When one of our staff members, Dilyara, heard that Slava was coming to Southampton, she could hardly believe it. Dilyara is Russian, as is Slava. Everyone but everyone in Russia knows about Slava's character Assissiaï, about the yellow clown, about the blue canary, about leaping up and down: all this was an essential part of university life back in the late 80s and early 90s.
Little could Dilyara believe that part of her youth would be in Southampton in 2013. Here on stage are all the elements of those early TV appearances in Moscow in a huge stage show. Not an easy task, because some of those sketches always were intimate. You are at one point sharing the loneliness of the clown and genuine, poignant moments - at other times roaring with laughter with the whole team of clowns on stage.
You never knew what was to come next. A man next to us was heard to say:"This is weird!" Yes it was. What appeared to be aimless wandering around the stage was in reality beautifully choreographed wandering. Everything had a point. Because there's little dialogue, the show is universal around the world. Sydney, Moscow, Barcelona: awards have been stacked up across the globe.
As a whole, I share with one of the comments in the programme, that this show was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen in a theatre - although I had thought this long before I saw those printed words.
As I write this, I am STILL laughing about the spider. You will see this show one day, so I won't spoil it for you by telling you what happens. I think about the mind of Slava. It is running at genius level.
I also loved the 'farewell' - the goodbye to a lover which is performed with interaction between the clown and a coat on a hanger - where the clown splits himself in two and plays both parts by slipping an arm into the coat. Not easy to do, and even harder to do it well.
The snowstorm scene (pictured) was terrifying and totally wonderful in equal measure. it was quite simply one of the best things I have ever seen in a theatre. Ever.
Afterwards, Dilyara managed to speak to the man who had entertained her in the Ural Mountains from Moscow, via the telly. She asked him if she was a little old to have her picture taken with him as she looked around and found herself alongside all the other children who were patiently queuing: "Not at all," was the reply. "We all have the child within."
