A naked woman walks into a room. (That could be the opening line for a dodgy male comedian’s routine, right?). There’s not much in the room, but there is a free-hanging rope – the French term corde lisse says it so much more elegantly.

The rope becomes a serpent. Puppetry, kind of. The serpent speaks: EAT THE APPLE says the serpent. But, says Eve, God told us not too, said we would die if we did. DON’T EAT THE APPLE, said God. She takes her chances. She eats the apple – eats it noisily, with great gusto, enjoying every bite, every chew. Yeah, go Eve! The knowledge is yours to chew over, to digest…

She gives us a run-down of her body: two arms, two elbows (around halfway up the arms, good for bending), two legs (good for running, dancing, climbing ropes). Two breasts, two bottom cheeks, two lips. Canny look. On her face. Two eyes – she has a party trick, she can make her eyes move independently. She demonstrates. Excellent! She mentions that her other party trick is Irish Dancing. (Well, with a name like Murphy, you’d expect no less.) She doesn’t demonstrate that skill, but we live in hope…

The room is full. She’s in control – like the best stand-ups. The audience is eating out of her hand. She’s not a stand-up comedian, but she walks and talks the mores of stand-up. We even, quite often, forget she is naked. It has become normal, how she is and what she is at this time, in this space. She climbs the rope. Then we remember she is naked, because it is quite hard to really work the rope naked – your skin gets frayed and burnt. it’s a challenge.

There are stories – confessional/autobiographical stories – we are somewhere in-between stand-up and performance art. There are punchlines. The favourite is ‘What a cunt’. The teenage her agreed to have sex with him, but then it turned nasty. He pinned her down with his knee, and wanked off over her face. What a cunt! A slightly older her was taking a little rest in a bedroom at a party and a guy lay down next to her. She said no, and dozed off, but when she woke up, her phone had been nicked. What a cunt! Each punchline sends her up the rope, writhing and twisting, climbing high, higher, highest and hurtling to the ground.

Now we have a solution to the nakedness rope-burn dilemma – clingfilm! Perfect costume! She wraps herself up in this parody of the aerialist’s shiny leotard, and up she goes again. She climbs, wraps the rope around her, twists and turns and splits and drops. Circus skills are just one component of this multi-artform, multi-layered work – but the skills are consummate, honed. This is important. She’s an acclaimed contemporary circus artist, and this is her medium of expression.

There’s the live chatter – about teenage sexual assault, about coming of age, about heartbreak, about gender and identity, about adult Queer life in the here and now – and there are the lip synchs. She channels a couple of male American comedians. I don’t know who they are – I know very little about male American comedians – so I ask. One is Rodney Carrington. (I look him up. He has a YouTube series called Talking to My Pecker. I snigger. I can’t help myself.) He sings Country songs. She sings along to Florence and the Machine. ‘It hurts.’ And – yes, oh yes! – there is Irish Dancing. Naked Irish Dancing to the tune of ‘When You’re Smiling’.

Contra is directed by Ursula Martinez, and perhaps because I know this, I see evidence of Ursula in the comic timing, the facial expressions, and – especially – in that little mouth-half-open, twinkly-eyed pause before the killer line. There are also, inevitably, echoes of Adrienne Truscott’s Asking For It: a One-Lady Rape about Comedy. But this is no bad thing: I’m talking echoes, resonances, associations. I’m talking being part of a noble tradition, a continuum, a monstrous regiment of women. Associations aside, Laura Murphy is very much her own woman, and Contra is a big, bold statement. It’s a very well constructed piece, writing and direction working hand-in-glove. Seeds planted reap harvests later: the tiresome ‘Give us a smile, love’ morphing into the surreally funny, vaudevillian ‘When You’re Smiling’ scene; the promise of Irish Dancing fulfilled.

