Into the Theater
By Alicia Bonus
Relieved and excited, I was finally permitted inside the bronze and golden doors without further questioning. My tickets were ready and waiting at the podium near the entrance. I was ready and waiting. And, whatever was ready for me inside was waiting for me as well.
At first, I believed that I was going to a circus, not the movies or a play, even though the hollow structure looked strikingly familiar to what I would have expected was the cinemas or a playhouse. The theater belonged to the performers of Cirque du Soleil.
So, where were the clowns?
After the yellow lights dimmed from all around the theater, droplets of water echoed from wall to wall and seat to seat.
Plop!
Plop!
Two floppy sailors, wearing depressing painted masks, carried an oversized, inflatable lifesaver and a shredded umbrella not stable enough to catch the heaviest of raindrops. People were still flooding in like a high tide on a moonlit evening while desperately looking for their assigned seats. I was one of those desperate people who were in need of finding a soft, cushioned refugee. Thankfully, an elderly usher in a long tuxedo of a deep red burgundy assisted me into a nearby, empty, carpeted seat.
While people settled down comfortably into their own seating arrangements, the sailors continued to slowly make their way clumsily down the steep stairwell. Shades of cobalt blue shimmered from the ceiling above while a cool synthetic ocean breeze brushed my bare shoulders. I searched the aquatic heavens above to spot where the refreshing air was coming from. Instead, I found droplets of water falling gracefully downward onto the heads of passerbys.
Plop!
Plop!
Plop!
One of the sailors grasping the damaged umbrella turned the contraption upside down, attempting to capture some of the drips, but to no avail. Because of the umbrellas’ moth-eaten stitches, hardly any drops were recovered. When all the seats were occupied at last, the sailors scurried off to the right of the auditorium where a secret door, illuminated in emerald green, emerged from a bright light. With a bow and a wave, the sailors entered the door, and the light faded deep into the shadows.
The crowd hushed and seriousness filled the atmosphere as a tall and strangly crooked figure emerged from the blood red curtains, observing his surroundings. His name was Le Vieux. He was a mime dressed in a formal tuxedo, so tight that the sleeves on his wrists were the only pieces of clothing hanging off of his thin body. His white cotton gloves and jet black shoes stood out of place, not to mention his wild and unkempt light blonde hair. His expression was unchanged. His face was painted white with black curved eyebrows, dark eyeliner, and thin red lips, which formed a pouting frown.
Le Vieux suspiciously looked up at the deep sea sky, and a device came down with a lady of the aurora inside a veil of twisting metals. As of that moment,
everyone was in awe, mesmerized by the beauty of the fallen angel. The maiden was lowered slowly and steadily, toying with a ruby red handkerchief.
Crack!
Crack!
Spotlight shined upon a man, wearing nothing but a pale, lime green corset with matching skirts, wielding a leather-braided whip.
Crack!
The man in the twirling dress was accompanied by a perfectly built strongman in brown overalls and a prancing ballerina covered in golden flowers layered with petticoats of fluff. The strongman snatched a random member from the audience. The selected audience member in denim blue jeans, a white T-shirt, and a red baseball cap was forced under the spiral bubble with the girl still inside, all dressed in blonde curls and pink lace. She fiddled with the handkerchief for too long, allowing it to fall and drop into the hands of the lucky contestant.
The young man was led down the steep steps and then was left alone on center stage. Le Vieux waited patiently behind the waterfall
of curtains. Only his one free arm and hand revealed themselves, beckoning the volunteer to come hither. Anxiously, the young man took a courageous step forward. Noticing the handkerchief was still in his hand, the volunteer presented the cloth to the hand, pondering that maybe Le Vieux wanted it.
Alas, his attempt was futile when the hand purposely slapped the fabric away.
Now, with my nerves on end, waiting to see what would happen next, the young man tightened the cap on his head and journeyed further into the unknown territory of Le Vieux. Suddenly, the audience member was yanked inside of the drapes, taken prisoner within the boundaries of the world on the other side. From behind the curtain, struggling and ruffling occurred for no more than a minute before Le Vieux reappeared on stage, holding both a white piece of paper and a black onyx microphone. He led the capped man beside him, graciously accepting the paper and reading it aloud into the mic, so that all could hear.
