The Morning Midway: Out, Damn Judge Judy!

I have an embarrassing confession to post: I may have fallen into a Judge Judy addiction. Help! Started maybe half a year ago when I, with ample time, decided to indulge in a nightly fix of this hooky TV courtroom show. Cases are real. But it's Judy whom I question. Her hot-button vocabulary is limited to maybe 5 or 10 derisive words: moron, idiot, imbecile, and so on. Her verdicts are in black and white. She claims to know who is telling the truth and who is not. Really, she is like a loud vindictive aunt ordering everyone around. "You are a liar!" "You are stupid! Do we understand each other?" "Sit down!"

And maybe that's why we watch. We long for moral clarity. This feisty character, who spent years hearing cases in family court, draws millions to her chamber of insults and lectures. In a world of shadow morality and existential excuse making for every crime imaginable, this lady's lip sees only good or evil, right or wrong, period. And this makes her simplistic verdicts refreshing, even when we suspect they are only wild guesses, or rigged just to amuse the crowd.

I have watched her rip to shreds young people who don't deserve it, but who stand there and take it, their 15 minutes of reality TV fame the payoff.

For a while I found her entertaining, wondering how often she is onto the truth. Now the cases are growing same old same old: Man "lends" girlfriend money. Girlfriend claims it was as only a gift -- until they broke up.

In this made-for-TV courtroom, our judge's theatrical mannerisms rival in texture and subtlety those of the Three Stooges. She specializes in making faces and insulting people. "Look at me, you loser!" "Sit down and shut up!" "You are an idiot!"

I'm waiting for her, any moment, to partner up with the bailiff guy, and the two of them to break out into a song and dance. Judge Judy: The Musical?

She's due here in about thirty minutes. Out of principle, I think I will tune in NPR -- if Terry Gross is not interviewing a transsexual Seventh Day Adventist brain surgeon -- or Judge Judy.

The Morning Midway: The Bright , Then Very Sad Life of Circus Man Charles Sparks

As I read through Bandwagon's coverage of circus owner Charles Sparks, reprinting, in its latest issue just out, many of the letters he wrote to colleagues, friends and fans over the years, I was reminded over and over again of how big top business can be, in fact, more often that not is, so wildly, depressingly fickle. It takes leathery resolve to stick out a series of seasons, and those men and women who succeed do not retire gracefully from the rings.

Charles Sparks was, according to Pfening's take, loved and respected by many. Pfening begins his coverage by reprinting a story about the man written by Earl Chapin May in 1924 for Collier's magazine. Sparks addresses the old tent-show article of faith: "If you can't be for it, don't be with it," meaning that, no matter how many personal or trouping frustrations you may face, you are either for the circus itself above all else, or you had better go somewhere else. Sparks had scarce patience for people who put personal issues above their daily jobs.

The man was a hands-off owner who granted his bosses -- as would Ringling ace manager Art Concello in later years, generous autonomy.

"The best people on the show are the people you hear the least from."

"If you give the average man some responsibility and show your confidence in him, nine times out of ten he'll do his level best to make good."

"Having picked a department boss, I have to leave him alone [exactly what Art Concello imparted to me during an interview.] You see the results. Trainmaster Cross has the runs down and the wagons coming off the flats ... I hardly know his voice ... Singleton --- the boss canvasman -- gets up the big top, poles, ropes, stakes, seats, and everything, and gets it down again almost without word."

Plagued by health problems and depression, in 1928 Sparks sold his Sparks Circus at a huge profit to the American Circus Corporation. Almost immediately following, he regretted the move, and his trouping life thereafter, at one time operating the Downie Bros. truck circus, was fraught with depression era struggles and finally, by the death of his believed wife Addia in 1938.


His most painful professional blow was a promise reneged upon that Robert Ringling had made Sparks while the latter was managing Ringling's one-ring show Spangles at Madison Square Garden in 1943. Sparks recounted this bitter betrayal in a letter to his close and dear friend Bert Cole: "I was promised by the Ringlings that if they ever leased the Sparks title to anyone, that I would be the only person that they would lease the title to."