I keep coming back to the Irish Dancing. This neat, tight, orderly dance form – the pride and joy of the Irish Catholic mothers watching the little girls at the Feiseanna with their perfect dark-haired ringlets (Laura has perfect dark-haired ringlets) kicking their legs high, arms straight by the side, in the one-two-three-four-five-six-seven slip jigs and reels and hornpipes. To dance it naked feels like the ultimate subversion – sacrilege, almost. Eve breaking free of the shackles of patriarchy, as represented by church and state. Go Eve, go! Dance, dance, dance!

 Laura Murphy: Contra is presented in association with Aurora Nova

Texting, sexting, manly posing, boyish blushing, girly gossiping, questioning the given gender stereotypes, questioning your sexuality, questioning everyone else’s sexuality, finding out who and what you are, coming out, wanting your best friend’s boy, morphing from mouse to vamp, playing with BDSM, finding true love… Oh Lord, aren’t you glad, so glad you are no longer young?

Filament is, say producing company Short Round Productions, inspired by 1980s teen films – following eight characters and their coming-of-age stories. The piece has been put together by creative producer Joseph Pinzon, who trained at the National Circus School in Montreal, and as a performer worked with big name Quebecois companies such as Soleil and Cirque Eloise. New York based Paul McGill is the very able choreographer. The show is backed by an impressive number of co-producers, including Aurora Nova’s Wolfgang Hoffman, and features (as so many circus shows do) an evolving international cast.

Like most coming-of-age tales, it is appealing less to teenagers (although anyone would like Filament, I’m sure) than to those of use looking back with adult knowing. 

Every character has their through-line, but the one that takes my attention is that of the gentle boy who needs to learn to back flip, played by the UK’s own Tom Ball. His soft and subtle trapeze work, which –  as the music builds – moves into a tortured expression of teenage angst, is spot-on. He plays his character with great aplomb, and the denouement of his storyline, in which he ends up with his gay-but-doesn’t-know-it-yet macho friend, is dealt with sensitively. Tom was previously seen in Silver Lining: Throwback, which has not dissimilar themes to Filament, although very different in style and tone.

In a parallel story line, contortionist Allison Schieler plays the bespectacled, sweet but uncool girl Leslie, whose friends rally round to help her ditch the specs, remake herself, overcome her shyness, and get her boy – and the punchline is, he loves her specs! Her finale contortion act, as sinuous as a snake, enchanting ‘CD’ and making him her own, is terrific – and an unusual choice for an ending act, putting the emphasis on the narrative need rather than going for whatever is the showiest.

Skills-wise, we get the full contemporary circus gamut throughout the show: a gorgeous hooping routine from Jess Mews (to ‘That’s Not My Name’); aerial trapeze (as mentioned), silks/straps from Anna Kichtchenko, and hoop (Bekah Burke); the sort of juggling I like best from Bertan Canbeldek, soft and sensuous, dancing the balls downwards in the space; smooth hand balancing from Mark Keahi Stewart; Cyr wheel from the feisty Oscar Kaufmann; and some lovely acro/hand-to-hand ensemble sections that includes the famous Dirty Dancing lift (the best ever 1980s coming of age movie, IMHO).

Whilst watching the piece, I loved the circus acts, and admired the way the whole piece was put together – it is a series of acts, but they are weaved well into the storyline, everything is well executed, and nothing feels out of place. At first, I felt some reservation about the gender stereotyping – but as the piece progresses this is gently usurped, and I was won over. Like the films it references, it is a gentle and whimsical reflection on the teenage years.

In some ways, the show reminds me of the work of Les 7 Doigts – unsurprisingly, as they have been such trailblazers on the Montreal scene, and  they have also made a show about growing up and coming of age stories (at least one of this current cast has performed with them).

But Filament is a strong enough piece to stand its own ground – a really delightful and heartwarming show that I feel will stay with me longer than some of the more bombastic circus work seen at this year’s Edinburgh Festival Fringe.

Playing to a packed Assembly Hall audience of all ages, this Canadian/ Quebecois company comes with high level skills – and a fair amount of kit. As in previous work presented in Edinburgh by this company, trampolining (on regular tramps and on a specially made rubber floor) and jumping from height (from an enormous hollow cube structure) feature strongly.

