Ridiculous, Thy Name is Kooza

Cirque du Soleil always comes to Vancouver every other year or so, and I've never really paid attention to it because the circus never really appealed to me. But my mom got an insider deal for tickets a couple months ago and I figured I might as well go and check it out. I brought Hannah out to go see Kooza on the weekend, and I'm not sure what I expected but the stuff I saw just blew my mind. I knew some people who had seen Cirque shows in Las Vegas and they all said the shows were really good, but I guess I didn't believe them and as a result, I looked like an idiot trying to keep my mouth closed throughout the show because it was just that ridiculous. It was extremely uncool of me. So to keep you guys nice and prepared for your Kooza experience, I'll go over a few things.

According to their website, Kooza goes back to the roots of Cirque du Soleil through two long-standing circus traditions of acrobatics and the art of clowning. Seeing as how this was my first Cirque show, this meant nothing to me, but I suppose I can appreciate a solid tradition. I definitely saw how that was true in the show. Kooza is a story about a loner (the Innocent) who is pleasantly surprised (to put it mildly) when a mysterious package arrives for him and is taken away into the world of the Trickster. What happens after is a result of the Innocent's subconscious as he tries to find his place in the world. I couldn't do an analysis of the narrative even if I tried, so I'll spare you that and go straight into the awesome stuff. I'm not sure if this is what other Cirque shows are like, but Kooza intersperses the crazy acrobatic acts with comedic interludes that help keep the jaws of the audience from unhinging like a snake. The comic relief parts were really great and really funny and some of the stuff they did was really unexpected, but it was the acrobatic stuff that was really ridiculous. All of the acrobatic stuff inspired some degree of wtf-ness, from the contortionist at the beginning right through to the teeterboarding at the very end.

There's a common trait of people to leave the best for last whether it be for a TV show finale (although sometimes not true), or for the set of a performing band, or even just finishing your vegetables before getting on to the good part of dinner. Even though we expected the performers to save the best for last, the stuff they did was just plain fucking ridiculous. The Charivari act, for instance, consisted of people balancing on balls and other people doing jumps and stuff that boggled the mind. For their last act, they had a guy balancing on a ball, hold another ball above his head, which then had another person balancing on top of that. And the Death Wheel thing, which looks like a ride at Playland minus the seat harness and the safety enclosure...I don't even know where to start to describe the utter ridiculousness of it all. For starters, you have a guy running on one end, making the Death Wheel go around and around very fast, and then you have the other performer jump onto the other end of the Death Wheel, not when it is at its slowest, but when the Wheel is spinning very fast, and then to top it all off, he goes outside his ring and plays with a fucking skipping rope while the Wheel is spinning. Like I said, ridiculous.

I've been lucky enough to go see a few live performances of things like concerts and musicals and plays and stuff, but I can't say I've seen anything else quite like Kooza. I've certainly never offended the lady I was sitting beside so much - I must've dropped the f-bomb more times in those three hours than she probably hears in a year. You can ask her, she can vouch for my amazement.

The Rhythm, The Rebel

One of the most interesting collective goals of our culture is the old and long-lasting pursuit of "cool". Reaching the status of cool is considered by many to be one of the most distinguished designations that can be attained, yet this status is not permanent and what was once considered cool can quickly become "last year". Some people may argue that maintaining cool is even more difficult than attaining it. So how do things maintain their coolness? And what exactly is "cool"?


The short answer to the first question is that they don't. Think about it - how many people still wear bell-bottom jeans with platform shoes? Or cheer for the Vancouver Grizzlies? Or still think Nickelback is really great? No one really does. But then if you think about it some more, wouldn't people who wear these things, cheer for these teams, and like this music be kind of cool, since cool is a kind of rebellion against the mainstream? And if you think about that some more, didn't all of these things use to be the mainstream?

The essence of cool, and the main reason so much time is spent chasing it, is its representation of both individualism and belonging. When a person has something that is cool, they are both elevated from others who don't have it, and included into the group who do. In a musical context, people who understand The Rhythm can make sense of the rest of the music and can share this experience with others who also get it; those who don't understand it can't experience it the same way. The Rhythm is both mainstream and independent, conservative and radical.


The Rhythm is the Rebel is about things we like that used to be cool at some point or another. While we recognize that liking something that nobody else likes is cool in its independent way, we also recognize that these things used to be liked, and we may not be as cool as we thought. Whatever it is, whether it be some past-its-prime musical act, obscure athlete, or something else that used to be cool, it'll probably be given another (usually undeserved) moment under the spotlight.

There might also be some basketball talk and other stuff occasionally.