This is the story of an astonishingly driven and passionate performer who, in his short life, attained worldwide fame and fortune while redefining his artform in ways that can still be seen today. This is the story of the worlds greatest juggler, Enrico Rastelli.
One of the good and bad things about my job is having friends spread out across the world. The bad part is that you hardly ever see them, but on those times when you walk into a green room in some far flung country, put your suitcase down and look up to see you’ve been booked on the same gig as an old friend? That’s pretty great.
I’ve got a few friends in the Ukraine, and I’ve been thinking about them a lot lately, of course.
I talked to one of them this morning.
A decade and a half ago, we were both on a long contract working in a variety theatre in Germany. The shows were good, the audiences were good, the pay was fine, and there was free cake on Sundays.
Back then, I wrote a little about what her life was like, so I thought I’d repost it here.
So, this is from 2007.
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She speaks very little English, but has learned the word "Employees" from the script of my act (I shout it at the climax of a gag towards the end). She clearly enjoys saying this word, and now uses it to mean everything. I walk through the door and she hugs me hello with a happy "Employees!". She catches me going out for a run wearing shorts and lets out a lecherous "Employees!". We have a drink after the show and toast each other with a clink of glasses and an "Employees!". It's very funny, and linguistically seems to completely work.
She comes to me in my dressing room clutching a school type exercise book, sits down next to me and opens it flat on the table. It is full of carefully handwritten words in Ukrainian together with their English translations. She wants me to help her with her pronunciation. Of course. No problem. We go through her list and she's mainly a lot better than she thinks, and is clearly working very hard on it. The more we go through her book the more it hits me. These words are her life distilled. The list is a collection of haiku that describe her life. Her day to day existence boiled down to bare essentials.
hairbrush
bag
door
I go
write me please
stockings
spoon
cup
pants
run
bra
switch on
switch off
adjust
low
high
loud
silently
I find it profoundly moving, but , of course, am completely unable to communicate this to her, although I think she understands as she lets me copy the above words into my laptop.
Later on that evening she finds me backstage, grabs me urgently and says - in perfect and careful English - "I like vegetables". I smile broadly and reply that I, too, like vegetables. remembering that the word "Macaroni" was in her book, I ask "Do you like macaroni?", a happy grin spreads across her face, "Yes! I very like macaroni!"
We go bowling. Not having bowled before, her chosen tactic is to cradle the ball like a handbag, run at the lane as fast as she can, before letting it fall in the general direction of the pins. Her first attempt always - always - finds the left gutter. But her second, due to the strange laws of physics and luck that seem only to apply to drunken ball games, usually finds it's target. This is, though, of little interest to her. She seems only to concern herself with the increasingly complex series of celebratory or consolatory dance routines delivered with gusto after she has released her ball. These include, but are not limited to: Kissing her biceps, moonwalking, and dropping into a splits, before realising that her pants are too tight and yelling "Trousers! Employees!"
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Like I said, I spoke to her this morning. She said she was safe for now. I said I was glad.
Then she posted “Россия агресор расскажи там всем у себя в стране”, which translates as
RUSSIAN AGGRESSOR TELL EVERYONE THERE IN YOUR COUNTRY
So, this is, I guess, me doing that.
Wanted to try pushing my comfort zone a little by doing a deliberately informal, more vlog-style video, entierly shot on one, tiny pocket camera. I usually script and plan my videos quite carefully, so this was my attempt to just make one on the fly, throughout my day, and see what I ended up with. Hope you like it!
Enjoy! Share! Comment! All the usual mullarkey!
Am I successful? Are you? And what exactly is success anyway?
I HAVE QUESTIONS, SO I MADE A VIDEO!
Sometimes, something painful can help you to be in the moment, and then, if the pain goes away, you've learned something useful.
I was sad to hear of the passing of the legendary Lionel Blair this week. I was lucky enough to interview him on stage as part of my “London Varieties” shows. He was exactly as hilarious, charming, heartfelt and mischievous as you’d want him to be. So glad I got to spend this time with him, laughing at his stories of Frank Sinatra, Danny La Rue, Sammy Davis Jr and so many others.
