Slava

There are no words to describe the giddiness of the last ten minutes of the brilliant Slava Snowshow that seems to be continually touring. I've seen it a few times and it still reduces me to squeals of joys. In a beautifully orchestrated scene, Slave, a russian clown in a lumpy yellow jump suit, seems to have met a women, actually no more than a coat with one of his arms through a sleeve. They seemingly arrange to meet but he is stood up and tears up his love letter. Paper flutters to the floor, more paper flutters from above, then flutters over the whole of the audience, until it is a veritable blizzard. This is topped by the back wall parting and cold jet engines blast a much torn paper and snow as a theatre can hold. The auditorium is awash with snow and people dancing. And there's more. From the stage emerge a dozen monstrous brightly coloured balloons that simply get tossed around by the audience, as it continues to snow, and the cast watch, sometimes repeating a dance. And thus the show is given to the audience, who go home covered in snow. Joy unfettered.