Instead, the title was leased to Jimmie Edgar. Sparks felt "double crossed," and he nursed the wound for life.

In and out of hospitals through the 1940s, and still wanting, ambivalently, to get back in the business, ironically he delighted in how circuses were once again attracting larger, more profitable crowds. But the parade had passed him by, as it had John Ringling in the 1930s. Now, he observed the action from the sidelines. Charles Sparks died on July 28, 1949.



[Bandwagon photos, from top: 1924 courier; Addie and Charles Sparks; Bert Cole, left, and Charles Sparks

The Morning Midway: The Bandana Bowler Ruffles Up the Green ...

So very rare that so eccentric a figure, and so so young, should surface on the tranquil greens. But he did, and what a breeze of heady gossip among the older pros he must have stirred, Dame Dither! His hair swirled up like one of those softie ice cream cones, and around it, a festive bandana! As if, without a trace of being ill-at-ease among his lumbering seniors, he'd been one of them for centuries. Such an easy stride, so much like one of them. Have we here a Great Gatsby moment?

How refreshingly eccentric in his own youthful way, unlike his more stodgy same-age peers who now and then grace the greens with ambling curiosity, and never return. But he has returned, a few times over, and what a spectacle, this attention being paid the game by one who, I can only imagine, at other hours is laughing the nights away under naughty strobe lights. And let me tell you why ...

Sitting there all to myself at my usual green bench post, half watching my favorites struggle to sustain credibility, clomping into view came a youngish psychedelic looking female, as flagrantly overdressed as a retro hippie street walker on acid. And what had SHE in mind? Closer to my solitary bench she floundered --- was she, well, not to use the word, about to try working me? Onto the edge of my well-guarded space, she plopped down. "What's that game?" she blurted out, spotting the young sportsman at the far side and waving to him. And he waved back, running our way to greet her. Relief, a reason to relax and enjoy this funky cameo. The three of us chatted a tad. The two of them knew each other in some murky way, as is the case with the carelessly young. Seems he had recently landed here from somewhere up there, perhaps Canada, and what a comedy riot I could have produced had I baited them humorously (for she laughed at my slightest remark). However, deferring to the game and my mysterious connection to it, I refrained from falling out of my stolid spectator post.

After the bowlers had finished, I learned from one of them that their young player, who bowled quite well, was actually brand new to the game. He had played Boccie Ball, a sport allowing for traces of spontaneous human emotions.

He continues showing up for games. And the intrigue rises, minimally, of course, as is the game's wont. Last time, nearing the final round, he ran across the green, bounded over the fence, galloped into the clubhouse and. moments later, emerged peddling a bicycle. "I'll be back in five minutes!" he shouted to his puzzled team mates. "Have to let a friend in my house!"

And I wondered, who might that be? Perhaps the spaced-out female friend (assuming she was still alive or not in jail). Or maybe another strange addition to his dubious social circle. He returned, more than five minutes later, after the bowlers had finished and were shuffling their balls into bags, returned with a different female friend on another bike, this one, relief, a regular sort.

Perhaps he is independently wealthy. Time on his hands. I told him about young Jonathan from Berkeley and his two younger brothers and their mad father (lawn bowling's own John McEnroe), who sometimes play right here in local tournaments, sometimes beating the seniors. I'd relish watching the bandana bowler meet up with the Berkeley brood. (Now, with my new digital camera in hand, I will try stealing an image or two of our invading curiosity for your discrete amusement.) Just a few more sporty delinquents on the green, and, at last, the game might stave off the ever-present threat of sudden extinction.

Although I can't picture casually conservative Jonathan wrapping a bandana around his flat cool hair, I can well imagine him taking delight in the sight of somebody on the green so much closer to his own age. And his father feeling emboldened by this bizarre turn of events.

Oh, Dame Dither, such unexpected drama here on the green!

The Morning Midway: Monte Carlo Honors Big Top Stars ...

