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Sunday 31 March 2013

Mat Ricardo's London Varieties April 25th show


When I was young, I was shy, and - like most teenagers - scared and unsure of what I might do with my life. I was learning to juggle, but that was just a distraction, surely, from whatever it would be that I'd do for a living.

Every Saturday night, I would sit down and watch - along with a pretty hefty chunk of the nation - The Paul Daniels Magic Show. For fifteen years, it was the centre of BBC weekend prime time. Massive viewing figures, stars from all over the world. It was the shiny floored showcase of the world of the circus, variety show and cabaret club.

And I started to realise that some of the guest stars were jugglers. I began to get the first glimpses of the people who would go on to become my heroes and inspirations. The great Kris Kremo. The hilarious Rob Murray. The astonishing Nathalie Enterline. And, of course, the godlike George Carl. These people sent me a message, although they didn't know it. They showed me that there might be places that I could make a living out of this stupid juggling lark. if I was good enough, and lucky. And that was all I needed. That helped push me onto a path that I will never leave.

Which is why it will be a privilege to be able to welcome Mr. Paul Daniels onto the stage of the London Varieties on April 25th. He'll be talking about his life and career, his art, his heroes and inspirations, and his thoughts on the current state of variety. He'll also be treating us to a couple of his classic routines. I truly can't wait.

But that's not all - we also have the hottest stars of the international cabaret circuit Eastend Cabaret,  the hilarious Austrian interpretive dancer Johann Lippowitz, and the truly incredible Lisa Lottie.

Oh, and I'll be attempting the single most dangerous feat of dexterity I have ever tried.

It's going to be a hell of a show. Hope to see you there.


Winner of best new light entertainment show of the year – The Stage

"Thankfully there is still someone out there that “gets” the power of a proper variety show, and his name is Mat Ricardo...A tour de force!★★★★ - Broadway Baby

Guaranteed entertainment” - This Is Cabaret

Exhilarating – you need to go!” - ToMaxTalks.com

Captivating..Unique..Superb” - Ben Walters, Time Out

Brilliant! Not to be missed!” - Liz Arratoon, The Stage

Monday 11 March 2013

Risk


The glamorous women in the promotional picture above are The DeLuca Sisters. Elsa and Paula. I don't know which is which.

In an era when strongman juggling acts were fairly common, they were one of the few strong woman acts. Of German/Italian descent, they performed in American variety halls throughout the thirties. They weren't particularly famous, indeed, you'd be hard-pressed to find a juggler these days who's heard of them, and no footage of their act exists, but they performed - as you can see from the pictures - what looks to be a very entertaining spot.

One of the key tricks in a heavyweight jugglers act is the neck catch. A heavy cannonball is catapulted  thrown, or juggled high into the air, and then caught, perfectly, on the back of the performers neck.

The dangers of this trick are obvious. A fraction of an inch too low and its landing directly on the most fragile and exposed part of your spine. A touch off to one side and it's dislocating a shoulder. A hair too high and its hitting the base of your skull.

And, during one performance in 1936, that's what happened to poor Paula DeLuca. A slightly misjudged throw sent the cannonball colliding with the back of her head. She collapsed on stage. Three days later she was dead. She was 22 years old.

Perhaps it's my continuing obsession with connecting to the lineage of my artform, or perhaps it's my love of old fashioned showmanship and hucksterism, but either way, I have had a thought.

In the entertainment business it's all too often about the exaggeration, the promise of the impossible, the bait and switch, but sometimes - especially in circus - honesty and genuine risk is where it's at.

So.

At the next London Varieties show, at the Leicester Square Theatre, on March 28th, I shall be attempting the cannonball neck catch. Cannonballs are hard to find these days, but I think I have a suitable replacement. 16lb bowling balls.

This isn't magic. This isn't illusion. This is me literally risking my neck by betting on my hands.

I will be attempting the trick that killed Paula DeLuca.

Please come.

Thursday 7 March 2013

Death and Rebirth


I'd been booked to do a short spot as part of a new night. Bit of a low ceiling, and not the biggest of stages, I'd been told, so it was in my interest to get there early to scope the place out. I had not been misinformed.

I had about a foot and a half above my head to play with, which I actually kinda like. It looks like more of a problem than it is, and, as someone well-versed in theatrical clichĂ© once said – a problem, to a clown, is a gift. About half of the basement palaces of fun that I regularly work have similar height issues, and I always figure it benefits me. I stride on stage, announce that I'm a juggler, look disdainfully upwards, and there's my first laugh. The audience realise that I could be in trouble, and whatever happens, they'll enjoy it, and we're away.

But there were added problems tonight. The stage was indeed tiny, and was entirely taken up with a full band. There was literally about a foot and a half square of space for the singer to stand in, and nothing else. So, I'd be performing on the floor in front of the stage. Not ideal, but needs must.

As the place started filling up, my stomach started to knot. If the venue was shaped like a bent arm, then the stage was located at the elbow. Two thirds of the room in front, but about a third, including the bar, behind and to one side. I sat in the corner and watched how the room was working, the same way I used to watch how people would pass by a busking pitch. Find the flow. Find the pockets where people lose interest. Find the problem areas.

