Review: Circa's Wolf kicks acrobatics into artful hyperspeed
At the intimate York Theatre, honed Aussie performers mix feral energy with a new level of circus sophistication
Wolf. Photos by Andy Phillipson
The Cultch presents Wolf at the York Theatre to October 18
BY NOW, VANCOUVER artsgoers know that Australia’s Circa takes circus arts to intricate heights, polishing atmospherically lit shows like Sacre and Duck Pond to a fine sheen. But its latest spectacle Wolf hits a new level of speed and sophistication—this time in stunning closeup, thanks to its first stint at the cozier York Theatre. That intimacy also enhances the work’s hungry, carnal vibe.
The complex game of predator and prey hits a breathless pace early, driven by DJ Ori Lichtik’s electro beats (the same musician who’s provided the pulsing club rhythms for dance artists Sharon Eyal and Gai Behar at Ballet BC). The troupe sustains the momentum, building to a kind of frenzied lupine ritual. On opening night, it brought the entire theatre to its feet for a rowdy standing O, with more than a few audience members letting loose with their best wolf howl.
Clad in costume designer Libby McDonnell’s second-skin nude-and-black bodysuits, a nonstop parade of figures appears and disappears behind a central rectangular backdrop—pulling off extreme acrobatic feats that flow endlessly into one another. Choreographer Yaron Lifschitz has outdone himself here, particularly in the array of eye-popping human towers. Some form before our eyes like elaborate, living totem poles; others are stacked with men but anchored by superhuman females; others tilt ever so slowly to the side, only to throw their members into gorgeous tumbling patterns across the stage.
There is spinning, warp-speed straps work and striking use of a trapeze, but much of the most stunning work is the inventive partnering. At one point, a woman whipsaws across the stage in front flips and lands in someone’s arms. Elsewhere, an artist supports her entire body horizontally with a single hand clamped to a guy’s shaved head.
Circa’s signature moments of humour are here, too: in one sequence, performers try to wedge their way between amorously embracing couples to increasingly absurd effect. And watch as a few artists give physically explosive new meaning to the idea of throwing yourself at someone.
As usual for Circa, its show is closer to top-flight contemporary dance than to anything by the likes of Cirque du Soleil. If you’ve come for sequins or storytelling, Wolf might not be your jam. Instead, this is a show with edge—a hypermobile visual artwork with kaleidoscopically shifting body sculptures, all underlaid with sexual hunger and themes of animal urges, pack mentality, and ever-shifting predator and prey dynamics.
Wolf is a purified shot of adrenaline, the finely honed acrobats fully locked in—glaring fiercely, sometimes baring their teeth, and throwing everything they’ve got at it. You could call it a well-oiled machine if it weren’t so rawly, ferociously human. 
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