How fair are their judges? I always wondered how fair a panel of circus owners could be, and yet, come to think about it, how fair would any panel — performers, “critics,” or seasoned patrons — be? The Monte Carlo winners, such as I’ve followed them, rarely with consistent attention, have usually struck me as worthy.

Sure, there is always human wiggle room for honest debate: Should Artist A have been awarded the Silver instead of the Gold, or vice versa? Overall, I’m not aware of glaring surprises that raise suspicions of advance fixes or payoffs. But then again, as I’ve said, I do not regularly follow this most prestigious of world circus competitions, nor do I see anywhere near all of the competing acts that appear to have any of my own opinions. Here are this years winners at the 34th Festival International du Cirque:

Gold Clown: Martin Lacey, Jr., big cats, from ENGLAND
Gold Clown: The Shangdon risley troupe from CHINA

Silver Clown: The Flying Michaels from BRAZIL
Silver Clown: Alegria Russian bars with Cirque du Soleil, from CANADA
Silver Clown: Eshimbekov Cossack riders from KURKISTAN
Silver Clown: Petra and Roland Duss, pressenting sea lions, from SWITZERLAND

Bronze Award: Duo Garcia, aerial rocket, from SPAIN
Bronze Award: The Rossyanns, clowns from FRANCE and ITALY
Bronze Award: Sonny Frankello, elephants, from GERMANY
Bronze Award: The Blue Sky Girls, contortionist from CHINA

Why the countries in caps? Always of great interest to me are the points of origin. Being an American, I learned at an early age to respect the term "First Time in America." No surprise that China is stepping up to the podium; rather surprised not to see any Russians in the finals. The United States? We are still what we have always been, at our best (okay, now and then), innovators unbound by fixed traditions in casting world-class circus acts into new performance formats -- some ground breaking -- but rarely up to par in producing them from the ground up.

Most of all, I am heartened that H.S.H. Princess Stephanie of Monaco is dedicating so much passion and intelligent respect to circus art by continuing the legacy established by her late father. After all, is there any form of entertainment more universally shared across all languages and cultures than the magic we together witness in that wondrous circle of miraculous human achievement?

Thanks to Raffaele DeRitis and Don Covington for sending out the word.

Congratulations, Monte Carlo Champions!

Sunday Scramble: Cirque Marches On, World Domination the Goal... Texas Animal Lady Lands Behind Bars ...

UPDATE: I mistakenly reported animal trainer Barbara Hoffman as having been baned from Edinburgh, Scotland. In fact, she was baned from Edinburgh, Texas.

Hungry for Power: In Cirque du Soleil speak, says Montreal CEO Danile Lamarre, “I can easily see Cirque developing two or three new shows a year. Right now, we have 20 shows. It doesn’t matter if we have 30 or 35 shows, 40 or 50 shows.” Oh, it doesn’t? Thinks Wayne Newton -- remember him, one of many Vegas mortals reduced to warm-up act status in the selfish shadows of the Cirque juggernaut, CDS has actually reached its saturation point and is now — hold onto your seats, voyeurs of catastrophe, “on the wane, no pun intended.” Others of the envious class agree, and they might be right — what century ahead, not sure. Still, I marvel at how those Montreal magicians hatch one after another — almost — hit show for the well healed masses. Example in point: the terrifically talented and tight OVO. But, yes, But — the Criss Angel showcase, Believe, is still not a turn away smash, although, not to worry, insists Lamarre, Guy Laliberte’s right hand executive on the spot, to Las Vegas Sun reporter Steve Friess (not the guy whe runs Circus World Museum), it's just a fixable work in progress. Okay, if that's what you want to believe .. .

