Circus as Spectacle and Resistance

By Josh Nobleman

Entertainment traps me like everyone else these days. TV, of course — human behaviour performed, filtered, curated, and packaged for consumption.  The trojan horse of escapism, storytelling and spectacle. Once inside our minds it unloads a hidden cargo of desires, fears, and manufactured needs designed to maximize our spending.

Entertrapment: entertainment as both bait and trap. The escape we find in entertainment becoming the very thing that limits our freedom. 

And as we strengthen our defenses, the arms race escalates with algorithms, endless scrolls, and gamified engagement designed to breach the boundaries of our minds. 

Sure, we can just turn off our TVs. But what happens when other forms of public life become a spectacle? I’m talking about corporate brands with “relatable” voices. Podcasters and their parasocial relationships. Influencers crafting personas to mimic the gestures of genuine relationships to make money. And, most recently, the circus that is the US election campaign. 

This last one – politics as a clown show – isn’t entirely new. The Roman phrase "bread and circus" pointed to how rulers distracted the masses from their real needs with superficial pleasures. Chariot races and gladiator fights hid the cracks of ancient Rome: dependence on slaves stagnating technological innovation; an overextended empire; rulers corrupted by nepotism and bribery; power struggles within the military. Over time, "circus" has become shorthand for the chaos and spectacle of politics itself. The US election is full of attention-grabbing drama— full of sound and fury, signifying nothing – that diverts us from actual governance and solutions. Election cycles, full of theatrical showdowns and clickbait stunts  feel more like a performance than a process of real choice.

The word “circus” is used commonly to condemn spectacle for its own sake.

Google Trends associates the word with events like U.S. Congress votes, the Brexit process, etc.  We cast contempt on the fundamentally unserious person by calling them a f^&*$ing clown. It’s very satisfying to say. You clown.

But ironic, since we know circus performance to be a space of discipline, artistry, and often minimalist storytelling. Performers train for years to push their physical and mental limits. It takes a rare level of focus, dedication and faith to reach the popular audience. It’s harder to join Cirque du Soleil than Harvard (4.25 times harder based on acceptance rates). 

This irony made me think about how circus fits into the entertrapment war. I don’t have the answers. But I want to ask: what happens when we turn the weapon of entertainment on the system that produces it? Should we dismiss circus as just another form of distracting spectacle? Or is it precisely this form that can embody resistance? 

And this might be the real irony: in a world where spectacle is used to distract, to trivialize and entrap us, circus might just be one of the most potent ways to protest. 

The body has always been a site for protest. The Russian Doukhobors protested military conscription with acts of nudity to symbolize purity and nonviolence. Gandhi’s fasting, his 240-mile march to the sea, the way he spun khadi (cotton cloth) by hand, and his public appearance in simple loincloth – these were all distinctly embodied forms of resistance. Rosa Parks’ refusal to give up her bus seat was an iconically physical act. The black power salute; the suffragettes’ hunger strikes; Fairy Creek protesters holding their bodies fast to trees to obstruct logging trucks: by standing, sitting, or moving with intention, an individual’s body can be used for political resistance in ways that words cannot.

And in contemporary circus, the human body has taken centre stage as older elements like animals and the ringmaster have faded. I caught a recent Cirque du Soleil show in Vancouver, Echo. It opened with a dozen performers in pastel suits and white animal masks prowling gracefully, each like the animals they represented. But one performer, unmasked, arms bare and forearms dyed blood-red, soared through the air using bungee cord straps. His vulnerability and his power were two sides of the same coin. Humanity as a raw, exposed nerve: full of pain and power. It was a powerful way to reach the audience: the physicality and presence of the human body. 

Sure, there could be a lightshow, smoke and mirrors, but the focus is on the human form in movement. The risk is real. We hold our breath because the performer might hurt themselves. They are death-defying. And if they can defy gravity, overturn expectations, overcome fear,  break through isolation– then what else are we inspired to overcome?

Circus confronts us with human potential. It lays bare the stakes of being human.

So sure, politics can be a real circus. But more importantly: the circus can be political.