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THE MISSION: JOINING THE CIRCUS

WILL SMITH LEARNS SOMETHING NEW | August 26th 2008

"I have found the silver bullet that will stop the trade in illegal drugs ..."

From INTELLIGENT LIFE magazine, Summer 2008

Where? Twenty feet up in the air, hanging from two canvas straps in a big top in Amsterdam.

In a city renowned for drugs, the one I'm getting off on is adrenalin. This is the biggest high I've ever experienced--and I've performed in front of 6,000 people and shaken Stephen Fry's hand. Admittedly my experience of drugs doesn't stretch beyond Irish coffee, but I'm sure heroin wouldn't make you feel as good as this. Rehab should start with circus lessons.

Rewind to London in February, when I go to see Cirque du Soleil's latest show, "Varekai"--a blend of heart-stopping circus acrobatics and huge-scale theatrical stagings--to choose which act I might like to attempt. My initial reaction? None of them. Not if I value my limbs, and the ability to use them. Maybe I could learn a bit of stilt work instead, or do a little jump through a trapdoor? No, I was told. According to Cirque's publicist, two far more exciting acts--known as Aerial Straps and Icarian Games--are "easy to teach".

By that way of thinking, I could probably pick up piloting Harrier jumpjets in an afternoon.

Aerial Straps is performed by two former British gymnastic champions, Andrew and Kevin Atherton. During the show, they hang on to straps attached to a motorised wire, which
then "flies" and spins them 40 feet above the heads of an audience that has its collective jaw on the floor. But here in Amsterdam, they're floor-bound. And, far from being the muscle-rippling adrenalin-junkies I'd expected, they make a charming, self-
effacing pair of teachers. They show me how to wrap my hands in two canvas loops--the eponymous aerial straps--and then tell me, when I'm ready, to say "up".

I'm not great with heights, but what I'm even worse at is admitting defeat. So I say a trepidatious "up", the technician presses his buttons, and at a fair speed I am swung up and over the empty auditorium. There's no net beneath me, just a hard stage--the only soft thing I could land on would be the photographer and his assistant. I'm flung through the air in, if such a thing is possible, a controlled way. It's utterly elating. Afterwards, my potential human crashmats tell me they have never seen anyone's face light up with quite so much joy.

Next, I lie crosswise across Andrew in the centre of the stage, with one arm around him; with our free hands we each hold a separate loop. Then we begin to push with our legs, turning ourselves round at a shallow angle to the floor. As we gather speed we're raised up in the air, spinning as we go. Andrew urges me to keep my legs at a 180° angle. For some reason my body decides it would be better to do some flailing scissor-kicks. Not even the comic effect this has on those below dissipates my high.

Next comes the Icarian Games, an act that takes place closer to floor-level, but is no less daunting. It is performed by two Italian brothers, Stiv and Roni Bello. Roni's job is to lie on his back on a chair with his feet in the air, supporting Stiv, who he kicks upwards into a series of aerial somersaults. The brothers say that they want me to jump up and sit on Roni's feet, then lean backwards, arms outstretched, and backflip into a standing position. They have been doing this for about 20 years, and are seventh-generation circus performers. In my life I have done one unassisted forward roll. On the ground. And it hurt.

Luckily, the photographer's assistant suggests that I wear a harness. I may well owe her my life. For my first attempt I have a belt round my waist attached to a rope and pulley, the other end of which is in the strong hands of Roni's and Stiv's father, Luciano. Even then I flail about like...well, like a man trying to balance himself on another man's feet without any prior training. My arms windmill, my legs kick, but thanks to Luciano supporting the bulk of my weight I somehow somersault backwards into a standing position on the floor. Without him I would have made a premature, entirely head-based landing.

My second attempt yields the sort of improvement that gets England football managers sacked. Then it's my turn to lie on the chair, while Stiv sits on my feet. I'm not entirely sure where they are supposed to go: there are sensitive areas to the fore and aft of where Stiv is sitting. This is beginning to make me nervous. But then, for the finale, he makes an upward leap--and all of a sudden I have a man standing on my upturned feet! Another previously unknown joy. I don't know what they charge to teach this by the hour, but I am prepared to steal to fund my new habit.

(Will Smith is a comedian and actor. His earlier missions include learning how to make a soufflé , play golf and strum a banjo.)