RACHEL'S COLUMNS
These articles appeared in Rachel's column every Friday in the A3 section of The Age
It ain't over until the fat lady swings
20th February 2004
I've long thought that I'd make a great Private Eye. You know the kind of woman that wears a fabulous trench coat, cinched at the waste with an oversized belt and a huge collar that's raised to the nape of the neck to keep out the cold - and support the back of a big bouffant. I'd wear dark sunglasses, soft leather gloves, call every-one "Sugar" and pump old ladies for information like, "How much Pesto do I put in with my fettuccini, lady?" That's why when Mathew Hughes, the Programming Manager for Circus Oz, interrupted our recent meeting to take a call about the theft of two clown suits and a fat-suit, I was all ears.
Here's the rub; Circus Oz have pitched their distinctive Big Top on Moore Park in Sydney and as always are thrilling their audiences with their gob-smacking physical prowess and life-affirming kookiness. A couple of weeks ago, some slimy, scheming and transparently dishonest individuals entered the big top in the dead of night and stole the fat-suit, which hangs outside the women's' dressing room, along with two clown suits. Why would someone steal these items and for what purpose – to rob a bank? A novel wedding idea – two clown bridesmaids and a fat bride?
I left the Circus Oz building and headed for the Irish pub across the road. I had a beer to try to add up all the pieces, I figured that's what a private detective would do, but nothing made any sense, especially me drinking beer at an Irish pub. I decided to ring Anni Davey, she shares the dressing room with Melissa Fyfe, who wears the fat-suit. Anni is an acrobat, aerialist, chanteuse and clown. With so many moving parts, it was a sure bet she'd have some clues.
"So what stinks, Anni?" I ask in the familiar tone of circus folk.
"The fat-suit stinks!" She says with a chuckle and continues, "That's why it was outside the girls dressing room, it's not allowed inside."
The "fat-suit", a full lycra body-suit stuffed with foam to create a beer-gut, love handles, lumpy thighs and a big bum crack, is worn under a g-stringed costume by the "Fat Cockie" (one of The Flying Cockatoos, the show's hilarious double trapeze act). Imagine if you will, the heady combination of lycra, foam, sweat and adrenaline and you'll understand why it makes even less sense that someone would steal this costume. But someone did.
Many young people are seduced into a life of crime by the promise of an easy life, but this was no simple robbery. It takes a certain species of swamp creature to crawl under the tent and into the dark circus underworld of octopus-like shadows, endless rigging, trick bikes and a "German Wheel."
Without knowing all the facts, I worked backwards, slowly painting a mental picture of the culprits. They must have stalked the "Fat Cockie" and both clowns for days, observing their every move and planning the precise moment for the heist.
Sydney is a big city and somewhere out there were people who must have needed these items badly. Would former National Australia Bank C.E.O Frank Cicutto have been on the lookout for somewhere to stuff his $3 million resignation payment? And how do you explain John Howard and Peter Costello commenting on Mark Latham's Labor Conference speech so soon after the event? Is it possible they were there in disguise – sitting right next to Kim Beazley, two clowns and a galah?
Our thoughts should be with Melissa Fyfe, who has to be padded up with foam that's wrapped over with bandages before each show, then stripped off again, (on weekends, two shows a day) until a new fat-suit arrives. But the show must go on – and it does, spectacularly. We'll probably never find the Mr. Big who masterminded this operation, for all we know the tentacles of this corrupt gang could reach as far as Osama Bin Laden, Kim Jong Il or even our own government. If you see a fat cockie and a couple of clowns talking policy on the tellie, call Circus Oz and "be alert but not alarmed."