Of course I got it all on film. Here it is. Enjoy.
I thought it might be fun to take a look at some of the times the old tablecloth trick has been done on screen - and examine which were the real thing, and which were..less so..
Had a gig last night. The Phoenix Arts Club is a room I’ve played a bunch of times, and whenever I do, I’m thankful all over again that it exists. Not just because, for some misguided reason, they often allow me to shout and sweat and swear and play on their stage (Although partly that), but because it’s.. genuine. In a London that has seen, over my tenure as one of its cabaret footsoldiers, many of the most precious venues get euthanized as part of the continual slide into the homogonised banality of chain coffee shops and manufactured fauxthenticity, this place is real.
The Arts Club is like a good-natured heckler to the rest of the West End theatre scene. It’s got history and community and an earned place in the real culture of soho. It has a reason to exist.
But last night, as I walked through the door, I wasn’t feeling it.
Lately, I’ve been rehabbing a back injury, whilst at the same time letting a sprained finger heal slowly. Because of the back thing, I haven’t been able to exercise, which is something that starts every day for me. I like to think that I’m in generally pretty good physical shape – I am, on paper at least, a circus artist, after all. The core of my work is physical feats, so when I don’t feel that I’m at 100%, it gets me down, and makes me feel old. Constant aches and pains and slightly limited mobility meant that I arrived at the Arts Club feeling squirly and grumpy. It felt like I was going to work, which is a bit of a red flag when your work is basically arseing around on stage in front of clapping cheering people. If you’re not looking forward to that, then, well, what the hell?
While I soundchecked and prepped for the show, I met the other performers, including new people, who I think I might have been a bit unintentionally dickish toward. I’m shy at the best of times, ridiculous as it might seem for someone who works in a spotlight to have social anxiety, there it is. And when I’m unable to find a way to sit or stand that doesn’t send pings of ouch shooting down my left arm, the chance of my shyness coming across as standoffishness is, well, likely.
But then the show started. I was in the second half, so for the first half I snuck out the side of the stage and slipped behind the bar to watch. And the pain in my back eased. And my shoulders loosened a little. And I relaxed.
As I watched Michael Twaits (with the amazing Sarah Rose on piano) be silly and clever and quick-witted, and Sooz Kempner show Barbra Streisand a very good time, while her earring fell off, and Benjamin Scheuer sing beautiful songs to a pin-drop rapt sea of unblinking punters, my mood 180’d.
There I was, heart-emoji-eyes and a stupid grin under my mask, being reminded of how lucky I am to be able to see performers so great. So artistic. As real and beautiful as the venue they were in. But to be on a bill with them? Ridiculous. This didn’t feel like going to work any more.
Basement venues packed to the rafters, with neon and mirrorballs and a bar to watch from behind, and amazing staff, and shows made up of different kinds of people who all do different things well. Places that send people home with the feeling that they went to a slightly secret place and saw something a bit special. All of this, forever, please.
It’s a good question! And this video answers it, with a story involving a trip to South Korea that still seems like some kind of fever dream…
Gigs are still a little thin on the ground, but last weekend I got to share a hot tent with a killer audience, and some of my favourite cabaret friends. Not bad at all. And of course, I took my camera.
Hello! So here's a video I made about my youthful appearances in some 80's and 90's music videos. Long story short - it was fun, they made we look ridiculous, and a famous person helped me commit a crime. So, y'know, basic showbusiness.
Also there's assloads of beautiful neon in this video, which made me happy.
Now you’ve laughed at me, come and laugh with me at my upcoming London shows!
brasseriezedel.com/events/mat-ricardo-the-extraordinary-gentleman
So. Yeah. A couple of weeks ago, I had a very odd adventure.
But it’s about the journey, not the destination, right? Right?
I made a little film about how the North Yorkshire town of Whitby completely changed my life forever. It’s also about saying goodbye and saying thanks.
Hope you like it.
This, my friends, is not quite what it appears to be.