Alternative Nightlife

Before the show started, the central auditorium of the Roundhouse was bathed in a hazy, rich, blood-crimson light. The sense of anticipation was palpable. Amy Saunders, aka Miss Behave, moved elegantly from table to table in a stunning, body-hugging, red latex fetish dress, every inch the mistress of the night, convivially welcoming her punters, preparing them for the exotic pleasures in store.

‘Think of me as the show’s Vaseline. I am the lubricant for the evening,’ she announced to the assembled throng, one of whom couldn’t control himself and whooped orgasmically. ‘I’m the lubricant for the evening, not you, sir,’ she said firmly. Unfortunately, this turned out to be her best line of the night.

She has a low, sexy voice and with it a laid-back approach to hosting, which, while making an audience feel remarkably comfortable, does little to raise excitement levels. Before the show proper began she performed a trick involving her tongue and a fake rose that was at once fascinating, astonishing, oddly erotic and a little unnatural. A little later she swallowed a sword and downed an audience member’s pint in one, followed by an elegant belch. She is a wonderful ‘spesh act’ – extraordinary, glamorous and sexy – but, although hugely likeable, a poor MC, and a night like this lives and dies on the compere’s ability to make it feel like a whole rather than a series of disjointed vignettes.

The first act on this mixed variety bill, Kalki Hula Girl, was an exquisitely talented Hula-Hooper. Wandering on like Britney Spears’s drunken, white-trash cousin, she proceeded to perform a remarkable routine, seemingly defying the laws of nature. If all the acts had been as good, then we could have been in for an extraordinary night. However, Miss Behave had not saved the best till last.

It would be unfair to say that any of the acts were bad as such, it’s just that there are a lot of people out there doing exactly the same things, only better. For instance, Marjo Nantel’s silk aerobatics were acceptable but lacked the drama many performers bring to this discipline. The same could be said for Lyndall Merry’s trapeze act, Lucifire’s sexy but tame fire burlesque and Dave Pickens’s juggling barman routine.

Apart from Bret Pfister’s magical aerial hoop act, the only other stand-out performance of the night was by the fabulously funny physical theatre company, Spymonkey – truly gifted clowns; by the end of the evening you wished there’d been a lot more of them and far fewer of the naff torch songs.

In recent years this venue has hosted companies such as De La Guarda and Fuerzabruta, who have redefined what circus, theatre and variety can be. ‘Variety Nighty’ feels a little old hat by comparison. What works in smaller clubs on an underground scene, where naff amateurism can be mistaken for something that is cult, camp or avant-garde, does not necessarily transfer comfortably to a main stage where the spotlight of criticism burns more brightly. If the burgeoning cabaret and variety scene is to move successfully back into the mainstream, the wheat will have to be sifted from the chaff. It will need to find substance as well as glitter.

The less said about the truly cringe-worthy ‘finale’ the better.