Review: CIRQUE DU SOLEIL: OVO, Royal Albert Hall

Let’s get the essentials out of the way. Ovo — Portuguese for “egg” — catapults you into a bug-infested universe where creepy-crawlies are given the Cirque du Soleil treatment as they jump, flip, dance and contort around a giant inflatable egg. The oval centrepiece is about 28 feet wide and 22 feet tall and, if that sounds overly precise, welcome to the world of circus where the difference between wild applause and a trip to A&E is measured in mere inches. 

Written, directed and choreographed by Deborah Colker, it is less a story and more a kaleidoscope of themed moments designed to catch the eye and the breath. High-flying scarabs loop through the air, ants juggle improbably massive fruits with their feet, and a contortionist twists her body into shapes mathematicians would struggle to describe. Above all, movement is king. Insects crawl, leap, twirl, and spiral with the kind of raw physical prowess that can make even the most jaded punter blink twice and squint in grudging admiration. It’s Cirque’s bread and butter: astounding human capability wrapped in theatrical vaudeville.

Spectacular is an implicit adjective of any Cirque production and so it is here with Ovo. Even a seen-it-all curmudgeon like myself will happily admit that their shows are uniquely able to bring something jaw-droppingly fantastic to the table that no-one else can. Ovo is no exception with several epic set pieces, not least a Russian Cradle that sees ten performers dressed as scarab beetles high above the audience throwing each other across six metres of empty space. Later, a tricky slackwire routine on a huge wicker crescent sees a black-clad “spider” move with balletic eloquence (see above). 

Those looking for story arcs or a three-act structure will be disappointed. The only plotting here is by the Cirque execs who are hanging tight onto this still-rampaging beast of a company. In 2019, it was estimated to be raking in a cool billion dollars in revenue; a year later, that figure was close to zero and 95% of staff were laid off as the Covid-19 shutdown shuttered all 44 of their shows. Before you reach for the hanky, recent estimates suggest that by 2023, their global box offices were back to that cool billion mark. 

All this is to say: there has been no expense spared on shows created or put on either side of the pandemic. In Ovo, as in all Cirque ventures, top-tier international acrobats are dressed in costumes (as designed here by Liz Vandal, many of them could have walked off a Paris runway) as they entertain audiences on an immense scale few other productions in any art form can. Of course, though, it is worth remembering that it is not (just) size that matters, it is what you do with it.

Unfortunately, Ovo is let down on multiple fronts. And, yes, one of them is the excruciatingly bad clowning. Last year’s Corteo amply demonstrated that Cirque is not always terrible in this area but the insect buffoons here are even worse than usual. And that, my friends, is a low, low bar.

These “comic relief” bugs — a fly, a ladybird, and whatever that bald blue beetle is supposed to be — zip around with all the clunky finesse of bumper cars and the annoying vocal inanity of sped-up baby banter. Real clowns have been known to be dangerous, unpredictable or possess the voice of an angel; this trio are none of those things.

The concept too is woolier than a mammoth. Even in Cirque’s most madcap efforts, there is generally some kind of unifying idea running throughout that ties into the title. Here, though, the “egg” is a massive prop that occasionally turns up on stage. That’s it. That’s all it does. Quite why a cast of non-mammalians are looking after an egg is never explained, nor do we see the egg’s contents. Does it contain world peace? The secret to a good night's sleep? Or next week's lottery numbers? We never find out.

Then there are the dated acts that — while supremely lithe in ways that even mere mortals with a million yoga lessons under their belt could not hope to become — are now similar to those commonly seen in many modern big tops, albeit without Cirque’s customary addition of dazzling costuming, a pumping soundtrack and superb lighting.

Hand-balancing, chinese pole and contortion are practically expected in touring circuses these days. The obligatory cyr piece after the interval is surprisingly banal even with a breakdance section added in for absolutely no discernable reason. One routine sees four orange-lit diablos buzz around in the pitch-black darkness like fireflies; this may have been rad, cool and spooky when Ovo first premiered in 2009 (when every cabaret performer was sticking LEDs onto their aerial hoops, juggling clubs and whatever else they had) but it now fizzes with all the weak power of cornershop sparklers.

In the end, Ovo is a world-class spectacle, a gorgeous distraction machine where bugs fly better than most humans and where human performers, bless them, turn overhead antics into a memorable aerial circus. Pound for pound, it has been overtaken by the likes of Sophie’s Surprise Party but we should consider ourselves lucky to have this annual winter gift (even with the clowns, I would prefer it over a tree). And, if Cirque’s plans for a London base come to fruition, the capital may soon be in line for more cutting edge entertainment from these world leaders. Fingers crossed.

Cirque du Soleil’s Ovo continues at Royal Albert Hall until 1 March 2026.