In January of 2001, my girlfriend Cat and I stopped by Las Vegas to see Cirque du Soleil's Mystère. The experience would have been a dream come true even if it hadn't been for the fact that she and I were picked to play roles in the show. I don't know if Mr. Dewhurst would have picked me from the audience had he known I operated a website dedicated to going behind the scenes of Cirque du Soleil. But as fate would have it, I got a brief experience that took me right into the thick of the action; and of course, I loved every second of it. Here's an account of what happened.
Around halfway through the show, a black cube rose from the depths of the stage. It sat there ominously for several moments. Then, unexpectedly, Brian "le Petit" Dewhurst popped out of it -- a character whom we had already seen wreaking havoc at various points in the show. Brian was wearing rather formal-looking attire, all dressed up in black and white. He had thick eyebrows and a distracted, bustling manner, hair frizzed wildly out to the sides. He reminded me a bit of a mad scientist hastily dressed up for a party. He stepped off the stage into the aisles of the showroom, scanning the crowd as he went with a sense of purpose in his eyes. When he started to walk in our general direction, I gripped my armrests and prayed for him to keep coming our way.
Sure enough, he advanced through our row, stepping over people's feet, inspecting the faces before him, shaking his head in disapproval at each person he inspected. As soon as he was standing right in front of me, his big eyebrows went up and he made a little sound of satisfaction. He cordially stuck out his hand. I beamed at him and stuck out mine. We shook. It was all very pleasant and friendly. Then he yoinked me right out of my seat and herded me into the aisle, up toward the stage. As we went, the audience started applauding, sensing with approval that here was a boy who was about to make a fool of himself. Brian, meanwhile, was speaking to me in a low, polite voice (with a quiet, aristocratic British accent that was completely incongruous with his crazed appearance): "If you wouldn't mind following me up on stage for a moment... What's your name? Tristan? All right. Here we go, watch your step please."
We reached center stage. Brian gave me a once-over from head to toe, conspicuously raising his eyebrows with a disapproving look, but his voice was friendly. "All you have to do is follow me," he told me quickly under his breath. "Don't be nervous. Just do everything I do, all right?" Easy enough. Monkey see, monkey do. He made a gesture; I made the same gesture. He danced a little jig with his arms out to the side; I hesitated for a moment, thought to myself, "What the hell," and danced my best little jig. The audience loved that and applauded. Brian waggled his bushy eyebrows at me and whispered, "Take a bow! BIG bow!" So I did. For good measure, I waved and blew a kiss to my girlfriend.
Now Brian briskly ushered me upstage, to the little black cabinet from which he had emerged just moments ago. "You won't be in here long, just a couple minutes or so..." he reassured me. So I cheerfully crouched down and climbed in. He slammed the little black doors shut. More applause. Then a long pause. Hmm.
Inside the box there was a low bench to sit on. So I sat, head scrunched up against the low ceiling. On the inside wall, there was a dim light next to what looked suspiciously like a speaker (just a small circle of perforations in the wall's wood). I wondered if I was going to be hearing stage instructions or calming music through the speaker. (I could have used some calming music.) There were prison bars on the upstage side of the box letting a bit of light in, but as that side was facing away from the audience, I couldn't see what was going on onstage. Leaning to the side, I could just barely see the stage left musicians' platform. I sat. I waited. Distantly I heard the audience laughing at something. I watched the violinist playing some rather impassioned music. What the hell was going on out there?
Well, having effectively disposed of the brainless boy, the conniving clown had meanwhile hoofed it to sit in my now-vacant seat in the auditorium. His motivation? To flirt with my girlfriend, of course. Grrr. He was a prepared clown, too. He carried with him all the necessities for a romantic dinner date.
Sitting comfortably next to Cat, he materialized a little black tablecloth, two champagne glasses, and a bottle full of wine (er, sparkling apple juice). For the sake of romantic lighting, Brian produced a candle and handed it to a spectator sitting in the next row down, making him hold it aloft like the Statue of Liberty. Unfortunately, the poor guy kept trying to turn around to watch the dinner date. Brian eventually got fed up with that and snatched the candle back. He passed the candle to another spectator, who proved equally incapable of holding still. Cat took all this clowning in stride, of course. All she had to do was play the part of the flattered courtee. At some point, in keeping with the spirit of celebration and what not, Brian handed Cat a little party favor -- one of those things you blow on and it goes "tweet" and unfurls with a fair bit of speed. Cat managed to accidentally unfurl hers right into the clown's eye. The audience enjoyed that. Of course, I was oblivious.