Angel, No Angel: This hotshot TV celeb who stars in Believe is no breeze to work with. Among his most recent unangelic tantrums, and hardly illusional were they, were obscenities “bellowed” at Perez Hilton and a trick during which, pops up the word “fagot.” More than once have Cirque officials been compelled to apologize for “the tempestuous Angel.” ... This Cirque empire is so sickeningly successful, speaking not of course for myself but for their put-upon competitors: A new touring show in the works said to tout evolution, with the image of a turtle dominating early marketing designs. Why not a clowny version of Charles Darwin's face? ... Appoint me your next director of creation ...

Hound Dog Next: Sorry to dwell on and on, but CDS keeps on giving: Once they get Viva Elvis in flight, or at least flapping like an ambitious turkey (early bum feedback reminiscent of shocking disrespect for Believe during its troubled previews), what next, the Second Coming? Beyond Elvis, Team Guy Laliberte have that semi-dead Kodak theatre in Hollywood to fill; and this month rising, they are actually taking their dreadfully reviewed vaudeville stage show, Banana Shpeell, onto a New York stage. I ask you, World, have these Montreal mavericks no fear? If this Banana slips on its own bumbling ineptitude, what an epic collapse will that be — if you’ll excuse my perverse expectations. But then again, Cirque might turn a Times Square misfortune into another — yes, Cirque du Soleil show.

Stay well and warm, baby Barack. Ringling’s one-year-young in-vitro pachyderm who sampled sawdust and applause recently in Florida, is on medical leave, suffering a disease EEHV (I will not spell it out; my spell checker would have a nervous break down). The little one, say vets, expected to survive.

Texas trainer jailed: Poor old Lone Star state, so many losers end up down there. Last was a foundering horse show from Russia; Now comes Barbara Hoffman from the Edinburgh that banned her for harboring a seedy performing barnyard numbering 60 creatures, among whom: lizards, turtles, one cougar, a wallaby (whatever that is), and the usual stripped staples. In her default digs in another Texas town, hoping to open an educational wildlife preserve for children and Winter Texans, her animals found crammed into tiny little cages, some sharing cramped quarters with Hoffman and her partner, Fred Lulling, the duo discovered sharing a close RV with about a dozen cats, a sugar glider, three guinea pigs, birds, four — count ‘em, four — boa constrictors, and, just for added Disneyesque decor, a mice in every room. Gosh, why not make that a living side show all in itself? I’d pay a buck or three to peer in at this cozy manege-a-menagerie.

Those tolerant Texas, outraged, I said outraged! And now, lady barnyard is behind bars, caged up herself and facing charges of animal cruelty. Marion County Humane Society President Caroline Wedding beside herself with pity for, to her eyes, one gruesome discovery: “The tears running down our faces when we saw these animals. I don’t see how she lived in there with them, but I really don’t’ see how these animals were surviving.” Well, Ms. Wedding, how are we to know? Maybe they were just one little happy family ... Before we leave Texas to the lossers, let’s welcome a modern day winner: Brownsville hosting the 2010 premiere of John Ringling North II’s fourth edition of Kelly Miller Circus, prepping (in the mud?) To uncork its splendors come Thursday. Ah, the beauty of the single, non franchise circus! BTW, you Ringlingphiles: Did ‘ya know that North’s first genuine import was Chinese contortionist Chung Sigh. Now you know. And here comes the Ringling-Barnum 61-car train through Decatur, Illinois. Whoo! Whoo! Jumbo lives on!


And that's a clickety click wrap ...

A Tale of Two Museums: Baraboo Revisited; New Visions Needed ...

Third in a Series: Discredited Baraboo Museum Places Circus Producing Above Artifacts Preservation

When viewed from an aerial graph, the buildings and grounds of the Circus World Museum look uniformly arranged. To walk the same turf on foot is another matter. In the late spring of 2007, when last I visited, I found a run-down sprawl of random exhibits, wagons and buildings of all styles and shapes, giving off the musty mystique of both a long-forgotten circus rusting away in the sun and a Section Eight playground. An inglorious mishmash.

Not inspiring. Was this were the show ended? Once upon a season, this was where the show began. Where the “World’s Greatest Shows” produced by the five Ringling brothers came each fall to rest and renew for another spring. This is where they built up their fame and fortune. A place funded by wealth then; a place forever close to bankruptcy now.

