Review by Steve Bennett

Truth is, much of what they do is as old as theatre itself – acrobatics, sword-swallowing, trapeze stunts and the like – proving that eccentric human feats never truly go out of fashion.

Decking the room out in blood-red velvet and dimly flickering chandeliers, La Clique’s designers have created an air of sophisticated decadence, a sultry atmosphere made all the more sweltering by the seductively rasping voice of chanteuse Camille O’Sullivan.

We’re five storeys up in a faceless concrete building, but it quickly feels as if we’re subterranean, in some illicit Montparnasse opium den frequented by louche Edwardian messieurs seeking naughty but sophisticated thrills.

Some of the acts play up to this languid underground ambience perfectly. Miss Behave, one of only two female sword swallowers in the world, comes across as a drunken, hedonistic Dietrich; Yulia Pikhtina hoola-hoops like a lithe poledancer would; and Ursula Martinez flirtatiously disrobes throughout her sinful magic act. Let’s just say that by the end, you can be sure she’s got nothing up her sleeve.

The shocking thing about the nudity is that it’s not done to shock or to provide empty titillation, as the worst burlesque knock-offs do. The role of a steamy nightclub entertainer, as the cliché goes, demands it.

But this is no gentlemen’s club. Straight women and gay men are catered for, too. La Clique’s poster boy is the athletic David O’Mer whose spectacular showstopper involves unique acrobatics involving leather straps and a bathtub. It must be theatre’s only sexually charged pas de deux between a man and an item from the B&Q catalogue. And be assured this is no dry humping, as the plastic sheeting laid out to protect the front row attests.

Sexiness is never off the agenda here – it’s what the audience want, as amply demonstrated by The English Gents, a gymnastic double act who strike a series of seemingly impossibly-balanced poses while in pinstripe suits and bowler hats and carrying a brolley. Each of which is greeted by politely impressed applause – but for all this power and grace, the biggest cheer is reserved for that most difficult of tricks: shedding their outfits to reveal Union Jack boxers and chiselled chests. The acrobatics take second place to the striptease.

However the star of the night was no toned Adonis or husky seductress, but a weedy, odd-looking Norwegian geek going by the name of Captain Frodo. He is a rubberman, a double-jointed sideshow freak whose unusual genetics enable him to squeeze his torso through two eye-wateringly narrow tennis rackets. While the feat is squeamishly impressive, it’s the keen sense of slapstick and valiant comedy patter that elevates this bizarre act into the unforgettable.

Variety isn’t dead, it’s alive and devilishly entertaining. Even if you’ve seen acts of this type a dozen times before, La Clique make it a guilty pleasure to see them again.

Review date: 1 Jan 2006
Reviewed by: Steve Bennett