A Cirque du Soleil superhero of the suds (and 1,600 other things)

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It’s a world where the impossible looks like second nature.

People fly. They turn their bodies into ever-shifting forms. They jump off 60-foot backdrops and literally bounce back. In fact, it’s likely that every law of physics is tossed out in Cirque du Soleil’s “Dralion,” which plays the World Arena Wednesday through Sunday (Feb. 22-26).

Melody Wood is also superwoman: She does laundry, lots (and lots and lots) of laundry. Sometimes for five hours a day. At 2 in the morning or right after getting into a new town. She calls it her nightmare.

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“We actually tour with six washing machines and two dryers,” says Wood, who joined the show as head of wardrobe about a year ago. “You’d be surprised how many items we can put in the washing machine.”

Granted, doing laundry isn’t as flashy as swooping through an arena on a blue ribbon of fabric, but it’s just as pivotal: Like all Cirque productions, costumes are vital to crafting “Dralion’s” lyrical, but fuzzy storytelling. 

Take the character called Yao, who represents fire (the elements along with the ancient tradition of Chinese circus acrobatics are central to “Dralion”). His top is a collision of orange, yellow and red draping. His headpiece is shaped like a geisha’s hairdo and his puckered red jodhpurs are tucked inside fiery, knee-high, lace-up boots. When he races across the stage or reaches for a performer in flight, you can not only feel the character’s nuclear heat, but the kinetic effort of his performance.

“Dralion” (pronounced DRAH-lee-on) was Cirque’s 12th touring production when it debuted in 1999. Today, 22 productions spread the company’s Zenlike, peace-is-love and respect-the-planet aesthetic across the globe. This production conjures an East-West fusion that’s embodied by the dralion, a mash-up creature that symbolize the cultures — the dragon and lion, respectively.

Telegraphing that message in costumes, hats, headpieces, shoes and other elements of each character’s carefully considered look fills one and a half semi trailers.

Wood doesn’t design the costumes. All wardrobe supervisors have strict instructions not to tinker with a new add-on to a hat or a kicky new material for a dress.

Wood and a staff of three are tasked to repair, clean and organize the show’s 1,600 costumes — more than that, Wood says, when you consider each of the 66 performers have back-up costumes (some as many as five) and they include a Barbie’s dreamhouse closet of accessories.

“Every look can be up to 10 accessories,” says Wood, who worked in theater, including London’s famous West End, for 15 years. “Hats, a mask, elbow pads, a wig, wrist bands.”
Once they reach a new venue, a battery of local seamstresses and dressers help the small staff set up dressing rooms, do laundry from the previous show as well as iron and clean anything that needs it. They also help with wardrobe repairs. Because if they can’t fix a costume, it goes back to Montreal for reworking, and that’s not exactly ideal.

So Wood has learned to be something of a MacGyver when it comes to surviving each run.
“That’s a large percentage of my job. Problem solving and dealing with people,” she says, adding, “when you’re working with people, they’re vulnerable. What we’re doing is asking them to wear something, go on stage and represent Cirque.”

Every costume is unique, made specifically for the needs of each performer. A seam in the wrong place or a shoe that’s too tight not only affects a performance, but can endanger their safety.

“Some need a good supportive shoe,” she starts, ticking off a list of special requests. “This glove needs to have this grip because he’s holding a bamboo pole. This gentleman can’t wear a particular cuff because of the way he’s working with the other artists.

“There are a lot of small details that you have to work through to get to the point that the costume is part of them and not something that hinders them.”

Ask her why she does it — the traveling, the mind-numbing repetition, having only two weeks off for every 10 weeks worked — and she laughs.

“Well, I love hearing the audience cheer,” she says. “It’s just exciting to see their faces. And you know, seeing artists getting into the number, joking with one another, seeing artists getting prepared for large tricks like jumping through hoops three or four feet high.

“I remember being one of those people in the audience seeing it and thinking, ‘Wow. I want to work for them.’ And now I work for them.”