Time has not favored what is now called just Circus World, even though they still alternately use the original three-word title. Time demands a serious restatement of what it can and perhaps even should be, given its diverse — if hidden — holdings. Since its founding in the fifties, CWM has spent, as I see it, too much of its time and money in the relentless obsessive “restoration” of old circus wagons, some of it bogus. How many of them must you “restore” before you can turn your attention to other resources in your keeping, such as a quaint clutch of old carny wagons and a few rides shipped to the museum over forty years ago? Did that donation come with any legal strings attached, somebody should ask somebody.

Another question: Does this museum bear an ethical obligation to restore and exhibit what it willingly accepted when California carnival man Lloyd Hilligoss offered to send the artifacts east? Or is it simply okay to let them fade away into Baraboo oblivion, conveniently out of the eye of patrons? Well, not if you read the guidelines put out by the American Association of Museums (AAM), which revoked its accreditation of Circus World in the late 1990s.


Let’s make one thing clear: Lloyd Hilligoss could have sent the Thimble Theatre and all the other wagons to the junk hard. Could have turned them into fire wood, as show owners have been known to do. He must have admired their historical value (gaze upon the artwork and animated mechanisms of the fun house in this photo). So he took the time. in 1971, to offer them to Baraboo. And since the gesture was obviously made for people like me, I feel compelled to write in his defense.


Can you feel my emerging drift?

This piece of real estate was not willed by the brothers to anybody for any particular purpose, and so, unlike what is happening down in Sarasota where bureaucratic interlopers labor morning noon and night to reconfigure an art museum into an art-circus combo, in Baraboo, the powers that be can do whatever they please; they could even, I think, sell the property and be done with it. Rumors suggest even this bleak scenario has been periodically considered.

The museum that Chappie Fox built, and the formidable library that Robert L. Parkinson stocked and cataloged (it alone earning respect from the AAM), has for years been handicapped by diminishing crowds, by a loss of crucial funding from Schlitz Brewery, and by vacillating leadership extending clear up to the Wisconsin Historical Society that owns and controls the precarious operation. Recently, the board laid off half of Circus World’s staff of eight, including thoroughly professional archivist Erin Foley, who had kept a world-respected research library open and in active responsive operation. Also to her formidable credit, Foley had taken measures to open the Ringling-Barnum Archives, a rich source of Ringling circus documentation that had for too many years remained in custodial limbo. At last, this trove of history can be mined by researchers and the public at large.

A staff member who runs a summer time circus, itself hardly an authentic museum exhibit at all, remains on the payroll.


Today, you will find indecision and sporadic neglect everywhere. Compare the first-rate quarters accorded restored circus wagons inside two modern buildings to a shabby off-site shelter (roof only, if I recall correctly) under which a number of carnival wagons rot away. Walk the exciting Irvin Feld Exhibition Hall, a marvel of captivating wall and display case know-how, and then wander out through some of the older Ringling brothers brick barns, where photos and posters and text materials posted are fraying at the edges; that’s how I found them in 2007, prompting me to ask Erin Foley about certain historical inaccuracies contained therein. Explained, she, library staffers can “comment” on historical content — only. They have no control over what goes up for display. How oddly counterproductive and totally irresponsible for a “museum.” No wonder its AAM accreditation was revoked. Among a number of suspected reasons driving the AAM’s dismay, there is the nagging issue of whether or not many of the so-called “restored” wagons are in fact real artifacts. Numerous replacements of their original materials and parts have rendered a number of them virtual recreations. A lot of them contain no more, if that, than 25% of the original wood and metal.

Indeed, the Great Milwaukee Circus Parades of the past, Fox’s dazzling dream come true, put a moving spectacle of artifacts at grave risk (inordinate wear and tear), while at the same time deceptively pushing total recreations as authentic. This illusion did not please the auditors from the AAM, who will refute any attempt to pass off a recreation as the real item, as well they should.

