BARNUM THE CIRCUS MUSICAL - AT THE ARTS
Who was the greatest showman of them all? Burnham or Barnum? It has to be the latter. P. T. Barnum was a pioneer in offering circus spectacle to a fun-hungry audience in mid-19th-century America. He was the god of things both big and small: the largest circus elephant was not called ‘Jumbo’ for nothing; the smallest man was ‘General’ Tom Thumb; and then there was the world’s oldest woman – though that particular attraction owed rather more to showbiz fib than biological fact.
Barnum was the archetypal entrepreneur in an age fascinated by curiosities, and his larger-than-life life reached the stage in Barnum: The Circus Musical in the early 1980s. With a very decent – indeed, distinctly hummable – score by Cy Coleman (he of Sweet Charity) and lyrics by Michael Stewart, the offering at the Arts had feet tapping and jaws dropping. This last physiological response was prompted by some of the most spectacular circus antics I have ever seen on a Cambridge stage.
The large cast includes a live on-stage band, marching, forming and reforming into ensembles, rarely still for a moment, alongside a troupe of astonishing acrobats and contortionists. With choreography by Oti Mabuse, one could reasonably expect terpsichorean fireworks – and we got them. This is a show of innumerable short scenes, each seemingly carrying another big, brassy song, ever-changing costumes, beefy singing and breathtaking circus-nastics.
Matt Rawle plays Barnum with a cheeky grin, boyish relish and apparently unbounded energy. He can sing, dance and act, and dominates the stage whenever he is on it – which is most of the time. He is more than brilliantly supported by Monique Young as Barnum’s canny wife, the steadying presence beside this supercharged livewire through thick and lots of thin. Jonathan O’Boyle’s direction is relentlessly energetic, combining vivid colours, razzamatazz lighting and almost perpetual movement.
If I have a caveat, it is that Barnum himself is very thinly drawn. We learn little about what formed him and, whatever adversity comes his way, he seems able to shake it off with a smile, a song and a dance routine. Consequently, it is difficult to care very deeply about Barnum’s progress or the people around him: just as we begin to glimpse the man behind the showman, another brass band, somersault or chorus line arrives. But what the show lacks in theatrical depth, it gains in breathless momentum and an unshakeable determination to entertain at all costs. And this it does, in spades.
This feels like a money-no-object production, with a huge cast and an insatiable appetite for spectacle. Set aside anything approaching dramatic profundity and what remains is a show with a three-ring-circus heart and a roof-raising score. No song, it seems, is allowed to be sung unless accompanied by some incredible feat of acrobatics – think Cirque du Soleil with songs.
And in a week following that major solar event, there are very few shows that could eclipse this musical for sheer energy and visual spectacle.
Photo credit: Pamela Raith
