Chris Eldon Lee reviews Slava’s Snowshow, which is at Birmingham Hippodrome until Saturday 15th November
Slava’s Snowshow has been touring the world for around a decade now – and most of the riotous audience at Birmingham Hippodrome knew exactly what to expect – except me! Consequently I was literally blown away by it – by the wide-eyed magic, wonderful comedy and the gale force blizzard that swept through the stalls.
Half a century ago, Slava Polunin was famously turned down by the Leningrad Theatre Institute because his diction wasn’t up to scratch. Instead he turned himself into a Russian clown and mime artist and he and his troupe have never looked back. They’re in worldwide demand and their UK Christmas tour began in Birmingham.
This is no circus slapstick show. It’s a comedy without words, a ballet without dance; a sequence of gently moving tableaux laden with grace, humour and pathos. Each idea creates diametrically contrasting emotions. I’d never seen anything quite like it.
A red nosed, red-slippered, ageing clown walks on with a noose around his neck. He tugs and tugs at his long rope, trying to find the other end; only to discover it too is a noose, round the neck of another clown. You want to laugh and weep in the same moment.
Gradually his gang of green gabardined fools arrive; wearing winged hats and huge flapping feet. They move slowly about the stage with keen intent. Every gesture generates a laugh. They are ridiculous, simple and elegant, as they gently toy with our imaginations.
A red bedstead and white sheet becomes a ship, rolling roughly in a sea of smoke. Another clown, with his belly on a skateboard and a dark fin on his back, circles the shipmates, weighing up his lunch. It’s simultaneously sinister and hilarious.
The show oscillates from tiny, bittersweet, solo vignettes to huge arena effects.
In a moment of sophisticated street theatre, Slava plays coyly with his own arm as if it belongs to a stranger. It’s a simple street artist stunt really, but in the controlled environment of a proper theatre, its impact is side-splitting. And when he deigns to speak, it’s in completely comprehensible gibberish.
The big, set pieces really are big. What at first looks like a harmless wisp of candyfloss, grows and grows until it envelops the entire audience in a white cobweb the size of Wembley. And when the blizzard finally comes – billowing ferociously off the stage right into our faces – it brings with it awe and joy.
I’m not spoiling it by telling you all this. I feel perfectly comfortable describing the show so closely, because no mere words can do it justice.
Suffice to say, the whole evening is like one huge Christmas.