From: thomasl@copper.ucs.indiana.edu ((thomasl))
Subject: FESTIVAL REVIEW
Summary: overcrowded, expensive, but the clowns were great
Keywords: bitch, bitch, bitch
Organization: Indiana University
Date: Thu, 13 Aug 1992 20:08:38 GMT

An International Incident


Me??? In the pages of THE MAGAZINE?  I read the message with
disbelief.  Nawwwww, JW didn't REALLY wanna print what I had to
say.  Or did they?  Mainstream recognition at last!  My head
swelled with pride as I read the message from the editor: admired
my work, blahblahblah, something about needing a "fresh voice",
or breathing life into something.  Heck, my voice was so fresh
it wanted a good slapping.  Having had first aid training, I'm
qualified for the breathe of life.  By gosh, I would do it.  
For the glory.  Good thing, too.  In Montreal, the pay is peanuts.

Coverage was to begin with the "Juggler's Train".  You read the
advertisements?  At least YOU weren't suckered in.  I came ready
to party.  I donned my shades, some attitude and climbed aboard. 
Where were the jugglers?  The florida people, who had hyped the
trip, were nowhere to be seen.  It was just me, and D.C.,
although later we would pick up Miz Tilly and partner, though
they didn't associate much with the little people in cheap seats,
having booked a sleeper. Other folks included Eric, of extensions
fame.  Neil Stammer was bumming, because he had come down to the
train to see some old friends.  They didn't show.  I longed for
the nastiness of my hometown club, because NEVER have I met such
nice people.  Does one really want to roadtrip with NICE people? 7up, brownies
and mixed nuts were passed 'round.  The brownies were good, but
the only thing which expanded was my waistline.  Yeah, we ate a
lot on that trip.  I managed to score a knish in New York, and
some bagels.  I got the juggler's discount, too, although I had
to vault a gate to make it back onto the train.

There really isn't anything to report.  After some urging, we got
some passing going, and things livened up a bit. Burkes Barrage
by New York, I vowed, and worked away for a couple of hours. 
Office workers on holiday became jugglers as a successful 3-3-10
in the aisles lead to a heroic box, with the two in the seats
doing a beauty job passing across a narrow aisle.  First it was
the club car, then the box car, and finally, when the conductors
where about to bounce us from the train, silicones and all, we
put the clubs away, and tossed bags the rest of the time.  We ran
out of steam about Baltimore, and then things settled down to a
nice monotony, enlived only by the beautiful Vermont landscape
the next morning, and the thrill of customs attempting to fit
Jill into their bureacratic scheme. 

The train was welcomed in Montreal by festival organizers with a
documentary crew. "Act lively".  Ok.  We juggled.  A club fell onto
the tracks, and a pall settled over the smokemeat shops.  Was
there enough pastry in Montreal to lift it?  It was Monday
afternoon.  When I walked into the gym that evening, my heart
sank.  A handful of jugglers were there already, and there seemed
to be just about enough room.  A chill passed through me, and I
was glad it did, because it was hot in there.  The literature had
said there was no need for air conditioning.  So I kept
telling myself this: "there is no need for air conditioning.  There
is no NEED for air conditioning.  These are not the droids you
want.  There is no need for air conditioning".  It didn't work. 
There was a need for air conditioning.  Or ventilation fans.  Or
another gym.  

There was simply not enough space for a convention
of this size.  Workshops need their own space; partitioning off
part of a too-small gym is not an adequate solution.  Outside was
ok, but it was frustrating to chase up and down hills looking for
workshops, especially when so many were cancelled.  

Registration was your basic nightmare.  I waited in line for
hours, and I got there early, too.  Periodically people would
mysteriously jump line, and make it inside, which was the goal, 
Although there were further lines inside.   By the time I was at
the very portal, it was announced that all pre-registered folks
could enter.  Stampede.  Another wait, bottlenecked at the gym
door.  Various registration strategies were tried, but by the
time I got inside, there was scarcely room to juggle anyway.

I got in shape trudging up and down hill, from dorm to gym to
grassy field.   I cannot comment on the food, since no WAY was I
going to spend megabucks on cafeteria cuisine in one of the
continent's greatest food cities.  It was a bus and metro ride to
the theatre, or a long walk.  Events being all spread out was
just one feature that made this a strange convention.  Example? 
Organizers (and I use this word for want of a better one, so
consider it a euphimism) neglected to tell Berri Square security
about the grand finale fire show, and so security was kept busy
running from fire to fire.  As soon as they doused Thierry and
his beautiful fire diabolo, someone else across the way would
begin firebreathing, or torch swinging, or sparkshooting. 
Finally the ok came from on high, and then there was simultaneous
fire.  But it was no big deal.  It was all a lot of hype.    

