There are shows, then there is Cirque du Soleil. To say that this one of the most dazzling, creatively constructed theatrical experiences anywhere will only sound like hyperbole until you experience it.

This incredible road show began as little more than a parade of buskers in Baie-Saint-Paul, a small town near Québec City, in the early ‘80s. A street theatre troupe of jugglers, dancers, stilt-walkers, fire-breathers and assorted musicians, headed up by Gilles St-Croix, the group began to attract a local following, then expanded to attract street performers from far and wide. Then in 1984, when Québec City was looking for shows to celebrate the 450th anniversary of Canada’s discovery, one of the troupe members, Guy Laliberté, convinced the provincial organizers to let him stage his "Circus of the Sun" and Cirque du Soleil was born. Laliberté remains CEO to this day, now presiding over a vastly expanded entourage, featuring hundreds of performers, representing more than 40 countries, backed up by thousands of support personnel, and thrilling millions of spectators around the world.

But Cirque du Soleil is definitely not about numbers. Creative freedom is far more descriptive of this high-flying, low-crawling, swaying, tumbling, tossing, juggling, contorting, clowning troupe. To say it is like nothing you’ve ever seen before not only describes the audience’s perspective, but pretty much restates the annual challenge Cirque’s creative team accepts each season.

Triple Trapeze Photo by Rick Diamond

"What is a dream is to see this come to life," says CEO Laliberté. "We are a creative enterprise so we are excited about delivering a new show. One of the biggest challenges is to fulfill the future creatively."

I saw the 2004 version, in Dallas, as part of Cirque’s North American tour, this edition entitled, "Varekai," from a Romany gypsy word for "wherever." The production was a celebration of the urge to wander, especially into uncharted terrain. Leitmotif for the show was a variation on Icarus’s attempt to fly to the sun on wings held together by wax, melting, of course, as he got closer to the heat. In Greek mythology, Icarus falls to his death in the sea. In Varekai, the outcome would have been much more to Icarus’s liking. He comes to earth in an enchanted forest at the base of a volcano and is revived by the cast of astonishing characters, overcomes a number of challenges, is feted, then marries in an ending far more conducive to fairy tales.

Flight of Icarus Photo by Rick Diamond

Dominic Champagne, the show’s director, found inspiration in this story rooted in disaster, this time directing a liberating ending. "I belong to the generation that experienced the end of the party known as the ‘60s and the difficulties that came with the morning after," he says. "I’m a product of dreams and disillusions. As an artist, I want to show the beauty found within misery when someone is trying to escape their situation."

In the case Varekai, it is the form more than the substance that holds you transfixed. From the moment figures begin gliding onto the stage from an ersatz stand of bamboo, their costumes appearing to be hybrids of animals and plants in otherwise familiar shapes carried to some sort of Nth degree, you know you are in for some sort of enchantment, accented by moments of high drama. This gliding, across a stage polished to such a gloss it appears a frozen lake, is called, appropriately, "body skating."

Ensemble scenes, reminiscent of grand opera, follow. A juggler keeps so many objects in the air you have difficulty following them all; some he continuously blows from, and catches in, his mouth. Acrobats catapult through the air, in a kind of human juggling, to land on the joined wrists of their compatriots or in giant nets that look like bed sheets. Two flyers swing through the air in a series of death-defying maneuvers, most of the time secured by nothing more than wrist straps. Icarus does his own top-of-the-tent act, while tangled in a net from which he extricates himself. A woman does a similarly breath-taking routine through a hoop that is alternately suspended high and low above the stage. Another woman contorts her body into impossible shapes while at times holding her body weight aloft on the strength of one arm. A mad scientist shows up time and again with an array of wild and wacky inventions that leave you in stitches, while other clowns provide further comic relief. New-wavelike live music plays throughout and adds the appropriate excitement or eeriness to the scenes. The recurring impression throughout the performance is one of grandiose goings-on, but the genius of the production is that you feel part of it, almost intimately involved. At one point, a female clown goes off into the audience and selects a man for a comical-magical routine and you feel that he truly does represent your attachment to this magical world.

Blue Lizzard Photo by Rick Diamond

On the one hand, it’s hard to imagine that all of this has grown from such humble beginnings. Then again, who but a group, completely unfettered by convention, could come up with such envelope-stretching stage show? Headquarters for Cirque du Soleil are in Montréal in a two-part facility made up of a studio, where new performers audition and train, and a facility, called "The Ateliers," where costumes, sets and other accouterments are designed and manufactured.

How do you get to see it? There are four resident theatre shows year-round in Las Vegas, NV and one resident Orlando, FL. There are five road shows on tour throughout the year in North America, Europe, the Far East and Australia. The shows vary in theme lines and content, but all share the dazzling elements that gave breath to Varekai. For more information, click: www.cirquedusoleil.com.