Last remaining human cannonball in Spain: the circus performer who regularly gets fired

Born to a Spanish father and Italian mother, Kevin de la Torre Fornaciari is the last human cannonball in Spain. Kevin Dola, which is his stage name, is also one of the four virtuosos who perform this risky act in circuses all over Europe, although the other three are North Americans. Born 28 years ago in Almeria ("although I could have been born anywhere because in the circus you are born where fate puts you," he points out), Kevin has spent his whole life working under the big top, in his case that of Coliseo, his family's circus, formed by "generations and generations" and with a great-grandfather, the great Mister Sabas, who was already taming lions more than a century ago in the Canary Islands.

Spain's last human cannonball shoots out of a cannon built by a Swiss watchmaker in 1954, which he inherited from the Muñoz family, an American saga of human cannonballs who were circus headline acts for decades. One of the Muñoz family worked at the Coliseo circus until he retired (at 64 he became the oldest human cannonball) and offered a young Kevin the chance to take over, "an honour and a challenge for me".

Kevin was a ringmaster at the Coliseo circus with no greater aspirations than to continue introducing the artists' acts, until he was given the opportunity to change roles that has marked his life. "Before my first official flight, I spent a year training," he recalls.

In all that time, and something he continues doing now, he has had to strengthen the muscles in his legs, which take the initial force of the flight which propels him through the eight-metre long tube at 90 kilometres per hour before falling on a net located 35 metres away (if the number is performed outside) or 26 metres away (if it takes place inside, the entire width of the big top). He is only suspended in the air for two or three seconds, "but they are the best two or three seconds of your life!", he exclaims on the phone from Pineda de Mar (Barcelona), where the Circo Coliseo has been this week.

"At the beginning," the performer says, "I trained with very short jumps that were gradually extended, and gaining more and more momentum." This is how he mastered a daring technique that only he in Spain executes with a precision that has to be millimetric in order to avoid crashing to the ground. "We are eleven metres high, any fall can take its toll," he explains.

Ten, nine, eight, seven... when the countdown starts and once inside the cannon, the "incredible human cannonball" (as he is loudly introduced over the public address system), clad in his Captain America jumpsuit and protected by a helmet and goggles, knows what he has to do. The first thing to do is "stiffen up" in order to withstand the sudden impact that will take his body from 0 to 90 kilometres per hour in milliseconds. "You have to position your legs and your body well, and above all, you have to take a deep breath and maintain the pressure, stay upright and keep yourself firm so that your organs are contracted and can withstand the impact."

Then, after the drum roll that breaks the silence, the 'booooom' is heard, and the audience watches in amazement as Kevin shoots out of the mouth of the apparatus. He says those seconds suspended in mid-air are "total freedom". "It's a sensation you can't describe, in those moments the world stops. You see what it's like to fly and at the same time you see the audience in silence and the children looking at you in amazement. It seems like an eternity, but for me they are the best seconds of my life," he insists.

But by no means does the risk end there. This is because, as Kevin takes flight towards the net, he has to turn his body to ensure a safe landing. "When I shoot out, I have to keep my trajectory straight, always facing the net, and turn to land on my back so that the net can withstand the impact, otherwise I'll go through it." When he bounces off the net, he does something like a back flip and cushions the blow, a technique he rehearses every day "to be very well prepared for the impact. Once I landed on my feet and broke the net, although, fortunately I didn't hit the ground, but it was close."

Married and father of an eight-month-old baby ("he's not a human cannonball yet, he's a baby cannonball", he jokes), Kevin wants to keep up this centuries-old tradition "for many years to come". He explains that he gets so much emotion and joy at each performance (he does about seven a week). "When you fall on the net, there is silence. The audience takes a few seconds to react. You get up, start waving and there are still people who are still wondering 'but how did he shoot out? Is he all right?' The kids are freaking out. You can see it in the sparkle in their eyes... and that's beautiful because it's all part of the magic of the circus."

The applause from the audience is his best reward. "That means that they value what you do. This act is not just about getting inside and shooting out, there is a whole preparation behind it, both physical and mental, and also the preparation of the cannon itself, which has to be checked thoroughly because it is the most precious asset," explains the performer.

His cannon, decorated in the colours of the Stars and Stripes to match his costume, was built by a Swiss watchmaker 70 years ago. "The mechanism is the original one. Nothing has been touched. We do a thorough technical inspection every year, a kind of MOT. Of course, every day everything has to be checked thoroughly and we spend up to three or four hours preparing it before each shot, checking the gears, the temperature, the safety devices...," he says. Three human cannonballs, one in England and two in the United States, died performing the stunt "because the cannon failed, they didn't reach the net and fell to the ground head first from a height of more than ten metres". When asked about the projection gear of the contraption, he is silent for a long time before he decides to confess: "Ahhh that's a secret! No one can imagine what it's like inside. That's why there are no more cannons," he explains.

Despite the risks of the job, he prides himself on being Spain's only human cannonball. For the moment there is no successor in sight. "To think that when I stop I will be the last one is hard, because I am passionate about it and I have a lot of respect for it." But for the moment, as Kevin continues the profession, with his enthusiasm and youth, there will be a human cannonball for a long time. "I've done thousands of flights, I haven't counted them, but I want to do many more," he adds.