Directors: Maria Muñoz and Pep Ramis/Mal Pelo
Composer: Pierre-François Dufour
Describing Baro d’evel is a bit like describing life itself. The company is usually billed as “circus for the twenty-first century”, and, much like life, you can make of that what you will. What it actually amounts to is storytelling through a heady mix of acting, dance, music, acrobatics, clowning and, yes, ceramics.
Their latest piece, Qui Som? (Who Are We?), at the Queen Elizabeth Hall, holds a mirror up to its audience and attempts to say something about what it is to be human, or at least some of it. The world it conjures is futuristic and edging towards the dystopian, populated by people who think and move as a near single unit. Pack mentality, and the comfort of going with the flow, runs through the narrative from start to finish: from nonsense-spouting politicians whipping up the herd, through to the slow destruction of the planet by pollution and, above all, plastic waste.
Abstract is the operative word; this is not a show with a plot to follow. Each scene, though, prompts a little self-reflection, and occasionally a little self-criticism. The blend of humour, music and dance makes for a visual and aural treat, but it is when the pace slows, and the feel-good sensibilities are stripped away that the core message, one of humanity’s capacity for self-destruction, really hits home.
The set is simple but hugely dramatic. A mini mountain range of material scraps dominates the stage and soon becomes a living, breathing presence of its own, at points threatening to engulf everything in front of it. The company performs before it, around it and through it, so that it serves as a border between the known and the unknown. Towards the close, those heaving mounds rise into a vertical seascape, and the audience is left looking squarely at the damage done to the natural world. It is a striking image, and one that lingers.
Pierre-François Dufour’s music does what all great soundtracks do and lifts what is happening on stage. Ranging from the operatic to syncopated rhythms by way of oompah, it does more than echo the narrative; it amplifies it.
If there is a niggle, it is one of stamina. A few of the set pieces, mostly the clowning, run slightly past their natural end, and at just over two hours without an interval, the evening asks a fair amount of its audience. A little trimming would tighten things up. These are minor quibbles, though, and they do little to dent the overall effect.
That said, Baro d’evel has produced something that entertains, amazes and delights in equal measure, and that sends its audience out quietly asking who they are and what on earth they are doing. It is no tub-thumping call to arms, but the message is there for anyone willing to see it. Strange, beautiful and well worth the two hours.
Runs until 16 October 2026.
