Slava’s Snowshow

A little girl runs off, a lonely man stalks an empty bubble, and then we all get lost in this blizzard of little papers. Sounds like a litigious nightmare, but it’s only confetti, pummeling us as in a snow storm with relentless force.

Though the setting of SLAVA’S SNOWSHOW is midnight blue and their act suddenly turns to black when a giant monster enters, the youngsters among us remain perfectly still. Fear and human sadness so brilliantly line the faces of these clowns, that they carry our pains away, transgressing our ownership of misery or mayhem.

As true clowns, when they speak, it is only in nonsense syllables. And while their antics are sheerly childlike the music is remarkably sophisticated, ranging from the dark tones of the sax, to the swelling rhythms of Vangelis, the romantic orchestration of Beethoven, and the buoyant dance music of the samba. Songs merge with sound effects - the chirping of birds, a heartbeat, the howling of wind, trains – this intermingling of realities occurs as the clowns, all six of them, walk over our chairs and literally sweep us through the aisles. The human experience expressed here is hands on and the artistic medium is mime.

Connoisseurs of their craft, who having practiced it on the streets of Leningrad and in the theatres of the world, Slava and his clowns break down the barriers between us and them, drawing us into their world and their joie de vivre. Just like the infectious lyrics in Paolo Conte’s song, "It’s wonderful. It’s wonderful."

That’s This Week Off Broadway. I’m Isa Goldberg.