CWM was then, and it still might be now, a sad reflection of a history of administrative expediency and neglect — and extra curricular showbiz ambitions. The Ringling circus museum in Florida has mover and shaker Deborah Walk and her funding sugar daddy Howard Tibbals. Circus World in Baraboo has Wisconsin politician Stephen Freese, latest in a series of executive directors to hold its precarious reigns. So far, his modest to moderate fund-raising efforts have at least kept the creditors at bay, but he has just shrunk museum hours down to only three summer months a year, for official word is that, without the circus it presents during this period, the six- to seven-hundred people it draws on the average day would melt away. During the winter months CWM was drawing less than 10 customers a day. Sometimes one or two. Did I not suggest that a new vision is in order?

How long before Freese, too, uplifts off to another post, or runs for another office, throwing a hundred question marks once more into limbo?


About what it might be — how about the American Outdoor Amusement Museum? There are, to my sketchy knowledge, virtually no carnival museums in the United States; one is being planned in Canada. The Foley and Burk wagons, along with a few other rides said to be stored somewhere on the premises, could form the nucleus for a historical carnival midway display. The gem of the bunch is certainly the old time Thimble Theatre fun house (a.k.a.: Fun on the Farm). For starters, there are thousands of potential customers to draw from who frequent the amusement park up the road at The Dells. Even a hundred of them a day would expand the paltry six- or seven-hundred souls who pass through CWM turnstiles on the average summer day to watch the circus show.

How I’d love to see an old fashion 10-in-1, historically accurate, sans the crippling constrains of PC paranoia.

And if not, CWM surely bears an ethical obligation to offer their carnival holdings to a carnival museum willing and ready to preserve and display them. Among the elements of acceptable “Collections Stewardship” specified by the American Association of Museums, there is this: “The museum provides public access to its collections while ensuring their preservation.” On this count alone, CWM’s consistent refusal to exhibit its carnival artifacts amounts to a gross dereliction of duties. No wonder they lack accreditation.

But wait for the circus! That’s this summer. That’s when the charade continues. Yes, let the librarian go; why do we need her? We are running a circus, not a museum.


New vision: Why not combine Baraboo’s attractions into a one-tour ticket: include the Al Ringling Opera House, claimed to be the first movie palace in America for a city of this size. Stage a nightly vaudeville show on its boards recreating what the Ringling Brothers gave the public during their first years in show business. Move the recently arrived International Clown Hall of Fame and Research Center down to Water Street where it rightfully belongs, for heaven sakes! Baraboo also contains, heck, Baraboo itself, a sleepy town of old-world enchantment.


Tis a pity that Circus World has been so woefully mismanaged. Perhaps it needs simply to be mismanaged into something a lot more colorful and exciting, diversified and compelling. They insist they need a circus show to pull in a crowd? Okay, then give them one hell of a circus -- songs and jokes, bawdy pratfalls and freaks, old time rides like The Whip, spooky fun house walk throughs, a goat named Billy Rainbow (the brothers' first animal); a snake charmer named Louise Ringling — all of it authentically historical.

That’s all.



2/16/10

The Morning Midway: Miss Minnie’s Wild Ride on Zing Zang Zoom

She called me, wanting to share her family’s thoughts, having just seen Ringling Bros. Circus down in Miami. The family would be Miss Minnie, second from right in the above photo with her husband, Brian, their 3-year-old son Noah, and Brian’s son and daughter by his first marriage, Taylor and Dwyer.

“Miss Minnie” is actually my niece, Lisa, daughter of my proud sister, Kathy, of Omaha. Some of you who fly or flew the friendly skies might recognize Lisa. Nobody was a better flight attendant than she. A few years ago, Lisa retired to raise her very first and only child, Noah (an experience that has brought new-found joy into her life), while hubby Bryan pilots the mighty United birds; they live in Ft. Lauderdale.

First of all, said Miss Minnie, no make that Lisa, “I’d like to hear your thoughts, Uncle David.”

