Fle 0500 11 Insert
Fle 0500 11 Insert
PRACTICE PAPER
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This text is an article about a German circus that has replaced live animals with hologram in
its shows.
At performances of Circus Roncalli in Germany, an elephant stands before the audience, its
ears flapping and trunk wagging. It hoists up its hind legs as the crowd applauds. Then it
disappears. The elephant, along with horses and (bizarrely) a goldfish, is a 3-D hologram—
a tech-savvy effort to preserve the flavour of historic circuses while eliminating concerns of
animal cruelty.
Circus Roncalli was founded in 1976 and began phasing out animal performances in the
1990s. Since 2018, the show has featured no live animals, turning instead to holographic
projections with 360-degree visibility for spectators seated around the ring; it takes 11
projectors to pull off the feat.
Some of the holographic acts replicate traditional circus fare, like the performing elephant
and an ethereal ring of horses that gallops around the big top. Other acts are more
fantastical; circus-goers of the past, for instance, would not have been treated to the sight of
a huge goldfish hovering in the middle of the ring.
Once a mainstay of popular entertainment, circuses have been struggling in recent years. A
number of factors have driven that decline, including the emergence of other media, like
movies and video games, that compete for the young audiences’ attention, and the
increased cost of transporting a gaggle of performers and animals by train. (In 2016, when
Circus Roncalli still used some animals, a single trip could cost them almost £70,000).
But reports of horrifying animal cruelty played a role in damaging the circus’ reputation. In
2015, Roncalli announced it will phase out its elephants, citing a “mood shift” among
consumers. A new law in the UK, known as The Wild Animals in Circuses Bill, also means
circuses will no longer be able to use wild animals as part of a travelling circus, with the
government saying this has ‘no place in modern society’.
Circus owners, however, disagree; William Kerwich of the Cirque Royal defends the practice
as a “tradition” and accused officials of playing politics “to get votes in elections.” Since the
UK ban, circus owners have seen a decline in ticket sales, suggesting the public is
disappointed to see elephants and other wild animals go.
Another circus owner argued: “When people see animals in circuses they learn about them
– sometimes it’s the only chance they get to see these creatures up-close. They can also
see for themselves how well we look after them. In fact, circus animals receive food, shelter
and veterinary care. The average life expectancy of a tiger in captivity is 26 years compared
to just 15 in the wild.”
We all know it. At least parts of it. ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas originally titled A Visit
from St. Nicholas by Clement Clarke Moore. The poem first published in 1823 became an
instant classic. It is the basis for all that we have come to think of as Santa – the reindeers,
the chimney, dressed in red, all of it. It is read throughout the country in homes and
churches and libraries and schools. That little old elf has become a part of our folklore,
ingrained into every child’s imagination.
And now Cirque du Soleil has reinvented the story with acrobats and jugglers and magicians
and gravity-defying humans as well as spectacular roller skating, dancing, music, lights,
sets, and costumes – you will be awed. A smile smashed across your face, you will clap and
cheer and wish that this was not just 77 minutes long but forever long.
We follow Isabelle who as a teenager is totally bored by her father reading the traditional
story to her. Her father, clearly upset by her boredom, slams the book shut and with that, a
storm erupts conjuring spritely creatures of snow and fun who whisk Isabelle to another
world and her father in a search for his child. The two of them embark on special journeys;
journeys only Cirque du Soleil could imagine.
What we humans are capable of doing with our physical selves, our defiance of gravity is
astonishing. Each performance builds and builds becoming more and more eyes-wide-
open, jaw-dropping feats of daring and beauty. And the clown work is so wonderful, so
unlike what we expect of the traditional clown.
Along the way, Isabelle finds a renewed love of the story of Santa and her own kind of
magic.
The text is taken from a longer narrative. At this point in the story, a mysterious circus has
suddenly arrived in town, much to the intrigue of the local people.
The towering tents are striped in white and black, no golds and crimsons to be seen. No
colour at all, save for the neighbouring trees and the grass of the surrounding fields. Black-
and-white stripes on grey sky; countless tents of varying shapes and sizes, with an
elaborate wrought-iron fence encasing them in a colourless world. Even what little ground is
visible from outside is black or white, painted or powdered, or treated with some other circus
trick.
Within hours everyone in town has heard about it. By afternoon the news has spread
several towns over. Word of mouth is a more effective method of advertisement than
typeset words and exclamation points on paper pamphlets or posters. It is impressive and
unusual news, the sudden appearance of a mysterious circus. People marvel at the
staggering height of the tallest tents. They stare at the clock that sits just inside the gates
that no one can properly describe.
And the black sign painted in white letters that hangs upon the gates, the one that reads:
Opens at Nightfall
Closes at Dawn
“What kind of circus is only open at night?” people ask. No one has a proper answer, yet as
dusk approaches there is a substantial crowd of spectators gathering outside the gates.
You are amongst them, of course. Your curiosity got the better of you, as curiosity is wont to
do. You stand in the fading light, the scarf around your neck pulled up against the chilly
evening breeze, waiting to see for yourself exactly what kind of circus only opens once the
sun sets.
The ticket booth clearly visible behind the gates is closed and barred. The tents are still,
save for when they ripple ever so slightly in the wind. The only movement within the circus
is the clock that ticks by the passing minutes, if such a wonder of sculpture can even be
called a clock.
The circus looks abandoned and empty. But you think perhaps you can smell caramel
wafting through the evening breeze, beneath the crisp scent of the autumn leaves. A subtle
sweetness at the edges of the cold.
The sun disappears completely beyond the horizon, and the remaining luminosity shifts from
dusk to twilight. The people around you are growing restless from waiting, a sea of shuffling
feet, murmuring about abandoning the endeavour in search of someplace warmer to pass
the evening. You yourself are debating departing when it happens.
First, there is a popping sound. It is barely audible over the wind and conversation. A soft
noise like a kettle about to boil for tea. Then comes the light. All over the tents, small lights
begin to flicker, as though the entirety of the circus is covered in particularly bright fireflies.
The waiting crowd quiets as it watches this display of illumination. Someone near you
gasps. A small child claps his hands with glee at the sight. When the tents are all aglow,
sparkling against the night sky, the sign appears.
Stretched across the top of the gates, hidden in curls of iron, more firefly-like lights flicker to
life. They pop as they brighten, some accompanied by a shower of glowing white sparks
and a bit of smoke. The people nearest to the gates take a few steps back.
At first, it is only a random pattern of lights. But as more of them ignite, it becomes clear that
they are aligned in scripted letters. First a C is distinguishable, followed by more letters. A q,
oddly, and several e’s. When the final bulb pops alight, and the smoke and sparks dissipate,
it is finally legible, this elaborate incandescent sign. Leaning to your left to gain a better
view, you can see that it reads:
Some in the crowd smile knowingly, while others frown and look questioningly at their
neighbours. A child near you tugs on her mother’s sleeve, begging to know what it says.
“The Circus of Dreams,” comes the reply. The girl smiles delightedly. Then the iron gates
shudder and unlock, seemingly by their own volition. They swing outward, inviting the crowd
inside.
*****