A Circus Not Worth Flipping Over

By Pia Catton

I know it's not polite. I know I shouldn't do it. But when someone starts talking about how brilliant Cirque du Soleil is, I feel the need to present an alternate view.

It goes something like this: Cirque du Soleil is not theater, dance or any sort of performing art that expresses thoughts and emotions. It's a traveling Las Vegas act in which performers squeal gibberish and execute circus techniques with no regard for the rhythm of the very loud music. There is respectable athleticism in the physical tricks, and the visual projections can be impressive. Just don't kid yourself that you've experienced the performing arts. You've been to the circus—at opera prices.

This does not make me popular at dinner parties and family gatherings. And I'm OK with that. But what I fail to comprehend is why so many people continue to love Cirque du Soleil quite so much. What is it about this show that has thoroughly captured the public? Why are the performing arts—even the ones based on spectacle, such as ballet and opera—less able to connect with our common culture than Cirque du Soleil?

To find out, I bought a ticket and submitted to "Zarkana," the new show at Radio City Music Hall that opens Wednesday. (I had also seen a show on Randall's Island in 2003.) And just to recalibrate myself to a different sort of live entertainment, I also bought a seat on "The Ride," the 75-minute bus tour of Midtown Manhattan during which riders (positioned outward, facing the sidewalk, rather than straight ahead) witness performers on the street "spontaneously "breaking into song and dance.

After enduring both, I'll take the cornball antics and forced participation of "The Ride" over Cirque any day. And that discovery helped me understand the larger issue.

Let's start from the fact that "The Ride" operates with a sense of humor. After all, there is nothing earnest about a "talking" bus from which you are encouraged to wave at passersby—or to cheer for that gentleman in a navy-blue suit who just started tap dancing down 42nd Street.

Cirque, on the other hand, takes itself very seriously. Sure, "Zarkana" has silly bits, but ultimately it attempts to conjure a fantastical, seductive world of mystery. There's no denying that opera, ballet and theater take themselves seriously, too. But the difference is that they strive for emotional transcendence via the voice, body and music. In doing so, they give the viewer the mental space to reflect on life.

Cirque does many things, but it does not encourage you to plumb the depths of your soul. It wants to dazzle and amaze with flying trapeze artists, high-wire walkers and one-handed handstands.

Again, there is no denying that the stage arts want to dazzle, too: The vocal pyrotechnics in opera, repetitive turns in ballet, or melodramatic breakdowns in plays all result in "ta-da" moments that the audience rewards with applause. But the point is to use the "tricks" to amplify emotion, music or ideas related to a story.

Here's a way of thinking about it: Imagine you're sitting in a dance studio and you're told that a dancer will perform two identical sets of turns, but one will reflect a character from a tragedy, say "Giselle," and one from a comedy, like "Don Quixote." Even without having seen dance before, you could tell the difference because the steps are designed to express and trigger emotions.

What a trapeze act inspires is fear, shock and (hopefully) relief. It's just one way in which Cirque achieves what it is best at: suspense. What is this magical "Zarkana"? How will it differ from other shows, with names like "Zumanity" or "Dralion"?

The central figure is Zark, who is, according the troupe's website, "a magician on a quest to find his lost powers. He finds himself plunged into a world inhabited by surreal and mesmerizing creatures." What will happen on Zark's journey? Well, it will be more suspenseful than, say, the opera "La Traviata," which has had more or less the same plot since 1853. And that plot is no escape: It's about love, remorse, social conventions, illness and death. Compared to that, an "acrobatic rock opera" with only a shred of a story and a juggler sounds pretty good.

Cirque du Soleil offers a mash-up of comedy, drama, stunts and romance at a ticket price that makes it appear to be the equal of performing arts without exacting an emotional price. It thrives while regional theaters, operas and orchestras collapse.

I'll take "The Ride."

Courtesy of Mike Naughton

Someone needs to explain to "critic" Ms. Pia that this is a cirque and not a circus. Two different deals, so she should have titled this piece "A Cirque Not Worth Flipping Over."