The volunteer began to talk. His lips were moving, but not a word or mutter was coming out. Le Vieux took a good look at the microphone, realizing that he was holding the thing completely upside down the entire time. The young man tried again; however, the damn thing still wasn’t functioning properly! Le Vieux blew on the mic and hit it over the head of the flustered stranger next to him. The audience began to laugh uncontrollably. At last, the confounded microphone cooperated, and the young man in the dented hat could read aloud the following announcement:
“Good evening ladies and gentlemen. During this performance, smoke affects will be used, but they are harmless to your health. On the other hand, you cannot smoke. It is also strictly forbidden to use video recordings, cameras, and specially flash photography, because of the danger it poses to the artists. Also, we kindly ask that you turn off all pagers and cellular phones…”
Le Vieux waves a finger out to the crowd, reassuring them to follow the rules and procedures without further complications. A booming voice echoed throughout the theater.
“And now…sit back…relax…ENJOY!”
To my horror and everyone else’s, the random audience member was whisked away, lifted swiftly up into the air, disappearing behind the curtain! All that remained behind was the paper, which Le Vieux quickly stashed inside his vest pocket, along with the microphone. With a sly grin, (the first time I ever saw him smile), he turned away sharply and stretched his long arms as if to lash out in anger.
With Le Vieux conducting and commanding the fabrics to do his bidding, the curtains literally pulled apart themselves. The theater had a mind of its own, consuming, devouring the silks into the dark and unseen corners of the stage! After every bit of silk cloth was out of sight, the persuasive, seductive mime gestured a “tah-dah” and skipped across the floor, followed by a psychotic laughter that traveled across the still auditorium and into my fear-stricken heart.
Inside the stage, vines of thick green ivy covered the back wall. Fog developed from the corners of the floor, and the ground started to break, revealing underneath a bubbling, foamy lake. Zebra creatures frolicked along the lake, playing idly, never minding that hundreds of eyes were carefully watching their every move.
In one of the darkest corners of the theater, Le Vieux carefully examined the water, dipping one gloved hand into the wet substance, scooping it up and allowing the clear liquid to flow like diamonds through his soggy fingers. He tightened his thin lips, facing the audience. And, he was looking at me as if to say, “This isn’t over. The show has just begun.”
At first, I believed that I was going to a circus, not the movies or a play, even though the hollow structure looked strikingly familiar to what I would have expected was the cinemas or a playhouse. The theater belonged to the performers of Cirque du Soleil.
So, where were the clowns?
After the yellow lights dimmed from all around the theater, droplets of water echoed from wall to wall and seat to seat.
Plop!
Plop!
Two floppy sailors, wearing depressing painted masks, carried an oversized, inflatable lifesaver and a shredded umbrella not stable enough to catch the heaviest of raindrops. People were still flooding in like a high tide on a moonlit evening while desperately looking for their assigned seats. I was one of those desperate people who were in need of finding a soft, cushioned refugee. Thankfully, an elderly usher in a long tuxedo of a deep red burgundy assisted me into a nearby, empty, carpeted seat.
While people settled down comfortably into their own seating arrangements, the sailors continued to slowly make their way clumsily down the steep stairwell. Shades of cobalt blue shimmered from the ceiling above while a cool synthetic ocean breeze brushed my bare shoulders. I searched the aquatic heavens above to spot where the refreshing air was coming from. Instead, I found droplets of water falling gracefully downward onto the heads of passerbys.
Plop!
Plop!
Plop!
One of the sailors grasping the damaged umbrella turned the contraption upside down, attempting to capture some of the drips, but to no avail. Because of the umbrellas’ moth-eaten stitches, hardly any drops were recovered. When all the seats were occupied at last, the sailors scurried off to the right of the auditorium where a secret door, illuminated in emerald green, emerged from a bright light. With a bow and a wave, the sailors entered the door, and the light faded deep into the shadows.
The crowd hushed and seriousness filled the atmosphere as a tall and strangly crooked figure emerged from the blood red curtains, observing his surroundings. His name was Le Vieux. He was a mime dressed in a formal tuxedo, so tight that the sleeves on his wrists were the only pieces of clothing hanging off of his thin body. His white cotton gloves and jet black shoes stood out of place, not to mention his wild and unkempt light blonde hair. His expression was unchanged. His face was painted white with black curved eyebrows, dark eyeliner, and thin red lips, which formed a pouting frown.
