Pree-Senn-Ting The Circus of the Sun

By John Skow

Venerable tradition, sticky with the memory of cotton candy, has it that the circus never changes. That may be why a brash Canadian named Guy Laliberte says he hates the circus and why a colleague, Denis Lacombe, thinks clowns are boring. What makes their opinions worthwhile is that Laliberte is the founder of the Montreal-based Cirque du Soleil (Circus of the Sun), which hoists its 1,756-seat tent in New York City this week as part of a North American tour that has made it something of a cult attraction. And Lacombe is his star clown, who does a socko act conducting the 1812 Overture in ski boots while strapped to a trampoline -- a feat that must be seen to be understood.

Tradition is honored, of course. There are first-rate aerialists, teeterboard balancers, trick bicyclists and lots of clowns. But what the gifted Canadians are presenting is less a conventional succession of circus acts -- there are, for example, no animals -- than a wondrous flow of fantasies, produced with all the drive and coherence of a Broadway musical.

Call it circus theater. As the show begins, a dozen drably dressed country people, simple villagers caricatured with half-masks, wander into the tent's single ring. They look timidly at the ropes and rigging, the aerialists' gear. . What if . . . Whoosh! Colored smoke floods into the ring; lights swirl. A mysterious sprite materializes from vapor: the beautiful and alarming Queen of the Night (Angela Laurier) is here, not just to call the circus into being but to transform the peasants themselves into clowns and acrobats. Instantly a fat old uncle (Michel Barette) is undressed, then recostumed as -- Help! -- the show's ringmaster.

This mastery of theater techniques is the magic key to the Cirque's wizardry. No story unfolds, though the queen, a contortionist, eels about renewing her spells. But the mood and pace of the evening progress with the intensity of drama. One reason is the music, which is not the traditional blare of fanfares and marches but a unified score of jazz and rock.

Artistic Director Gilles St. Croix and Choreographer Debra Brown drill the cast regularly, not just on the complex movements involved but also on the artful commotion as one act swirls into the next. When the teeterboarders have finished (for some marvelously zany reason, they appear as penguins carrying briefcases), their boards must be danced lightly out of the ring. The tightwire supports must waft amusingly into the ring. Now, precisely on cue, Antoine the wire walker plays a soothing tune on his oboe for his nervous partner Agathe. Off to the side, Hand Balancer Amelie Demay, 19, shows a younger girl how to do a handstand on the balance point of a teeterboard.

The Cirque will head next to Toronto, then Washington. Back in Montreal, a new, even more theatrical show is being planned. In the meantime, performers move in and out of the Cirque's cast as the show travels. The youngest so far is seven-year-old Annie Wagner-Bouthillier, one of 14 -- count them -- 14 riders in a bicycle balancing stunt. In Manhattan's Battery Park City, it should not be hard to recognize her. She'll be the one with the big smile.

With reporting by Elaine Dutka/Los Angeles