Australia takes its circus very seriously – and we mean that quite literally. In recent months, Brisbane outfit Crica’s En Masse featured the first ever circus iteration of Igor Stravinsky’s savagely charged 1913 ballet The Rite Of Spring, and The Man With The Iron Neck, by aerialist theatre troupe Legs On The Wall, offered a deeply affecting window on the epidemic of suicides amongst young Indigenous men. Works like these have shown what profound depth of feeling can be summoned through acrobatic virtuosity and circus craft. More than mere throwaway spectacle, its physical extremes can deliver storytelling of immense expressive sophistication.
But circus is also rooted in a tradition of light entertainment. It has the potential to channel emotional power, but it’s just as legitimate when it simply thrills and delights. Melbourne’s Circus Oz, which has been celebrating its 40th anniversary this year, has most often erred on the less challenging end of the theatrical spectrum, and has done so very successfully. So the premise for its latest production, Rock Bang – a “rock opera” biopic in collaboration with comic duo Astrid and Otto Rot, aka fictitious post-punk, art-pop, brother-sister Berliner band Die Roten Punkte (or “The Red Dots” for those of you whose deutsch ist nicht so gut) – seems perfectly on brand.
And true to form, the circus elements of the show are excellent. Tumbling, juggling, aerials, fire-work and strength feats; there’s very little to fault in the execution of these circus staples. However, Rock Bang isn’t really about circus at all. In fact, the circus elements are more or less just decorative flourishes on the periphery of the central narrative: the story of Astrid and Otto’s ascent from unfortunate, homeless orphans to international rock rebels.
This wouldn’t necessarily be a shortcoming if the story had enough substance to shoulder an entire evening. Unfortunately, every beat of the plot is so derivative it’s hard to invest in it in any meaningful way, either emotionally or for its comic content. Hoffmann’s Shockheaded Peter, Spinal Tap, the White Stripes, Kurt Weill and Kraftwerk are obviously present, which as a collection of influences are certainly rich. But rather than making the odd nod and wink, they’re appropriated wholesale. Perhaps the most original dynamic is the dysfunctional yet unconditionally loving relationship between Otto and Astrid, although their yin and yang personalities – Astrid the hedonistic, devil-may-care rock chick, Otto the vegan, teetotal, straight-edged opposite – still seems to borrow heavily from The Odd Couple. As the anchor of the production, a theatregoer’s response to Rock Bang really hinges on how much they connect with this pair of oddballs, and while I’m quite sure those with an existing fondness for Die Roten Punkte will lap up every moment, the lack of opportunities to make a compelling connection to Otto and Astrid will likely leave newcomers cold, or at least confused.
That’s not to say there isn’t anything to enjoy in this show. Musically, the songs are upbeat and catchy (if not also a bit on the predictable-side) with a circa-90s pop-punk energy, complete with that era’s fun, young, dumb lyrics. And yet the most persuasive sequences are found in the moments when the show takes its foot off the gas and slows to a more reflective pace. One beautiful, childlike ballade about a protective golden angel (that turns out to be the Goldelse atop Berlin’s Victory Tower), and another dreamlike, Bowie-esque song about a escaping on a rocket, inject some much needed tenderness, if only for a few brief minutes in an almost two-hour show.
For the most part, the circus elements and its high-octane drive keep the evening in a watchable zone, but there are a few moments when director Rob Tannion mismanages the stage, particularly when interesting choreography has to compete with impressive overhead aerials, forcing the audience to ping-pong their gaze between the two. There are also some underdeveloped sections that feel like vamping for time, such as a rather tone-deaf scene in a rehab clinic that comes across like an off-off Broadway production of One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest. The big irony here is that show could use a pretty generous edit, which makes such unnecessary busy-work all the more frustrating.
And there’s another major irony to consider too, one that might well be the biggest miscalculation of Rock Bang. Its comic sensibilities tend to hover around a rather puerile level of clownish slapstick and fart-joke silliness, which could easily tickle the ribs of a younger crowd. But what punk biopic would be complete without the unholy trinity of sex, drugs and rock-n-roll (although why the sex has to also include more than a few ham-fisted suggestions of casual incest is totally baffling)? With so many R-rated references, Rock Bang’s 13 and above age restriction makes sense, but it may well have elbowed out the audience base that might get the most out of this often paint-by-numbers production.