Le Vieux suspiciously looked up at the deep sea sky, and a device came down with a lady of the aurora inside a veil of twisting metals. As of that moment,
everyone was in awe, mesmerized by the beauty of the fallen angel. The maiden was lowered slowly and steadily, toying with a ruby red handkerchief.
Crack!
Crack!
Spotlight shined upon a man, wearing nothing but a pale, lime green corset with matching skirts, wielding a leather-braided whip.
Crack!
The man in the twirling dress was accompanied by a perfectly built strongman in brown overalls and a prancing ballerina covered in golden flowers layered with petticoats of fluff. The strongman snatched a random member from the audience. The selected audience member in denim blue jeans, a white T-shirt, and a red baseball cap was forced under the spiral bubble with the girl still inside, all dressed in blonde curls and pink lace. She fiddled with the handkerchief for too long, allowing it to fall and drop into the hands of the lucky contestant.
The young man was led down the steep steps and then was left alone on center stage. Le Vieux waited patiently behind the waterfall
of curtains. Only his one free arm and hand revealed themselves, beckoning the volunteer to come hither. Anxiously, the young man took a courageous step forward. Noticing the handkerchief was still in his hand, the volunteer presented the cloth to the hand, pondering that maybe Le Vieux wanted it.
Alas, his attempt was futile when the hand purposely slapped the fabric away.
Now, with my nerves on end, waiting to see what would happen next, the young man tightened the cap on his head and journeyed further into the unknown territory of Le Vieux. Suddenly, the audience member was yanked inside of the drapes, taken prisoner within the boundaries of the world on the other side. From behind the curtain, struggling and ruffling occurred for no more than a minute before Le Vieux reappeared on stage, holding both a white piece of paper and a black onyx microphone. He led the capped man beside him, graciously accepting the paper and reading it aloud into the mic, so that all could hear.
The volunteer began to talk. His lips were moving, but not a word or mutter was coming out. Le Vieux took a good look at the microphone, realizing that he was holding the thing completely upside down the entire time. The young man tried again; however, the damn thing still wasn’t functioning properly! Le Vieux blew on the mic and hit it over the head of the flustered stranger next to him. The audience began to laugh uncontrollably. At last, the confounded microphone cooperated, and the young man in the dented hat could read aloud the following announcement:
“Good evening ladies and gentlemen. During this performance, smoke affects will be used, but they are harmless to your health. On the other hand, you cannot smoke. It is also strictly forbidden to use video recordings, cameras, and specially flash photography, because of the danger it poses to the artists. Also, we kindly ask that you turn off all pagers and cellular phones…”
Le Vieux waves a finger out to the crowd, reassuring them to follow the rules and procedures without further complications. A booming voice echoed throughout the theater.
“And now…sit back…relax…ENJOY!”
To my horror and everyone else’s, the random audience member was whisked away, lifted swiftly up into the air, disappearing behind the curtain! All that remained behind was the paper, which Le Vieux quickly stashed inside his vest pocket, along with the microphone. With a sly grin, (the first time I ever saw him smile), he turned away sharply and stretched his long arms as if to lash out in anger.
With Le Vieux conducting and commanding the fabrics to do his bidding, the curtains literally pulled apart themselves. The theater had a mind of its own, consuming, devouring the silks into the dark and unseen corners of the stage! After every bit of silk cloth was out of sight, the persuasive, seductive mime gestured a “tah-dah” and skipped across the floor, followed by a psychotic laughter that traveled across the still auditorium and into my fear-stricken heart.
Inside the stage, vines of thick green ivy covered the back wall. Fog developed from the corners of the floor, and the ground started to break, revealing underneath a bubbling, foamy lake. Zebra creatures frolicked along the lake, playing idly, never minding that hundreds of eyes were carefully watching their every move.
In one of the darkest corners of the theater, Le Vieux carefully examined the water, dipping one gloved hand into the wet substance, scooping it up and allowing the clear liquid to flow like diamonds through his soggy fingers. He tightened his thin lips, facing the audience. And, he was looking at me as if to say, “This isn’t over. The show has just begun.”
About the Author
I am currently a senior, studying my major in Creative Writing. I hope to graduate soon in December 2013 and be awarded my Bachelor's Degree in Creative Writing. I'm also hoping to receive a decent job, filing and organizing paperwork, because I love anything that deals with paper and pen. And, even though others depict me as being quiet and collected, I have a lot to say, even if it's written down somewhere on paper with pen.