Giffords Circus was founded by local Oxford lass Nell Gifford, who ran away to join the circus at age eighteen, before pausing to read literature at New College and then running straight back to the circus. She went on to work with some of the world’s finest (including the Chinese State Circus) before founding Giffords’ in 2000.
It feels somewhat incongruous to be writing a review of a circus, something far too cerebral for what is, by nature, such a visceral experience.
The main experience, to be precise, is a combination of wonder and dread. Despite this year’s ostensible theme - celebrating the flora and fauna of the English countryside - nailbiting moments come thick and fast - reminding us, perhaps, of the precarity, as well as the splendour, of the wild world.
The first stomach-churning moment comes when one of a pair of preying mantises seems to fall from their partner’s grip whilst swinging from a corde lisse high above our heads - before being caught on their friend’s foot. Most nervewracking, in my book, however, is Wily Mr Fox shooting balloons out of the mouth of Sally Henry Penny from his crossbow, before throwing knives at her on a spinning disc. For much of the show, and for this act especially, it is hard to shake the feeling that you are on the verge of witnessing a horrific accident (that, of course, never happens). The feeling is fully played up by the band, who, in some kind of twisted gallows humour, set the performance to the tune of the Bee Gees’ Tragedy. From where I’m sat it looks like Sally has the most terrifying job in the world but she doesn’t flinch, beaming ecstatically throughout.
We are also treated to The Newts, a nine-piece troupe clad in pink plastic leotards who specialise in hurling each other into the air to perform quadruple back flips, before catching them in their hands. Truly incredible stuff. Further breathtaking elements come from Rodney Rabbit and Squirrel Nutkin, the flying squirrel, who spins and throws rugs between each of her limbs whilst hovering in the air.
Providing light relief are Mole and Ratty, constantly interrupting the orations of the weaselly master of ceremony, pestering him for a spot on the bill and practicing their circus skills by throwing popcorn into (usually) willing audience mouths. Turns out, of course, they are virtuosos of both hula (ever seen someone hula hoop on their nose??) and of equilibrium, with Ratty incredibly managing to stand upside down on a pole being balanced on Ratty’s shoulder.
The finale begins with a giant red mechanical frame being hauled onto the stage, whose technical name, I later learn, is a Wheel of Death: two metal wheels joined together with a chunk of scaffolding and hinged to a pivot. Picture Isambard Kingdom Brunel teaming up with Heath Robinson to create a fairground ride for two giant antisocial hamsters and you are pretty much there.
An acrobat steps into one wheel and, using the weight of his own body, starts to turn it, jogging and flipping as it rotates round its axis. Another hops in, and the thing is soon moving at such a speed that their jumps inside the moving wheels appear to emulate the weightlessness of a floating astronaut. Before your breath has recovered, they are now out of their wheels clambering - and even skipping - on the outer surface of the spinning structure. Truly magnificent.
The band is incredibly versatile, taking us on an exhilarating tour of some of the country’s finest musical output, from Kate Bush, Madness, T Rex, Cornershop and Black Sabbath, to (natch!) English Country Garden and that one off The Archers (who knew it had another bit??). Meanwhile, the set is a piece of artful beauty in its own right, with the musicians nestled in a reedbed, lilypads providing handy podiums for dancing girls, and the hollow of a weeping willow serving as a bolt hole for the performers.
This is a traditional circus: no celebrities, no gimmicks, but just the finest in acrobatics, beautiful design, breathtaking choreography and physical comedy, put together with love and a clear passion for the artform. For the sheer thrill of watching the human body showcasing the outer limits of athletic skill, nothing beats it.