The whole thing was summed up by the merchandizing of the
big tossup -- that hallowed tradition in which jugglers gather to pitch their 
toys high in the air, and hope to recover
them without incident.  It's a tradeoff between recognizability
in the photo, and getting your stuff back without damage to it or
others.  So while I would have liked to throw a unicycle, I
settled for a bunch of rings -- bright colors, lots of surface
area.  For this tossup, though, newsbags with the logo of the
local paper were passed out, and those people prominantly
displaying them were actually moved to the front, close to 
special guest/art god Michael Moschen.  I managed to nab a bag, and use
it as my ticket to the front.  I have yet to see the photo, but
the whole festival seems to have suffered from its association
with the Montreal celebration, and the IJA's backbends to make
good on the first initial of the organization name.   

Another sellout came during the awards ceremony.  Token medals
all 'round!  Bronzes were given away like consolation prizes, or
halloween treats.  Wasn't it a different story last year?  This
year, if you had competed before and not won anything, you got a
medal.  If you were not american, you got a medal.  A woman? 
Have a medal.  I admit the cuban guy had hot bounce tricks.  No problem
there.  The Russian guy was, well, russian.  Which is to say technincally
excellent, but bizarrly circus. It was another culture, but looked like 
another time,like Ed Sullivan from the wayback machine.  From the tapdance
style clogging, which he did nonstop during the act, to the
circus prancer of an assistant doing the ballet vanna white thing in stilletto
heels , to the knife cavilarly thrown to
stick in to the stage (and left there!),  culminating in the
mirrored discoball which opened to reveal a steaming samovar, it
was pure kitsch.  We saw lots of things balanced on the head this
year, including two musical instruments, sporting equiptment, a
samovar and a palmtree.  I laughed nonstop, and received a year's
supply of dirty looks.  It was even funnier the second time
'round, at the public show.  I will not deny that the man was a
good juggler, though.

What's All the CoMoschen About?

It was billed as a creativity workshop.  The hall was packed. 
And Mr. Moschen conducted his own personal encounter workshop in
that.  Ahhhhh, how GOOD to express our feelings. And yet, the man
had a point, and not just on his bouncing surface.  A number of
people were converted on the spot: one juggler, after much
artistic anguish, began working on a
unique routine reflecting the death of his daughter's best
friend's gerbil, using a molecule of NACL and twenty six wads of
glow-in-the-dark silly putty.  Another juggler vowed never to
juggle again, and ran off to bake bread in pueblo monestery in
desolute New Mexico. A third attempted supuku on the spot,
gruesomely disembowelling himself with the bulbous end of an
american club.  A more moderate juggler simply gave away his props.

Michael Moschen's tantrums stole the show, and gave us all
something to talk about.  His slam of the seniors competition
during his acceptance of the florid and floral tributes were but
another incident in a week that would provide much wind for the
rumor mill.  What happened to the flowers he was presented with? 
And, more pointedly, what shape was built in the gym from three
tables at 4 a.m. by which familiar juggler?  I enjoyed hearing the personal 
development of his art, and I
thought it ok too that he said what he wanted to (see the Two-Ply
Press coverage for more on this).  But who are we, the membership
of the IJA?  Are we mostly hobby jugglers, or are the majority performers?  
Except for a few clowns and streetperformers, I found myself surrounded by 
computer geek--er--guys.  Here I insert my own personal complaint:  when I 
am on a"party train", I do not want to hear, drifting up from the row
behind "it's time for a demonstration of fuzzy logic".  I do not
want to hear a scintillating discussion of 2 by 2 arrays.  Actual
conversation, cross my heart.  No wonder people were snoozing. 
Ok, maybe it IS how these folks have fun.  In truth, they are
fine jugglers and nice people, so I swallowed my spleen, and
considered it a tasty snack. But I digress.  

What does Mr. Moschen's chastisement have to do
with us?  To the hobby juggler, railing against acrylic ball
manipulation makes as much sense as DaVinci carping at someone
for filling in a paint)by)numbers Mona Lisa.  Sure, a kid wanting
to develop their own creative art would be better served spending
time on other excercises.  But 
presentation is everything.  Which is why, for example, the
performance of the Nightlights piece on the renegade stage by
anyone OTHER than Fritz Grobe, who developed it, seems to be a
blatant ripoff, whereas someone doing some ball manipulation
doesn't.  And speaking of presentation, Mr. Moschen's points, while
actually useful for the developing artist, where not presented in
an accesible or pedagogically satisfying way.  His complaints
sounded whiney, petty, and defensive, and it made me wonder if
there is anything fresh coming out of the Moschen studio.   It
doesn't much matter to me -- it's brilliant, and I could watch it
again and again.  He has already made his mark on movement and
performance with his art, and expanded object manipulation and
juggling into new realms.  And reproduced, besides.  It's a
lifetime's achievement, so relax, Michael.

All was forgiven after his stellar performance during the public
show, and his diplomatic appearance in the gym following.  He
passed clubs with a number of happy jugglers.  It was the most
interesting thing about the convention.  Almost.  Because then
there were the competitions...

Juniors?  Super'!!!
Seniors?  Oui-Oui.

