Send Back the Dogs, Please! Zoppe’s Latest Charmer is a Mixed Bag

Circus Review
Zoppe Family Circuses
At Redwood City, CA
November 23, 2024
Tickets: $12 to $33.

Not so easy, in fact a rather challenging confection to review.   Program starts out with barely a whimper (more on this later), clowning lingers on in spots, and the quality of action ranges from spectacular to sketchy. But tell that to the dozens of gleeful children who lapped up the performance.  In fact, if I were a parent, I would want Zoppe to be the first circus my child sees. Giovanni and  his sons have a way of connecting with kids. His missing hat routine, a crowning example, had the moppets practically flying out of  their seats screaming with pointed fingers to get his eyes on the hat.

 

In another clever bit, the two Zoppe boys – Julien, 15, and Ilario, all of three (yes, three),  find a big balloon and have fun bouncing it back and forth — until the uppity ringmaster, unable to wrest it away, reaches up to pop it. They are ordered out of the tent, only to reappear moments later, chasing after another balloon, and this bit goes on and on for, oh, maybe another hundred balloons — the last one releasing a spray of water onto our ringmaster’s head. Great pay off! Grade A clowning.

During the opening ensemble splash, little Ilario on his own runs up to a spot on the ring carpet, as if following script, and lowers himself into a head stand, joined by his father and brother doing the same.  Priceless.         

Although show is on the short side – with a concession intermission apparently consuming  as much time as is needed  –  there is sufficient talent here to impress dads and moms.. In the top tier category,  Brayan Portugal delivers stellar head stands on the  single trapeze in motion.                                                                   

German Ramos's  control walking up the ladder and down the other side is extraordinary.

Also top tier in my eyes are a troupe of rambunctiously ambitious Ethiopian performers from one of the poorest countries on earth, named Zom Habesha.  They light up the show with juggling gusto.  I only wish their act had been longer.  They also deliver a compelling risley display, giving it more the feel and thrust of teeterboard. It is as roughly executed in spots as it is brilliantly creative in others, as shown in the photo below.

And I am waiting for the dogs to appear.  Last year, they were the highlight of the show, as they tend to be on most circuses these days.

There’s gaucho dancing from the Sanchez Family, contortion by two Ethiopian girls, Beki and B, and a cloud swing from Chiara Zoppe, attached to a lifeline.  The Daring Horseman, Caleb Caracini Asch, rides masterfully well, joined by Audrey Prince for some nice duo work.  She returns in another bit, standing alone on the horse while attached to a mechanic. Seems pointless. Recorded music throughout the program is generally relevant and appealing.

A great discovery for me was ringmaster Patrick McGuire, so refreshingly different.  In fact, perhaps the most original new kind of a ringmaster I have seen in ages.  He issues few announcements, but  expresses himself in magical gestures, moving in and out of the proceedings without ever hovering.   And he surprises with a skill for juggling clubs by  running up to reach Caleb on his sauntering steed, the two then cross-jiggling. Terrifically stylish.

While still waiting for the dogs to appear, let me take the time to review the very first act on the show. Why it is even there can only be understood by knowing that the clown and the owner are the same person.  Guess who gets his way?  So we are  feted by the spectacle of Giavanni hauling out his trunk into the ring and proceeding to take his sweet time making up his face. The weakest opening I’ve ever endured at a circus.

What, the show is ending?  No dogs?  ARE YOU KIDDING, ZOPPE?  This would be like a kid at Ringling years ago waiting for the elephants to appear and being criminally stood up. No, Zoppe, No! It leaves a gaping  hole in the performance.  Unconstitutional!  Unzoppetutional!  On my way out, I stopped to tell McGuire how much I missed the dogs.  He said, “Giovanni could not find a dog act.” I don’t believe that.

This company remains true to its most consistent theme — FAMILY. And at finale, they all stand, hand to hand, perfectly still across the ring, without even a hint of  milking for applause. A  pause, and then the crowd erupts into cheers.  You could feel their joy.  Heck,  you could feel the love.

I’m praying for the return of a dog act next year.  If one isn’t there, neither will I.

3 stars 

                   Once upon a Zoppe season, not that long ago.

END RINGERS:  A rich history:  The Riding Zoppes with Cucciolo were brought to America in 1948 by John Ringling North, and they appeared in DeMille's The Greatest Show on Earth ...  Jeanette Prince responded to my request for names. This is the only circus I know of that does not at least post pictures of its acts on their website. It suggests that acts are frequently coming and going during the season.  To his credit, Giovanni each year offers a fairly fresh slate of acts.  And from other lands, the show stays that much fresher ... Oh by gosh, by golly!  Yes, I was right. I am professionally related to the Zoppes.  Look what I found searching through  my papers.  Drum rolls, please!  From a press release I wrote for Sid Kellner when he hired me as press agent for his 1969 James Bros. Circus tour, headlined Circus Kids Uphold the Great Tradition of Their Parents:

"Animal trainer Alberto Zoppe's two delightful children, Caralynn, 5, and Giovanni, 3, both assist their father in his whimsical dog, poodle, and horse act.  When the ringmaster announces their entrance, Caralynn and Giovanni perk up enthusiastically and bounce into the center ring with great glee, like two tots entering an enchanted picnic area. Circus kids never have time to learn what stage fright is."