About this time, the whole thrust part of the stage began to rotate, and the box in which I was trapped began to move along, making a slow arc toward the audience. I felt a bit like a caged pet must feel when it gets put on the conveyor belt at the airport. As I made my involuntary orbit around the circular stage, the amused faces of the spectators, now visible to me through the box's barred side, panned by me in slow succession. The violinist began to play some pathos-filled melody that described my feelings at that moment with some accuracy. I clung to the bars and peered out and felt a vague urge to howl like a dog. As each of the snickering spectators caught their first glimpse of my pathetically huddled little form in that box, it seemed to dawn on them that in a few moments, the caged boy would have a perfect view of Brian flirting with (and being accidentally unfurled at by) his girlfriend. Brian was not oblivious. Ever the resourceful clown, he quickly pulled a nearby man from the audience and plunked him down in my seat. Sure enough, when I strained my eyes to find Cat out there in the audience, there was no sign of Brian. But there was a handsome young man sitting with his arm around my girl, looking more than a bit embarrassed and guilty. The audience exploded in laughter. Cat shrugged at me as I disappeared out of sight again, as if to say, "Well, I tried."
Next thing I knew, Brian was shoving a hunk of French bread through the bars. He whispered at me, "Here, take this bread, you don't have to eat it. Your girlfriend's been telling me all about you.... You're from Salt Lake City, right?" He disappeared, leaving me feeling more than a bit flustered.
Outside the cage, some form of chaos ensued involving a bird creature and the remainder of Brian's loaf of bread; I still had no clue what was happening. For lack of anything better to do, I gnawed on the crust of bread.
The next thing I heard was the frightening sound of a huge chainsaw starting up, coming right toward me. I had a feeling it was Mr. Dewhurst again. Whoever it was, they were just inches away from the painted wood surrounding me, which suddenly seemed very fragile and thin. I could not only hear but smell the vibrating chainsaw coming closer and closer outside...
With no warning, the box and I started rolling away. As I watched through the rear bars, I rolled quickly upstage and straight off through the wings. Saved from the rusty blades of death by a mysterious stranger.
The doors swung open and a reassuring voice told me I could at last emerge from my hiding place. I stepped out and stretched, dizzy with excitement... I was backstage! Woohoo!
Backstage was surprisingly small. A few props off to the side, ropes and counterweights going up the wall. A corridor leading further backstage, which I desperately wanted to follow until I wandered into the dressing rooms, but I very nobly restrained myself. Some members of the house troupe were standing around in their Korean Plank costumes, powdered wigs and tights and all. I gibbered at them for a few moments about how totally awesome they were and how much I loved the show, etc. etc. They nodded vaguely back. A friendly assistant wearing a headset patiently guided me away to a spot in the wings where I was to wait until "the man in pink" (Nicky Dewhurst, Brian's son!) came to get me. I talked a bit more with the assistant, all the while watching the show in progress on a stage manager's TV monitor.
I was just beginning to regain my composure when Nicky Dewhurst, the man in pink, appeared in front of me. He seemed surprised that I knew his name, and he asked me my name. I wanted to bring up all the compliments I'd heard about him from other Cirqueys (not to mention all the things I'd heard female Cirque fans say they'd love to do with him), but there wasn't any time: within seconds our cue came and Nicky motioned me to follow him back on stage. He walked with me across the stage and delivered me right back to my girlfriend. No sign of Brian or that other guy I'd seen with his arm around her. Cat and I had an impassioned moment of reunion at that point, right in the spotlights for everyone to see, with a big kiss that probably made all the little kids in the audience squirm....
If you've watched Mystère, there is a good chance you've seen some version of that sketch. It alternates on a monthly basis with another audience participation sketch, in which some poor fool is asked to strip down in front of everyone and put on a baby outfit. I have to confess I am very, very glad I wasn't picked for THAT sketch!