This place was all problem area. It's bad enough trying to do comedy when there's a working bar in the room, but having one close by, and behind me meant that the people there wouldn't feel part of the show, and therefore wouldn't mind making a little noise. And as for the audience that stretched out in front of me, well, the back half were tucked behind the sound booth, and that combined with me working on the floor meant that they wouldn't be able to see me, so they'd lose interest and start talking too. Ok, I thought, so I'm working to the small bunch of tables right in front of me. Not ideal, but still totally doable.

The material I had brought with me was the kind of stuff I often do in small clubs and comedy venues – basically a combination of stand-up and tricks. Tried and tested. But slowly it dawned on me as I saw the other acts, that every one else on the bill was a singer. I was the only non-musical act. Might have been smarter to have bought my more circusy stuff, that gets performed to music. Oh wait, not enough ceiling height for that. Stuck with this. Hm.

But it's ok. I get to open with one of my favourite gags. It never fails, and always gets the audience on side right away. It's fine, as long as I've got the tables right in front of me onside, then we'll have fun.

I'm waiting by the bar now, and the show has started. The first music act is done, and the second is halfway through. People are talking through the songs a little. There's a particularly oafish fat drunk in a cheap grey suit at the bar, and he's got no problem shouting at the performer who dares to keep singing over his criticisms of her waistline. My heart sinks further and my eyes roll harder. I'm up next. Focus on the audience closest. Make them your friends by showing them your problems, then make 'em laugh by overcoming them. Textbook. Done it a million times in situations way worse than this. Here we go. I look behind me and see that the fat loud guy has vanished from the bar. Ok. Good.

There's my intro, here I come. Something's different. The lights have changed from the rehearsal. All I can see is one white, dazzling, spotlight, rather than the warm wash we had planned. No problem. Let's hit that opening gag. My microphone is cutting out, and when it does work, it's too loud. I sell my opening gag like a pro. Small laugh. People are talking.

I get stuck into the act, trying to give it some pace and energy, but every other gag I throw misses, and so do a couple of the tricks. There's a loud laugh from the front table – clearly at me, rather than with me. I squint through the spotlight to see that the fat guy from the bar has now taken his seat. Front row centre, trashed and with his sights set on me.

The familiar cold, heavy feeling in my gut. Knowing how the next 10 minutes of my life are going to pan out. Most of the tables are enjoying it, but the ingredients have already formed the perfect storm. Less than half the venue can see me. Waitresses are pushing past me delivering drinks. My microphone is still cutting out, and those gaps in the audio are replaced by the fat guy laughing the word “Twat” at me as loudly as he can. And I think that the punchyness I'm trying to give to the act is coming across as desperation. I feel the sweat run down my neck. Let's just make it to the end and not let it get any worse, I think to myself. And I do. Sprint to the finish. Hit the final couple of tricks and they get decent responses. By that time, I think, people had started to realise that the fat guy was an asshole, and that his douchbaggery was far greater than my failure to set the room alight. But still.

I get off and slope backstage like Charlie Brown on a bad day. The other acts tell me how great it was, but they do it with that wide-eyed “please take what I'm saying at face value, it's fine, everything is fine” expression that we both know what's going on. The compère of the show – someone I completely adore, am a fan of, and therefore, of course, want to impress, gives me my pay in an envelope with one hand and squeezes my shoulder with the other, and I leave the scene of the crime.

And it's fine.

I had a bunch of gigs this month, and every single one of the others were great. Some were stormers. For every single minute of stage time I had last month, I felt about as relaxed and happy as I ever feel. Cliche (and disfunctional) though it is, I rarely feel as in the moment and blissful anywhere else as I do when I'm on stage. So, then, I think it's good to be reminded of how valuable and special that is once in a while.

Once a year, let's say. To die on your ass, once a year, (ideally in front of someone you admire) is healthy. Keeps you on your toes. Every fighter needs to get rocked by a overhand right every so often, just to remind him to keep his hands up. Back in the day, after a gig like that, you would have found me sobbing into a clamshell of chips on a train platform (As happened in the late 80's after a gig at the bearcat club that ended a couple of minutes after it began, with members of the audience throwing my own props at me..), but these days, I know a little better. It still hurts, sure, but I'm able to analyse what was within my control, what wasn't. What I can improve on, and what I can't.

And these days there are enough amazing gigs to more than balance it out.

Talking of which...




Yes! The 2013 season of Mat Ricardo'sLondon Varieties kicked off last week at the brilliant Leicester Square Theatre. We had a packed bill of variety performers from all over the UK, and I got to interview the lovely Omid Djalili. It's been a stressful old time, putting these shows together, but walking out on stage on that first night was – as I knew it would be – like slipping into a warm bath.



As I said, I often feel my most relaxed and happy on stage, and I can pinpoint the moment in last weeks show where I felt happiest. I had invited my old friend Andre Vincent on stage to trade a few hat tricks. We had planned to attempt a five-hat, two person move. Not spectacularly difficult, but for two men in their 40's who hadn't done it for years... well, it took a few attempts, a few failures and there was a moment when, after yet another calamitous fail, we were both just bent over double laughing at ourselves, as the audience did the same. Blissful.

Next month - March 28th - we have a truly incredible bill: I'll be interviewing Al Murray, and we'll be getting performances from the Boy With Tape On His Face, Award-winning magician Pete Wardell, the hilarious Elliot Mason, and of course a brand new trick from yours truly!

 Tickets are flying for this, so click here and book now!