And all the years later, there's another little Zoppe following the same family muse ... (My year on the show is profiled, by the way, in my book Keep That Day Job! -- if you'll allow me the shameless plug,)

Still a Few of Our Favorite Things ... A Sweet Little Show Tune Conquered the World of Jazz ... Now the Holidays Call

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Bight copper kettles and warm woolen mittens    

I first heard those words from the voice of Mary Martin on the original cast album of The Sound of Music, broadcast on our radio one Sunday evening in late December, only a few weeks after the show had opened on Broadway to great reviews.    A week or so later, I had in hand my own copy of the snowy white cast album. Decorated in delicate foliage, in colors gold and red and green,  how like a lovely Christmas morning gift it felt.   In a few weeks, it would reach the number one spot on Billboard’s Best Selling Albums and remain there for 16 straight weeks. Sometimes at the skating rink during club practice, they played it.

Brown paper packages tied up with strings
These are a few of my favorite things

In those sunnier days, Rodgers and Hammerstein were the gods of musical theatre, able to capture in song the widely shared sentiments of Americans.  One evening in the early 1950s, a televised toast to their magic was broadcast simultaneously on ALL three major networks.  Point made?

Cream colored ponies and crisp apple strudels
Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles   

I could never have known how fate would coddle and guide this musical up a most remark road, gradually cementing its charms into the hearts of Americans.  The movie that followed a few years later achieved a phenomenal success.  Two words may have spelled its everlasting lock on our hearts: Julie Andrews.  Years later, people flock to movie houses to participate in a sing-along of the songs as they appear on the screen. 

Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes
Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes

In 1961, through the soprano sax of jazz musician John Coltrane, My Favorite Things became an almost instant classic, and would become Coltrane's most requested song ever, and his personal favorite of all his recordings. It was inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame in 1988 and certified gold in 2018.

A few magical days ago, while listening to a local FM adult contemporary station that plays non-stop Christmas music every season, came the sweetest young voice singing the song.  And I felt a rare connection between that night long ago, listening to Mary Martin, and now, hearing the song from a new voice on the radio, making it feel like a perfect addition to  the holiday cannon, as if it had always been there.

Silver white winters that melt into springs ... 

11.30.22

SUNDAY OUT OF THE PAST: They Read Me, They Bleed Me ... They Hate Me ... They Hate Me Not!

First posted  on July 18, 2010


As an update to this re-posting, let me add that I hold in the highest regard John Ringling North II and James Royal, who have never assaulted me in the fashion described below. They have remained most congenial, responding to my request for photos for my last book, Inside the Changing Circus, sending me annually, unsolicited, a copy of their program magazine with a bag of peanuts.

In the Circus Report that he founded and slaved over for most of his later life, the late Don Marcks once pointed me to a small space on the back cover that sometimes hosted adds. other times went blank. Said he, “How about your column there?”

I was very touched by the unexpected offer from someone who was my direct opposite, but resisted his polite invitation, telling him “eventually, I will write something that will cause you problems, and that will be it.” Don dreaded the discontent of circus owners and as a rule edited on the super safe don’t-rock-the big top side.

I knew Don well, as I knew the small insulated circus world well. They, most of them, are sheltered from criticism by the fans and by media indifference. Indeed, many a performer could last a lifetime under small tops, even in Ringing rings, and never face a legitimate review.

Before we fell into a kind of soft unspoken estrangement, Don once complained to me over the phone (we talked often) about circus fans who sent in glowing notices of Circus Vargas. He was growing tired of it. He printed their predictably rosy notices nonetheless.

Another time, Don told me, “I got a review of Circus Vargas. The guy was pretty critical, so I didn’t print it.”

That was Don, and that is how the circus world would like it to be.

Which brings us to the thorn in your side, that nagging customer who can inject unsettling opinions into your beautiful backyard paradise where every circus is the best it’s ever been, and better than all the others.

It was in Don’s paper that a piece I wrote looking back at Irvin Feld’s career, sometime after Mr. Feld passed away, caused probably a more vicious reaction than had ever greeted anything penned about the circus. Feld employees took out venomous attack ads in Circus Report. About a dozen or more. Some full pagers. Not a soul came to my defense. They bled me yes, and I did not die. And I still will not die. Bleeding is a part of my bizarre mission. When you get away with mouthing off in national print at age 14 (in The White Tops), it tends to go to your head, especially when, many years later, Variety signs on.

My most recent encounter with a hurricane of hostility arrived upon my posting a review here of Kelly Miller Circus. Some of you have no doubt seen it. Maybe you were amused. Maybe you half way agreed. Or considered me a number of things not fit for print — in more ways the one. In the eyes of the offended, I’d made a total fool of myself. That's the risk you take for daring to reveal your feelings, for you risk going against the grain. But how else?

