Dance review: Circa's Duck Pond conjures striking visual world in clever deconstruction of Swan Lake
Sculptural movement flows against luminous set design—but the highlight is still the raucous third act
Circa’s Duck Pond. Photo by Pia Johnson
The Cultch and DanceHouse present Duck Pond at the Vancouver Playhouse to January 25
NORMALLY AFTER A NIGHT at the circus in the 21st century we’d be writing here about death-defying stunts and superhuman tricks.
But Aussie troupe Circa’s latest production Duck Pond is so artfully crafted that it makes more sense to start with the simple but striking design elements.
Figures in sleek white and black costumes move kaleidoscopically against a shimmering curtain of ribbons. Alexander Berlage’s lighting shifts from silver to gold to lavender to scarlet—creating luminous new worlds for each scene.
Everything is edited and curated to the finest detail—from the hanging blue silks that nod to the lake to a scattering of white feathers on a glossy black floor—giving the show the sophisticated feel of a moving artwork.
Familiarity with the ballet Swan Lake definitely adds to the pleasures of Duck Pond’s clever deconstruction and distillation of that classic (even as it works in fun elements of the fairy tale The Ugly Duckling.) Composer-sound designer Jethro Woodward makes a cool postmodern reimagining of Tchaikovsky’s famous score, sampling its oboes and echoey harps, and adding electro touches. Libby McDonnell’s costumes are sleek, pared-down takes on tutus and leotards—and wait till you see the Black Swan, in her second-skin bodysuit, appearing from behind giant black feather fans and wearing indecently high red stilettos to balance atop a nearly nude man. There’s also a sly new take on the tragic finale.
The unified look of the show comes courtesy of Circa artistic director Yaron Lifschitz, who creates the stage design as well as choreographing the performers’ meticulously crafted mobile sculptures with the flow of contemporary dance. Acrobats climb atop each other to form a tall human tower then tip backward into waiting arms. Women do splits as they’re hoisted between spinning human structures. And bending, tangled bodies turn atop a single acrobat, forming a human whirligig.
If all this sounds serious, it isn’t: one clownlike segment features a small army of ducks in sparkly yellow flippers. But it does feel unusually restrained for a night at the contemporary circus—especially when compared to other recent touring productions like, say, Cirque Alfonse's raucous Barbu. That is, until Duck Pond’s rowdy third act.
The narrative arc comes to its conclusion and the performers literally dismantle the set, breaking up the perfectly constructed world and letting loose in a series of cheeky high-energy finale sequences. Acrobats tangle themselves in the sticky floor tape they’re ripping up; they preen and bend like pretzels in illuminated boxes that roll around the stage. It’s bold, breathless fun—a bit like dessert after the more lyrically nuanced main course, leaving the audience wanting more. 
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