Cirque du Soleil on the great flight way

By JOSEPH V. AMODIO. Special to NewsdayJune 24, 2011

Kristina Besschetnaya doesn't consider herself all that flexible. And she was once afraid of heights. Her job? She's an aerialist, spinning high above the stage at Radio City Music Hall. Go figure.

The Russian-born Besschetnaya, 21, is just one of 75 aerialists, acrobats, clowns, singers and other assorted daredevils who make up the cast of "Zarkana," Cirque du Soleil's latest circus spectacular and rock opera, which opens Wednesday at the landmark theater where Rockettes do high kicks.

"It's amazing being here," says Besschetnaya. "You take your bow and see 6,000 people standing up for you. It's something, especially because we heard New Yorkers would be picky, because of all the amazing Broadway shows."

It's a bit of theatrical fate that "Zarkana" should open two weeks after the infamous "Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark" officially debuted on Broadway. Cirque can't help but poke a little fun -- their clown, shot from a cannon, strikes Spidey-like poses as he floats above the orchestra seats, suspended by two long cables.

After all, this is the company that some 20 years ago first brought audiences The Flying Man, a Fabio-like figure who swooped through the air, suspended by a cord, with a gravity-defying grace as thrilling as it was romantic. All the things that "Spidey's" heavily harnessed and ultimately joyless flights lack.

Most performers in "Zarkana" manage to take flight without harnesses, whether they're swinging from a trapeze, leaping above the infamous Wheel of Death (a large hamster-wheel-type contraption) or being flung by fellow acrobats into the air to land -- miraculously -- on the shoulders of another acrobat . . . who's standing atop another acrobat . . . who's standing atop another acrobat.

That act -- called "Banquine" -- has no net, says "Zarkana" composer Nick Littlemore. "There's nothing but pure strength. And trust, I guess. A lot of trust."

Backstage at rehearsal last week, Radio City seemed more like the United Nations -- a very young, fit UN. Hailing from 15 countries, the performers chatted in various languages as a pair of shirtless men in sweatpants casually spun on Cyr Wheels (life-size metal hoops) and four female aerialists in workout gear perched on "Chi Chi" hoops raised in the air.

"I was always a bit scared of heights as a kid," says Besschetnaya, an aerialist who grew up on tour with Cirque (Dad's an acrobat and a coach, Mom's a Cirque accountant). She joined the company five years ago and overcame her fear, she notes, by trusting her ability to grip the hoop.

For acrobats, trust is tougher.

"You have to trust your partners, because they toss you in the air," she explains.

Carole Demers, a Canadian acrobat featured in a Russian bar routine, concurs. The Russian bar is a rubbery balance beam supported on the shoulders of two men. Demers bounces waaay up, flip flip and down. No harness. No net.

The trio has worked together for eight years, and move and breathe as one. Should the angle of her ascent be off by a fraction, the men shift to compensate, and break her fall with the bar should she flub a landing. Which happens. Occasionally.

"It's all about millimeters," says Demers.

Less so, about plot. Loosely holding the athletic acts together is an obtuse tale about Zark, a magician who encounters strange characters while on a quest to find his lost powers -- and lost love.

Ignore all that, suggests Garou, the Canadian pop star who plays Zark. "That's not the point here," he says.

The music, too, is hard to categorize. Littlemore, a skinny Elton John protégé from Sydney who's written songs for groups like Sonic Youth, mixes styles, from gospel to Grandmaster Flash.

"Kids want new stuff," he explains. "Surprise us, change it up -- we get bored."

Same might be said for Cirque execs. "They're not afraid to tear things down at any moment," he says. "It's cool. Ummm . . . challenging."

Another challenge was to create a score as fluid as a live acrobatics show, in which performers sometimes miss jumps, get up and try again. Littlemore's songs have extra bridges, verses, modulations and counter melodies "so it can be malleable," he says.

The music won't necessarily be performed the same way each night, or the way he'd play it. But the band needs to have some autonomy. "If people are going to play the music every night for years -- they need a sense of ownership over that," he says.

For someone used to performing his own music in bands -- and as a self-professed "control freak" -- this is his own exercise in trust.

But it's all been worth it, he adds, if only because it's allowed him to work in an empire he's come to respect.

"This is the only dream factory in the universe," says Littlemore. "They have thousands of people traveling the world finding incredible talents to put in front of an audience. I mean, who does that?"

The result is almost palpable, Garou agrees.

After seeing the Cyr Wheels, trapeze, high wire and Wheel of Death, the audience, he's sure, is rustling in a way it doesn't during his concerts. His own fans, like most people, want to be rock stars, he says matter-of-factly.

"But everybody wants to be an acrobat when they see Cirque," says Garou. "Everybody wants to be a juggler. It seems so easy and wonderful."