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It's hard to translate what exactly happens in a Cirque du Soleil show. Publicists use phrases like "a kaleidoscope world imbued with fantastical creatures" and an "adventure both absurd and extraordinary."
Absurd and extraordinary. Now, those two words, they could explain a lot about the mind- and body-bending contortions that pulse through "Varekai," a touring Cirque show scheduled for a Seattle-area premiere Thursday at Marymoor Park in Redmond.
The first time you see a millennium-old circus act called the Icarian Games, you think your mind is playing tricks on you. They could not possibly be doing what you think they're doing. Must be CGI. But, no, look again and it's right there: Roni Bello, one half of the family act, The Stevens Brothers, is throwing his brother, Stiv, up in the air. With his feet. And Stiv lands on his feet. Or he'll transform into a human seal, going round and round in consecutive flips as Roni lies on his back keeping him in motion with his feet.
They hold two Guinness World Records: one for 45 consecutive foot-juggling flips and another for 38 consecutive flips in 30 seconds.
As sixth-generation circus performers who've been training and traveling since they were kids, the Bellos' lives mirror what they do: perpetual motion.
"Varekai" translates to "wherever" in the language of the Gypsies, "universal wanderers" from which the show draws its inspiration. It's no wonder that Cirque attracts among its performers a fair number of nomads whose only real home is in front of an audience. More than 50 artists representing 14 countries are in "Varekai."
Drama and acrobatics. Two more words that describe the kind of fusion that takes place under the yellow-and-blue big top known as the Grand Chapiteau.
Traditional circus families like the Bellos perform side by side with recent converts such as Andrew and Kevin Atherton, twins who have made the transition from traditional gymnastics to daredevil artist-aerialists.
Cirque is one of those odd amalgamations of tradition and innovative evolution that continues to fascinate, even as it spawns six touring shows and five permanent installations (three in Las Vegas). In a world of CGI fantasia, it's refreshing to find out what can be done for real by live human beings, that we also are capable of the most seemingly impossible feats.
"Once we saw it, we knew we'd be hooked," said Andrew Atherton, one half of the 30-year-old pretty-boy Brit twins who catapulted from the world of medalist-class gymnasts to the looser artistic forum that is Cirque. "It was different. It was something we both really wanted to do, this act we dreamed of."
In part of the artistic technique that defines Cirque, the brothers were left alone to sort out working as a team for the first time.
"They left us and said, 'Go and play' to see what we could come up with," said Kevin. "There were a lot of fights."
It took about six months for their new employers to break the mold of the gymnasts, using movement and acting classes, as well as lessons in percussion and singing.
Even though they were used to being in the public eye at competitions, the duo found the interaction between performers and audiences through acting in a Tom Stoppard play.
In "Varekai," they're Castor and Pollux, the twins of mythology whose intertwined lives are given center stage during the second half of the show. Unlike the Icarus central character who falls into the forest, the twins achieve flight effortlessly.
"We have to be so synchronized," Andrew said.
"I trust my brother so much," Kevin added.
As newcomers to the circus scene, they're adjusting to the life by learning from their more experienced colleagues and living as much like locals as they can in each of their stops in between the eight to 10 shows they do a week. Since "Varekai" debuted in April 2002, they've traveled to 28 cities throughout Canada and the United States. They'd never been to the U.S. before that, and on this tour, Portland and Seattle are among their uncharted territory.
Roni and Stiv Bello also were new to the U.S., but not to the circus life.
"I don't see myself inside an office," Stiv said.
But they are businessmen and teachers of the Icarian Games who have evolved from the circuses of Europe, where their Italian accents don't give away any specific region since they traveled so much as children.
"In traditional circuses, you used to live in trailers and all meet together," Roni said.
"We do that as our life. For others, it's only an experience," Stiv said.
At Cirque, they all live in the same residential hotel, or in a few adjoining hotels depending on the city.
Roni said one thing about the act: He never gets bored.
"I'm always looking to do something else. The acrobatics are never the same," he said.
It's a craft that asks them to continually evolve. As Stiv said, "It's like music that never ends." Brother Roni adds, "Like a piece of jazz."
"When you go onstage, you're there for five or six minutes to show the best you've got to the audience," Stiv said. "That's a lot of pressure, and it's dangerous."
Despite that, when the lights go up, they're there with smiles on their faces, feet in the air.
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