This year, the Juniors competition was hosted by one of the most
amazing comedic artistes I have ever seen.  Two, actually,
because Gulko was joined by Adelle.  It was truly great nouvelle
comedic theatre, and not only worthy of the award given, but
worth the price of admission, as well.  I thought my head would
explode during the tie piece, and I wouldn't have even minded if
it had. 

The juniors were full of talent, too.  The level of trickiness
has been raising seemingly exponentially.  Three club kickups by
kids juggling under two years???!!!!!?  9 rings flashed???!!!!! 
C'mon, give me a break.  The placing of the top two could have
gone either way, depending if you would rather emphasize
creativity, or juggling tricks.  Sean Mckinney, my personal fave
from last year's juniors (was he REALLY downgraded for his
rockin' costume, the torn jeans? I don't wanna believe that!) was
taller, more comfident, and dazzling.  Ben Topin had a
beautifully cohesive and entertaining routine, and completely
charmed the crowd.  Unfortunately, the competition seemed open to
all who applied.  Some kids were fine jugglers, and showed a lot
of heart and tricks on stage, but didn't have the polish which
made for a winning performance.  Noone who didn't stand a real
chance of winning should have been included, and that goes DOUBLE
for the Seniors.  

C'mon guys --  I've SEEN it before, and I didn't think it was
that great last time, either.  Take a page from Mr. Moschen's
gripebook, and make it fresh (although MM didn't show us
anything new when he took the stage, either.  Probably afraid we
would all instantly return to the gym and start dancing about
with geometric shapes).  

It took an hour to get into the theatre, due to a blown fuse.  Once
inside, it was old home week on stage, kinda like watching home movies.
Look, there's uncle larry again. And cousin Bob.  Nice to see old
friends, but geeezzzzz, if you're gonna perform, at LEAST be able
to do the tricks.  Our genial host was real downhome folks, too.  
I'd rather hear a judge be introduced.  It was a gimmicky show, too.  
Stever said that Bob's props should have gotten a medal.  The crowd
cooperated with Larry V's cuecards, and enthusiastically cheered
on cue, but wouldn't stand for it in the end, when instructed to
give the big O.  Yep, a real family evening, just like
thanksgiving, with plenty of turkey for everyone.  The juniors
were better, all around, with a few exceptions.  Dan Mulligan's
juggling was one of them.  Great mastry and control, good tricks,
but golf bores me.  Bob Whitcomb's color changing lifepreservers
were great.

The teams competitions were notable for some dazzling juggling,
beautifully presented by Benji Hill and Chuck Gunther.  Benji is
amazing, and it looked like, given another 3 months practice, it
would have been a flawless performance.  Without the drops, I
would have given these boys a gold medal, plus all the change I
had in my pockets, american and canadian.  It was a pleasure to
see some straight)forward spectacular juggling, presented in a
classicly tasteful manner. The seniors and teams were basically divided along 
the same lines as the juniors:  some competitors were clearly polished
professionals, while others looked like they worked out their
routines at lunch hour, or while waiting for their programs to
run.  And the weird thing was, both "styles" of performance got medals.
Yeah, I like drama, denoument, beginnings and endings and
stuff, but just having a theme or plot does not constitute
motivation for anything except possibly audience groaning and
eyerolls. 

The seniors show, during the awards, was an excercise in
international diplomacy and self-congratulation.  I felt like I
was at a school play, and I didn't even have a kid in the show! 
The speechifying was excessively boring, and I, for one, wish I
had been spared it.  I do not mind thanking those who put so much
effort into putting the convention together, no matter how
problem)fraught it is, nor do I hesitate to pay tribute to
historically important, great and inspiring jugglers.  But
please, keep it brief.  And don't keep the flowers wrapped in
plastic.  Couldn't we do this stuff at a banquet, so the adults
who want to attend can,  we don't have to keep the kiddies up
late?  I get cranky listening to that stuff. 

The public show, with fantastic antics by the two m.c.'s  
also was worth the (high) price of admission.  With few
exceptions, it was an evening of solid talent and entertainment.
The director did a beautiful job with it, and I think everyone
enjoyed themselves.

What more can I say?  The comics ruled at this fest.  It was nice
having an international flavour.  Bernard's dual voiced singing
was really cool.  Thanks to Rissa for the entertaining balloon
creations at the theatre.  The theatre itself was great, though I
fear the jugglers rather abused it.  The poster and tshirt design were 
spectacularly good, and very colorful, although it's a shame the
quality of the shirt is poor, so it won't last long.  Let's look
for bound seams next time, and thicker fabric, ok?  Lotti Brunn
was a delight.  Kudos and more to the Renegades, for the midnight
shows, and the beer.  Thanks to everyone who worked so hard to
provide us with this big blowout annual event.  Shame on those
who lift routines, whether they be from MM, Fritz, or anyone. 

And please, no more dances at these events, ok?  Call it a party,
and provide lots of food and beer, and then we can just juggle
and schmooze.  More workshops, more room, more juggling, and maybe
we'll pass on Fargo