TEXT ONE

　　Pier 17 in downtown Manhattan is not the most likely destination for theatre-goers. But here on the East River, among the wailing seagulls, frying fish and tourists, is an enchanting offer of entertainment. Spiegelworld is back in town for its second summer, with two spicy cabaret shows of dance, music, acrobatics and burlesque. Called Absinthe and La Vie , the shows are staged in the anachronistic opulence of a spiegeltent .

　　Nobody seems to know how many of these European pavilions are left but most people agree that there are fewer than 20. Built by hand without nails, spiegeltents are beautiful assemblies of teak, velvet, stained glass and bevelled mirrors, created originally in Belgium in the early 20th century as mobile dance halls. Only two families in Belgium and the Netherlands still know how to make them, producing one every five or ten years or so, says Vallejo Gantner, one of the shows producers and a long-time spiegeltent aficionado. But you know it when you walk into an old one. They have a special boutique quality.

　　This one, which dates from the 1920s and has a painted art-nouveau faade, lends continental glamour to the pier. It holds about 350 people on wooden chairs and banquettes around a modest, circular stage. And it is this intimacy, this proximity to the performers, that gives these shows their special feel. Erotic contortionists, balletic hand-balancers and bawdy jugglers emanate a sweaty, tangible humanity. Many of them, Mr Gantner explains, have left larger circus troupes, such as Cirque du Soleil, in order to make eye-contact with their audience. The simplicity of the staging gives their performances a gritty authenticity.

　　Once in a while, a family on a childrens outing is fooled by Spiegelworlds festive red-and-blue tent spires. Make no mistake: the shows are for adults. La Vie , created by Les 7 Doigts de la Main, a Montreal-based troupe, laces an array of artfully sexy circus acts with the premise that everyone is dead and in purgatory, travelling on a flight to hell that never quite gets there . Wearing what looks like a straitjacket, a contortionist moves in a highly unsettling way to a recording of Crazy , crooned by Patsy Cline. The show closes with a steamy pas de deux between the devilish master of ceremonies and the evenings lip-curling seductress.

　　Absinthe is a more explicit grab-bag of stripping, cross-dressing and intrigue, without a unifying theme. The shows strongest moments come from the acrobats, all of whom carry a powerful sexual charge. Two women sway with suggestive grace on the trapeze. An aerialist in black trousers, his sculpted chest glistening, pulls and twists himself up two hanging straps to the lusty music of Jealous Guy , sung by a transvestite diva.

　　Sexy but not tawdry. Despite colourful language and a brief moment of unnecessary male nudity in La Vie , the setting is too elegant and the talent too astonishing for that. Its a bit of risqu fun that has been warmly received by New Yorkers, many of whom have grown tired of the wholesome, tourist-friendly fare of Broadway. Last summer Absinthe ran for two months to sell-out crowds; this years two-show programme is for three months until the end of September.

　　TEXT ONE

　　Pier 17 in downtown Manhattan is not the most likely destination for theatre-goers. But here on the East River, among the wailing seagulls, frying fish and tourists, is an enchanting offer of entertainment. Spiegelworld is back in town for its second summer, with two spicy cabaret shows of dance, music, acrobatics and burlesque. Called Absinthe and La Vie , the shows are staged in the anachronistic opulence of a spiegeltent .

　　Nobody seems to know how many of these European pavilions are left but most people agree that there are fewer than 20. Built by hand without nails, spiegeltents are beautiful assemblies of teak, velvet, stained glass and bevelled mirrors, created originally in Belgium in the early 20th century as mobile dance halls. Only two families in Belgium and the Netherlands still know how to make them, producing one every five or ten years or so, says Vallejo Gantner, one of the shows producers and a long-time spiegeltent aficionado. But you know it when you walk into an old one. They have a special boutique quality.

　　This one, which dates from the 1920s and has a painted art-nouveau faade, lends continental glamour to the pier. It holds about 350 people on wooden chairs and banquettes around a modest, circular stage. And it is this intimacy, this proximity to the performers, that gives these shows their special feel. Erotic contortionists, balletic hand-balancers and bawdy jugglers emanate a sweaty, tangible humanity. Many of them, Mr Gantner explains, have left larger circus troupes, such as Cirque du Soleil, in order to make eye-contact with their audience. The simplicity of the staging gives their performances a gritty authenticity.

　　Once in a while, a family on a childrens outing is fooled by Spiegelworlds festive red-and-blue tent spires. Make no mistake: the shows are for adults. La Vie , created by Les 7 Doigts de la Main, a Montreal-based troupe, laces an array of artfully sexy circus acts with the premise that everyone is dead and in purgatory, travelling on a flight to hell that never quite gets there . Wearing what looks like a straitjacket, a contortionist moves in a highly unsettling way to a recording of Crazy , crooned by Patsy Cline. The show closes with a steamy pas de deux between the devilish master of ceremonies and the evenings lip-curling seductress.

　　Absinthe is a more explicit grab-bag of stripping, cross-dressing and intrigue, without a unifying theme. The shows strongest moments come from the acrobats, all of whom carry a powerful sexual charge. Two women sway with suggestive grace on the trapeze. An aerialist in black trousers, his sculpted chest glistening, pulls and twists himself up two hanging straps to the lusty music of Jealous Guy , sung by a transvestite diva.

　　Sexy but not tawdry. Despite colourful language and a brief moment of unnecessary male nudity in La Vie , the setting is too elegant and the talent too astonishing for that. Its a bit of risqu fun that has been warmly received by New Yorkers, many of whom have grown tired of the wholesome, tourist-friendly fare of Broadway. Last summer Absinthe ran for two months to sell-out crowds; this years two-show programme is for three months until the end of September.