One of the comments slung at my posting by that ever-ubiquitous contributor “Anonymous," whose profanity I did not allow onto the lot, found irony in my “legendary expertise” (a compliment, Anonymous?) being unaware that the names “Nellie” with “Hanneford go together. No, what I really failed to link were the names “Poema” and “Hanneford.”

I looked elsewhere, to one of the three Kelly Miller blogs, this being Steve and Ryan’s. Amidst some controversy, Steve, a classy guy, posted his own comment, “everybody is entitled to their own opinion.” Among other comments, Jon turned what he doubtlessly considered a negative into what I consider rare validation. You see, Jon lumped me together with the snobby New York critics’ crowd. May I take a bow please!? “Mr. Pompous ‘I live and die in New York’” he called me. (Mr. Pompous lives in Oakland, CA.) Well, it beats beings bland. And since I no longer disco into nights of senseless danger, gotta do something for cheap thrills.

Jon described my review as “a homework project.” Now to that, Jon, I can relate. For years, even after landing bylines in Variety and getting published in book form, I still felt like I were trying be a writer; lately, I’ve promoted my self-regard to writer trying to be a writer.

I'll grant that Jon might be on to some prickly things about me, but he goes totally off the rails when he accuses me of a mind set that was “formed before the presentation was presented.” If only he knew what was actually in my mind when I sat down to take in a performance of Kelly-Miller in Brewster, NY — and how what I thought I might find was significantly altered by what I actually found.

As for my carrying on like a know-it-all New Yorker, that tickles me pink lemonade. Why? Because, for starters, I think the NY critics are the toughest, and they think for themselves. Growing up, I admired how, following another opening night, they were forced to form their opinions in hours or less, rushing back to newsroom typewriters or to telephones to call in their notices. No time to stick their fingers in the wind or equivocate their immediate gut reactions down to intellectual mush. I read and treasured Walter Kerr almost every Sunday in The New York Herald Tribune. And when I landed my first byline in Variety, that only emboldened my stubbornly independent ways. Whatever I am, it's me that you get. I just wish, trust me, that you'd get a lot more voices and a lot more opinions -- in declarative review form.

"Pompous" if you please. English class room deficient if you must. But bias in advance? That I fight all the time, admitting that, yes, I too am human, but I think the conscious struggle to fight bias has made me a better, fairer reporter. Two things that remain uppermost in my thinking and approach: Number 1. Keep your mind an open slate, and let the arists in the ring paint their pictures on it. Number 2. The circus, ever since jugglers began in Egypt ,acrobats in China, is forever changing. It is not a fixed form. So, by all means adhere to a golden cliche: judge each show on its own terms.

Which can be a shock to my system as well.

And sometimes, a thrill. Never know what awaits me when, pompously, I embark on another homework review project. Considering how quaintly irrelevant I am obviously viewed by my dissenters, I'm thinking of making my entrances on to the lot in cape and carriage, but the Witness Protection Program refused me that guise.

[photo, at Carson & Barnes Circus in Half Moon Bay, CA,1995, by my nephew Jeffrey Hoffman]

7.18.10

 

Circus and The New York Times: Don’t Always Expect the Most Knowing Reviews

Perhaps The New York Times go-to-the-circus critic, cultural reporter Alexis Soloski,  took far too seriously the goings on at the current show, which costumes and links circus acts to Gotham’s  “Hometown Playground” — tourists sites, iconic signage, fashions, et all. For she quibbles with the imagery as being out of date – such as poodles in Ziegfeld costumes.  They strike me as  charming.

“The acts are given vague tie-ins to the five boroughs. An acrobat performs an upside-down routine dressed as a construction worker.  Upside down they don’t cat call ... The poodles, all shelter rescues, arrive in a checkered cab.”

I assume they should have been  Lyfted in.   So does this mean it is okay to use only dogs from  rescue shelters in circuses?  How  weaselly hypocritical a justification, woke! woke!

Any critic who goes to a circus these days expecting high-grade integration of theme or story  is best advised to park their brains at the door, and let their do hearts do the watching.   

Strangest of all, Soloski takes issue with slack wire performer Mihret Mekonnen from Ethiopia, seen above, writing, “However challenging, it is no substitute for a high one – or very slightly out of date.’

That is the stupidest thing I have ever read in a circus review.  

“Big Apple Circus’s exercise in nostalgia feels paler than the real city just beyond the tent.”  

Still, our vacillating reviewer wraps on a feel good note: “Sometimes messy, sometime thrilling ... the show is a fine diversion for a fall afternoon.”

Which pales in comparison to the story's headline: "An underwhelming exercise in nostalgia."

Other reviews? I find only one,  in DC Theater --- a rave.  Frankly, it looks like a lot of fun to me, mixed imagery included.

Don’t be surprised if the Gray Lady spins out another annual accolade:  “A New York Times Lazy Critic’s Pick!”

Thank You, America, For Coming to Your Senses

What makes me the happiest? To know that most Americans through so many classes and cultures all over the country share my feelings. It makes me feel better about the country, and better about its future.  Even here in the State of  Insanity (CA), there is hope.