Fuerabruta roundhouse

“I’M SOAKING WET AND I WANT TO GO CLUBBING”, I texted to my boyfriend after leaving Fuerzabruta last night. I was so exhilarated I didn’t know what to do with myself. So I ran to the tube, just because running made more sense at that moment than walking. Trying to contain myself when I got into the quiet tube carriage was almost torturous, and I turned into that weird girl in the carriage who can’t stop tapping to her iPod and always seems to sit next to you.

Here I had better add the caveat that while I was in this frenzied state towards the climax of the show, I could still tell that there was a divide between those who, like me, couldn’t resist the euphoric carnival of the thing, and others who were happy to simply bop along at the sides, hoping the artificial rain hadn’t ruined their phone. But I’m fairly sure that appreciation of the pure spectacle of the show was universal.

The show comprises several impressive set-pieces which, though not coming together in any meaningful harmony, are individually stunning. Clever use of a large treadmill gives us a man who pelts his way through walls of cardboard boxes; two performers scramble across opposite sides of an enormous spinning wall; performers run and tumble around the walls of the perfectly-chosen Roundhouse venue on harnesses, suspended from the rig; six girls swoosh mesmerisingly around in transparent pools of shallow water, metres and then inches above the audience’s heads, transfixing us with their spontaneous, unpractised play. There is something wonderfully fresh about seeing their natural shapes throughout the show, rather than accepted poises and toe-pointing choreography. The biggest asset to the show is the amount of fun the performers seem to be having throughout, as if they only get to do this this once instead of 100 times during this run.

There is no attempt to dress the show up as anything more thoughtful or emotive than simply a parade of awesome spectacle and a really brilliant time, accompanied by multisensory stimulation from thumping music, strobe lighting, wind machines and water spray. But then no-one needs a political statement or a heart-warming tale when they’re at Mardi Gras.

If you plan to see the show during its run at the Roundhouse, follow this advice:

  • Go with your funnest, wildest, partyest mate, or better yet, a whole bunch of them.
  • Don’t bring anything except £2 to put your coat in the cloakroom. I lugged my Mary Poppins handbag around the auditorium with me and it seriously impeded my jumping about and waving capability.
  • Go on a weekend and find a club nearby to go to afterwards. Whatever you do, don’t get stuck on a train or a bus less than an hour after the end of the show – it feels like going cold turkey at a relative’s funeral.
  • Don’t go if you’re claustrophobic (at one point the audience is encased in a giant plastic sheet), and don’t go if you have neck ache and can’t look up. Most of it is up.

And if you happen to get stuck next to the weird tapping girl on a tube near Chalk Farm at any time in the near future, don’t judge her too harshly. She may be going Fuerza cold turkey.

Fuerzabruta is playing at the Roundhouse until 2 March. For more information and tickets, see the Roundhouse website.