The narrative hook in Blizzard is the story of an seemingly eternal winter – not so much environmental disaster as everyday life in Canada. The ‘serious’ acts are interspersed with clown-ish sections presented as public information bulletins from the ‘Canadian Ministry of Cold, Chilly and Brrrrr’ and the strident voice-over tells us repeatedly that in Canada ‘winter is not a season, it’s a way of life’. Thus, we have a survival guide ‘how to dress for winter’ skit; an energetic snow shovelling number (spades and balls giving us an alternative take on juggling/object manipulation); and a tribute to Canada’s national sport, ice hockey, which morphs from a rollerblade and aerial straps number into a wild Hawaiian hula hoop act (always good to see a man hooping!) An announcement of school closures due to snow gives rise to a joyous acrobatic sequence in which snouds become hoops to leap through, woolly scarves become skipping ropes, and the bouncy rubber floor turns the ensemble into exuberant jumping beans.

Elsewhere, we have more gentle and poetic moments – a gorgeous double on aerial straps, perhaps exploring the whirling and morphing nature of snowflakes (the disembodied voice on the radio has just told us that the first time a snowflake was photographed was in 1934; a fair amount of puffer-jacket clad walking-in-the-wind (or snow, I suppose) sequences; and some great acrobatics and hand-to-hand – including a rise to a triple tower from a line on the floor.

The music is live: we have a treated piano cum keyboard that looks like an old fashioned honky tonk piano in a bar that is wheeled around the space, well integrated into the physical action as acrobatics pose and dance and leap from and around it. The musician (and sometimes other cast members) also plays a miniature guitar, bells, or other small instruments. The integration of the musician, his instrument, and the acrobats is excellent. I’m less taken with the enormous hollow cube, an enormous white-framed structure which starts out with black mesh screen sides, and ends up completely hollow. It is pushed around, jumped from, and eventually forms a frame for the ensemble – but I don’t really understand what it represents in relation to the Blizzard theme, and  the Assembly Hall stage (large though it is by Fringe standards) is too small for it.

Good, solid contemporary circus – and a real crowd pleaser, winning the company a standing ovation.

‘Sisters are Doing it For Themselves’ blares out as we take our seats. The family next to me in the queue have a young girl of around 10 or 11 in their party, and they ask an usher if the show is suitable for her. There may be some things that go over her head, is the reply…

And we’re off! Seven strong women in plain black, practical two-piece circus outfits bounce onto the stage. ‘Here we go, boys!’ they cry in broad Aussie accents, and – oh, OK, we now notice the bulges in their crotches and the moustaches drawn on with black kohl pencil. They perform a mock-macho acrobatic dance number: ‘I’m a man / nothing to break!’ booms out as they flex biceps and pump iron, forming towers and pyramids, flipping this way and that, maintaining the stereotypical masculine pose throughout. One of the ‘men’ is now a ‘woman’. She stands in a Betty Boop pose, wrapped in a white towel, as the ‘men’ cheer and crow. As she turns around we see the bright red stain on back of the white towel… ‘Oh NO… Urrrggghh’ cry the men. ‘But would you?’ says one. ‘Would you?’

The lights turn red. Long red ribbons are fluttered as the women skip around girlishly like young female gymnasts, then the mood shifts and they become a many-headed menstruation monster, as one steps out to tell harrowing tales of flash foods and failing tampons. Most of the audience are laughing and applauding; some are sitting silently, aghast; a few walk out. And we’re only ten minutes in!

The gender play – switching into ‘man’ mode and back again, often in one scene – continues throughout, occasionally undermined with lines such as ‘this may surprise you, but I’m not a man’. The ensemble work well together, taking turns to step out of the circus action into narrator role, or morphing into characters – notably, a line-up of drunken night-out confessions that starts with ‘Five pints of Fosters and I…’, and the skilled portrayal an old woman in a housecoat and slippers musing on the men in her life: ‘He was a good man…’ which pre-empts harrowing tales of male entitlement, although housecoat-lady can clearly hold her own.

