La Clique is something of an Edinburgh institution for me; after eleven years of Fringe attendance, I am still dazzled every time. On this occasion literally as well as metaphorically, having viewed some of the show through the rather unique filter of a discarded sequinned costume which was flung over my head. In typical British middle-class fashion, I politely let it hang there until I felt it pertinent to remove. As you can imagine, this took some considerable time, and in my glitzy prison I experienced a moment of somewhat existential reflection; what is it about this show that still hooks me in? The answer I think (and don’t blame me if I’m off-tangent; I did have a sequin slightly scratching my eyeball at this point) is that it contains some of the key things that excite me most about performance; an exploration of risk and illusion that still feels vital.

Established in 2003, and having won an Olivier Award for Best Entertainment, its creator David Bane also winning  a Total Theatre Award for Significant Contribution, La Clique features a range of talented performers performing specialised contemporary variety and circus acts, amongst them acrobats, magicians, cabaret artistes, comedians and musicians. This year’s show, named La Clique Encore, included Gerry Connolly as a delightful rapping Queen Elizabeth II, sporting a Brexit-inspired twin-set and some hilariously non-royal views on the recent political proceedings, Valerie Murzac’s  amazing contortions atop a giant glitter ball, and a level of hula-hooping from performer Craig Read that has to be seen to be believed! The energy and focus of the performance is absolute, all tied together via the band’s slick accompaniment under Danny Bourne’s musical direction. Whilst the content of some of the acts may not be exactly family-friendly, such as Sophie Zucchini’s edgy burlesque (who knew that handkerchiefs could be concealed there?), each is incredibly skilled and well honed.

The visual spectacle is carefully constructed, with high production values and a relatively intimate performance area in the round. This prompts a frisson of fear by bringing a portion of the audience close to some potentially hazardous action, and is emphasised by atmospheric lighting which compliments the venue’s design aesthetic absolutely. (The Famous Spiegeltent being an absolute delightful space made of  wood, stained glass and mirrors, featuring red-plush booths.) In true cabaret tradition, there is also a pleasing undertone of something a little darker lurking just underneath the surface. Some of this is to do with the sometimes controversial content, and a lot is in the immersive staging which allows one to be close enough to see details like the drag artiste’s smudged make-up or the ladders in the contortionist’s tights. This combined with the slightly faded beauty of the Spiegeltent itself creates a really tangible sense of expectation, like stepping in to a magical micro-world where anything might happen.