Slava’s Snowshow

Created and staged by Slava Polunin

Helen Hayes Theatre

240 West 44th Street

212-239-6200

 

Review by Amy Krivohlavek

 

In the blizzard of holiday entertainment blanketing the city this December, there’s nothing quite like Slava’s Snowshow, the beloved collage of clowning that continues to mesmerize snow-starved children of all ages. A lengthy downtown run closed in 2007, and now Slava and his crew have resurfaced — this time for a limited engagement on Broadway — with magic and mayhem to spare.

 

As the enigmatic Yellow, Slava ambles across the stage in a sunshine-soaked playsuit and fuzzy red slippers. From behind his mask of black-and-white makeup, he gently coaxes us into his world, which pops open like a children’s storybook: Brilliant blue padded walls are studded with stars, a crescent moon shines above, and troves of bouncy, fanciful toys appear from midair. 

 

Send in the Clowns: Winter cheer comes at you from all angles in Slava's Snowshow.

 

And he’s not alone. His companions, a group of green clowns (led by Ivan Polunin) jostle, taunt and engage Yellow — and the audience — in their highjinks. Although I was a Slava novice, I knew that the show was interactive, but I didn’t realize how interactive. As Yellow stepped out onto the center section of the audience, grabbing hands as he clambered across rows of seats, I began to understand, but it wasn’t until Slava grabbed my coat from my lap and flung it high into the air and across the theater that I realized that no one, not even a theater critic, is safe from participation. This lively sparring seeped into intermission, when the green clowns — a pesky, playful bunch — turned the audience into a jungle gym, spraying water bottles, yanking hair and even carrying one female viewer backstage.

 

In these startling moments, Slava transforms theater from a passive experience into an active one, whether you like it or not, and the experience smacks you in the face like a snowball. After teasing us with deceptively simple clown vignettes (slapstick physical gags and passionate lip-synching) and wrenching us from our seats, he folds in a powerful, poignant scene of genuine heartbreak that lingers as the legendary snowstorm, which concludes the show, begins its awesome trajectory. All of the comical clowning somehow primes us for pathos, and snow — the material of both lonely landscapes and mirthful snowball fights — proves to be the perfect medium to convey the ambivalence (joy vs. despair) of the holiday season. How’s that for a clown show? And, yes, I got my coat back. Eventually.