“My favorite dance move, it really must be in “I Like to Move It” and shaking my thigh fat for four and a half minutes. It makes me crack up every time. I’m not fake laughing—I’m killing myself laughing on stage because I’m shaking my thigh fat for everyone.”
—Heather Lindsay, performer in The Show Must Go On
To listen to an interview with Lindsay click here.
The great strength of The Show Must Go On—other than the shaking of thigh fat—is the way it inspires audience interaction rather than demanding it. The show opens with the technician who sits in front of the audience, turning off the lights and inserting a CD from a large stack sitting to his left. The entirety of Tony and Maria’s duet “Tonight” from West Side Story. Nothing happens.
As the lights slowly rise, the tech ejects the CD, puts it in its case and inserts the next. This punctuation of changing CDs marks the passage of time through the show and seems to never fail to get a laugh. The song ends. The third CD goes in, “Come Together” by the Beatles, and the audience decides that it’s acceptable to sing along. There is no cue that this is what the audience should be doing, it’s just that there is nothing else to do, and The Show Must Go On takes the time it needs to allow the audience to figure it out.
The discomfort created by watching nearly ten minutes of nothing is palpable, as is the delight of the realization that you can sing along. I’m fairly certain I was the youngest audience member, and the crowd looked pretty sedate, but over the course of the show they hooted, hollered, clapped, stomped, sang and sighed. One man even stormed the stage, but was quickly ushered back into the audience. Clearly there was a line of what was and wasn’t acceptable regarding audience participation and it was exciting to see the show get the audience to tread that line with almost no direct communication.
Midway through the third song the actors finally entered and things really got weird with “I Like to Move It.” Thigh fat wasn’t the only thing these actors were moving, and the grotesque sexuality was hilarious and mesmerizing. The show meandered from bizarre humor to intellectual minimalism to sigh inducing pathos as the focus shifts between the dancers, the audience and the songs.
The publicity promises that “fans of last year’s That Night Follows Day will find in Jérôme Bel’s masterpiece a truly kindred spirit,” and like That Night Follows Day, almost nothing happens over the course of the performance, yet I found myself entirely captivated from beginning to end.









