My trip to a rehearsal of Cirque du Soleil's “Alegria” Wednesday was cool, but didn't prepare me for the spectacle of the actual performance. In fact, I tried to learn all I could about the show by interviewing Senior Artistic Director Michael Smith and then Power Track tumbler Alex Andreasen and still didn't expect what I saw at the circus.

That's exactly what it was, too, a circus. It had clowns and physical comedy, a live band, incredible acrobatic and athletic feats and the ability to make one lose oneself in the magic. But I almost feel like it's an injustice to try to describe the show to you. The people who work most closely with the show couldn't adequately do so, so I'm really unqualified.

I will tell you this, though. It's transfixing. There's more going on onstage than you can watch at once. You have choices between the subtleties of the band, the clowns, the angels heralding different athletes onstage and the performers themselves. It's almost too much to take in at once.

I sat close to the stage, about a row back, so I was able to observe some of the more technical aspects of the show. For example, the crowd seemed to hold its breath while the trapeze artist flipped, spun and circled above the stage. But how many people noticed the gentleman standing just to my left, carefully holding and pulling a rope (I'm guessing for the performer's safety). He knew exactly what he was doing, just like the trapeze artist.

I was amazed at how the performers never broke character until the end, when they pulled off their wigs. Even running to and from backstage (one entrance was located behind my seat), they were circus performers, not regular people

Their wigs, costumes and makeup were impeccable – they looked nothing like the people I watched in rehearsal just hours earlier. I'd talked with Smith about these things in an earlier interview – the performers do all their own makeup, he told me, and were trained with makeup classes when they first joined Cirque.

“Every single person who comes through (Cirque headquarters in) Montreal, the first thing they do is make a cast of their head,” Smith said. “They spend half an hour with a straw up their nose.”

A mold of artists' feet is also made in Montreal, and costumes are replaced every three or four months, he said. During the show, they're not allowed to change the shape of their hair, and the makeup process is intensive.

“It takes an hour and a half to two hours to do their makeup before each show,” Smith said. “A makeup designer or someone from that team comes every six months to check (that performers are applying it correctly). Wardrobe checks it before it goes onstage. It's a very important part of the process.”

After seeing the show, I identified more with what Smith said about different people having different reactions to the show.

“Everybody experiences the show differently,” he'd told me. “It creates an atmosphere and a universe and they will see what they're open to see.”

I totally agree, now. My companion enjoyed the clowns, but more than once, I leaned over and said, “I don't get it.” He told me I was thinking too hard.

The crowd seemed to love the contortionists, and I agree they were amazing. However, I found something disconcerting about them – they slithered and swirled around each other. They didn't seem human.

But I loved the rest of the acrobats' performances – the moving, jumping wonder of the Russian bars and the whirling tumble of arms and legs in Power Track, which seemed to be the show's finale. During the fire-knife dance, I couldn't pull my eyes away long enough to take notes. I mean, the man lit his heels – and the stage – on fire. Incredible.

If you get a chance, go. The Assembly Hall is offering $25 tickets for students to tonight's performances and you have five other chances this weekend, too. I may go again, because I know I wasn't able to take it all in last night.

- Meg Thilmony

Photo by Camirand and was used in last week's e3 story about Cirque Du Soleil.

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