; the outer frivolity and the inner seriousness.  Taking clowning from its longstanding circus home to the theatre, Slava has provided a visually sumptuous opportunity for the clown to do some serious exploration of the pitfalls of being human, with hilarious results.

The clowns’ communication of deep insights, almost entirely physical, couldn’t be clearer—or funnier.  Add to these lovely moments props novel enough to entertain in themselves and participation you can’t (and won’t want to) escape, and you have a show that presents you with truly precious moments that you know you’ll remember for a long, long time.  The accidental removal by a clown of a nearby colleague’s bra is one such that I won’t easily forget.

The fantastic, as it appears in Slava’s SNOWSHOW, can remind us powerfully of why it’s great not only to be alive and human but also to be able to share the experience of wonder, creativity, freedom, cleverness, and upwelling joy.  And I’ve never seen an audience response like this.  But then, they were responding to comic ingenuity.  Merely to see one of the clowns interact with a coat on a hatstand was a privilege; but this show managed what performances before passive audiences rarely achieve: it brought the audience together into a single helpless bundle of laughs.  

See this show.  You’ll never forget it.

John P. Harvey

Jay McKee reviewed Slava's Snowshow in Brisbane.

To me, this is world’s best theatre: engrossing, enthralling and, because it is not dialogue-based, universally eloquent.

Those soft-fabric, reversible ‘walls’ that constitute the set can become whatever your residual-child’s imagination conjures. Likewise the ‘people’ in the mime performances. All are sad-faced clowns; occasional cheeky smiles belie their devilment. You may remember similar moments in your own games. The performance is recommended for children over eight. There are loud explosions in the dark, and fog and frightening light flashes, so it’s for ‘bigger kids’.

The success of this show depends heavily on more high-tech effects than you are likely to have seen before: faux snow all over the auditorium when you arrive and an abundance of it during the performance onstage and over you; likewise a barrage of skilfully lit bubbles; a massive spider web that engulfs the stalls area; and clowns climbing over you, opening umbrellas full of snow or sprinkling you with water.

Don’t be deceived by the Intermission sign and house lights up. You may go out for a drink or toilet break ̶laughing can leave you in that condition ̶but ‘green’ clowns continue to perform so people who return feel as though they have missed something. They have. (It’s your choice.)

Finally huge inflated balls are let loose on the audience. There is no formal ending, the clowns stay onstage until all the balls return to the stage. Some patrons are reluctant to leave.

In a word, stunning!

Jay McKee

David Spicer also reviewed Slava's Snowshow during its Sydney season. His review follows.

One of the worst jobs in theatre might just be having to clean up at the end of the season of Slava’s Snowshow. Imagine vacuuming up millions of pieces of plastic fake snow glued to every nook and cranny of a carpeted auditorium. I was told they don’t bother until it’s ankle deep at the end of the season.  A bit like cleaning up after a thousand children have had a free for all with feathered pillows.

This unbridled slapstick fun is enjoyed by the audience night after night. It includes an endless cobweb and giant out of control balls that miraculously can do no damage to the fragile lighting hardware of a theatre.  Most striking is the image of an exploding  blizzard that stays with you for years, after the memory of other nights in the theatre have faded in black.

Slava’s Snowshow is back in Australia for the fourth time, now with an established fan base.

Although it’s described as a work in progress and constantly changing, it doesn’t appear to developed a great deal since 2009. That doesn’t matter as the combination of physical theatre, classic clowning and poignancy is magical.

It starts, however, on a bleak note. The cold has made ‘Slava’ very depressed. Lest the night end rather early, an antidote is found in the form of a sight gag.

Now 63, Slava Polunin would get depressed having to do the same show on tour, around the world for twenty years.

The clown himself does not appear in this production – leaving the performance to his talented prodigies. So in a sense it is a ‘Slavaless’ Snowshow.

But let’s be kind as he is extremely busy working on no less than four new productions. We wait with relish his new creations.

David Spicer

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