It’s impossible to award a rating to the Jim Rose Circus on anything approaching artistic merit, so I won’t even bother…
If La Clique is the classy, elegant and beautiful femme fatale of the circus, then Jim Rose is her sick and twisted little brother, pulling wings off flies and listening to Slipknot records in a pool of his own making.
If any of the following things offend you, stay away:
- blood on genitals
- swallowing goldfish
- genitals with knives in them
- foul language
- genitals in a raccoon trap
If you’re still here, then strap yourself in – it gets worse.
This isn’t to say I didn’t enjoy the show, in a voyeuristic sense at least. There’s things that happen live on stage (and thoughtfully projected on a big video screen at the back) that wouldn’t be out of place in a Bangkok sex club. There is a thin premise to the show (that the live heavy metal band, Warthog, are pleading with Jim Rose’s Satan to let them into hell), but that is of course superfluous to all the filth and fluid on show.
He’s a sicko, as are his cast. But then he made 16 quid per person from this mostly pissed-up crowd, so he’s not daft.