Spoleto Review: Light and dark, lithe and tough, Gravity & Other Myths breaks from chaos

Members of circus and physical theater company Gravity & Other Myths performs a three-high handstand as part of their new show "Out of Chaos." Gravity & Other Myths will perform six shows during Spoleto Festival USA's 2023 season. Carnival Cinema/Provided

From the moment Lisa Goldsworthy of Gravity & Other Myths saunters onto stage casually chatting to the audience, you get a hunch this is not going to be your typical razzle-dazzle, high-flying acrobatics act.

And when she is then joined by one, and then other, performers to create a collective din of imperceptible observations, you begin to glean why this particular work by the Australian acrobatics troupe is called "Out of Chaos."

Sure, there will be gasps and "oh, no she didn't" moments. There is ample evidence of rigor in feat after feat that does give the notion of gravity a run for its validity.

But this work by the repeat Spoleto participant is conceived to get under the hood of the stage experience and strips it of the stuff that obscures it. A sort of Aussie-inflected "A Chorus Line" run amok, it trains an unfiltered spotlight on performing by way of anxiety-checked interior monologues and prompts when a daunting physical demand is underway to regularly convey the mental and literal sweat involved in putting on a circus act.

To that end, many in the company are literally standing in front of the audience in their underwear. The costumes are almost non-costumes: assorted bras, slouchy pants, rumpled button-downs or bare chests, together reading like the garb of a roommate you ran into rummaging in the fridge for a midnight snack.

At the same time, the performers are at the onset cloaked in murky darkness. When the show begins, we are plunged into it along with them, only to get glimpses of dimly lit human bridges, towers and two-person butt-over-face formations, teasing us to want more.

And when more light lets loose, it often takes the form of glaring spots that are at times trained our way. The performers themselves position the stage's footlights, audibly telegraphing the mechanics behind the stage magic. That includes breaking the so-called "fourth wall" between performer and patron when Goldsworthy fields questions from them and offers off-the-cuff answers for a spell.

This yin-yang interplay unfolds in the acrobatics too, in a razor's edge of power and trust. Performers confront each other, one assertively cupping a partner's neck and forcibly guiding the supplicated other to swiftly bend and slip through their legs. One will contain another in a hula hoop, while they both level gazes at each other. Sure, it's all in good fun, but the jokes are met with an undercurrent of the physical intensity at play.

Composer/musician/vocalist Ekrim Eli Phoenix engages in an endurance contest with ensemble members, to see if his breath can outpace their poses. When at one point he is prostrate on the floor, painfully emitting a labored pitch, a performer stands on his stomach. The audience groans in empathy.

Gravity & Other Myths makes the acrobatic look effortless, with liquid-smooth transitions and a marvel-worthy ability to alight human towers in swift, single bounds. The humor-laced ensemble by no means stands on ceremony, even if it does so on another performer's staggeringly strong shoulders. It is jokey and casual, disarmingly candid.

And while their company name positions gravity as a myth, they fully leverage it to their end, with full-body encounters on the stage floor to propel them, undulating with enviable elasticity to spin and fold and thrust and fly.

With an assist of lulling, chanting music, eventually things take a turn for the transcendent. Vocals are joined by the soft chimes of Tibetan singing bowls, rung with performers positioned on stairs in the audience. We are guided to a higher plane as one performer is placed higher and higher on a series of platforms like a mountaintop ascetic.

In the end, one rousing assertion out of chaos is offered from stage, which is how the support of the others is what strengthens resolve and allays fears. Would that we all had such scrappy, sweaty muscle in our corner, underwear and all.

Reach Kalyn Oyer at 843-371-4469. Follow her on Twitter @sound_wavves.

Maura Hogan is the arts critic at The Post and Courier. She has previously written about arts, culture and lifestyle for The New York Times, Gourmet, Garden & Gun, among other publications.

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