Oh no. Not so easy. I politely deferred to a fresh look at the circus: “I do not want to influence your reactions in any way.” She hadn’t read my review and we’ve not talked about anything Ringling in quite a while. "Okay," said Lisa “first, the good things,” and she thought. “I loved being there at the circus.” She thoroughly enjoyed the pre show all-access party (“great), where Mr. Gravity entertained her, Noah, Captain United and Dwyer. (Taylor was not able to join them.)

Lisa mostly wanted to share with me particular acts that one or another or all of them liked: “We missed the motorbikes a lot,” she said. “I loved the guys on the two wheels.” Evidently, this act was a first for her. They enjoyed the Russian swings, the Asians on the two swinging planks. The family pilot liked the duo working from the fabrics. Lisa enjoyed seeing the elephants, but (read on) ...

After it was all over, Noah said “let’s go back to the circus!”

Okay, onto what she didn’t like, which in a way, thinking back, struck me as more significant than what she did. Mind you, I am still mum with Miss Minnie here, hearing her out.

First she addressed the production concepts: “Too song and dancy,” said she, “too much girls and dancing.” She wanted more circus in the circus.

Here comes her first of two major criticisms: Music. “Relentless,” she complained, and it did feel like a complaint. “Fast, fast ... no variety, no let up. Constant,” However, she does report all of them leaving the show singing the very catchy title song. Lisa feels that if the music on balance was better — like in times past when the band moved back and forth between more distinctly different moods - the show would have been better.

A few more regrets. Our Floridian wished there were more clowns. And where were the animals, she wondered? Then she thought. Yes, they were there. But why weren’t the elephants costumed? She has fond memories of pachyderms in exotic blankets and frills; the bare skinned mammoths struck her as circus-incomplete. She spoke of the ringmaster. “He was very young; I guess he was okay,” but she missed the authority and bombast of a more customary orator in red. Indeed, she had hoped for more “traditional” elements.

Lisa's second great qualm: The ending. “All of a sudden” They looked at each other: “It’s over? That’s it? ... You just ended? ... Weird.” She missed a bigger finale on parade. She guessed that only one third of the company came out for final bows; that's a surprise to me --- I thought they all did.

Now, here’s a surprise: They wished the show was only one ring! Too difficult trying to take in multiple acts at the same time. Have we here a Ringling renaissance?

How would Minnie of the moment rate the show, A to F or 10 to 1? She mulled it over. “I’d give it a 7” she answered.

At this point, my listening to Lisa concluded. Now we engaged in a discussion.

I told her how surprised I was that she had not discussed any of the illusions, especially given that this edition was built around them. Reminded of this, Lisa said that she found two of them “stunning,” but overall she used words “obvious” and “standard” to describe them.

She reiterated her two biggest complaints: music and the unsatisfyingly brief finale.

As for the redundant music (I'm in strong agreement with her on this) somebody should listen to an old Merle Evans tape to study about contrasting moods. About drum rolls and fanfares.

What to say? For one thing, people still go to circuses to see amazing things done by performers, rather than to watch line dancers from Vegas. Zing’s hyperactive production stressing flash over focused artistry is what I call Feldian.

Lisa asked me out of curiosity about other types of animals that appear with circuses. I mentioned the demise of monkeys and seals and bears.

We talked about the high wire troupe using mechanics. She totally agreed: “There were wires all over the place.” She would have preferred a pad on the ground rather than the lifelines. She said the wires make her wonder if they are actually helping the performer.

How many people were there? “It was packed,” she said.

Okay, enough from me. I am always interested in speaking to friends and kin who might have been to a circus to get their take. Most surprising to me is the pull of the motorcycles in the big cage, although it shouldn’t be. Obviously, the producers keep bringing this thrill item back because it delivers big.

Onward to your next circus ride, Miss Minnie & Co.! Perhaps, sometime soon, co-pilot Noah will favor us with us his favorite acts — or tastiest treats and twirly things that glow in the dark recommendations.


1/25/10