Which is the point, ultimately – this is a show about female resilience. When we get a repeat of the ‘one woman in a room full of crowing men’ scenario, our heroine kick-boxes and cartwheels her way to personal space alone on the stage.

I find myself wondering what the 11-year-old girl is making of all this – a glance behind me shows that she is sitting on her dad’s lap laughing merrily…

Along with mocking male mores, the team are also willing to take the Mickey out of stereotypical female behaviour. We are treated to a wonderful Can Can inspired dance routine to Tom Jones’ She’s a Lady, replete with Tiller-girl  kicks and handstand walk-overs, all teeth and smiles and flowery knicker adornments. Oh, and there is an aerial act, introduced with, ‘Did you think you could come to an all-female circus show and not see an aerial act? Did you?’

With the exception of this one aerial (straps) number, the action is floor based: excellent ensemble acrobatics, full-on dance, physical comedy skits, and more. YUCK is a mighty mash-up of feminist message and fun-filled circus numbers  – full of raucous energy, and a joyous exploration of all those lady things nobody likes to talk about. Take your daughters – and your sons.

The phone rings. The pair of clowns onstage are waiting for the big call – the one from an international festival that will make them stars. Nope, not this time…

Both are in traditional dress and make-up. One is definitely of higher status: tall, slim, obviously in charge – and the base in the highly skilled acrobalance routines that follow. The other is the Auguste, the anarchic fool (although both men bear the traditional Auguste clown ‘muzzle’ and white and black eye make-up, with little red noses painted on). He wears a baggy, horizontally-striped suit – as opposed to his partner’s flattering vertically-striped suit which shows off his manly figure. The opening sequence, in which our foolish friend refuses to be hoisted up onto his partner’s shoulders, terrified that he’ll fall and die, but of course eventually gets forced up, is a beautiful demonstration of classic acrobatic clowning. All communication between the two is through physical action, or a kind of nonsense grommelage with the occasional French or English word thrown in (the company are from Montreal, Quebec).

The phone rings again – it’s an offer! But not the one they were hoping for. They’ve been asked to perform at a children’s party! Now it gets interesting, as the clowns subvert the mores of traditional clowning (with no doubt an ironic comment in there about what depths some contemporary clowning has sunk to).

Out higher status friend goes backstage and comes back on in a ludicrously wide and luridly patterned outfit, and a ridiculous orange wig. He has an equally garish outfit for his partner, plus a turquoise wig which is strongly resisted – but of course, the boss wins.

The story of the kid’s party that goes wrong plays out beautifully. Bunches of balloon flowers are burst, and the foolish one (or at least, the one who is foolish and knows it) manages to push blame onto an audience member. A beautifully crafted balloon poodle is torn to shreds. There is popcorn. And more popcorn. And more popcorn…

Skills-wise: gorgeous comic acrobalance / hand-to-hand moves, combining  skill and humour effortlessly; a wonderfully whimsical hand-balancing act on chairs, as the traditional clown scenario of the imaginary date is played out (with a brilliantly nasty twist); and really clever working of the audience, who lap up every moment. I enjoy everything, although the gym work-out section feels a little bit jaded – mostly down to the fact that I really don’t think I can bear to hear Eye of the Tiger used as part of a comic act ever again (or maybe they were being double-bluff ironic in choosing a track that is not only hackneyed but over-used ironically?). Elsewhere, the soundtrack is fine, with lots of nice trombone interludes.

Our two clowns – Rémi Jacques and Jean-Félix Bélanger – know their stuff. We are safe in their hands, and the show works on many different levels. The youngsters took it all at face value (although they are never played down to in a demeaning way), the adults enjoyed the knowing double-takes, and those of us with an interest in the art of clowning enjoyed the playing with form at the heart of the piece.

So a grand success for Kombini’s UK debut – and great to see a show built around traditional clowning (that is usurped as well as honoured) programmed at the Circus Hub for Edinburgh Festival Fringe.

Featured image (Top): Cirque Les Foutoukours: Kombini. Photo by Carl Archambault