Cirque Du Soleil at Auckland Showgrounds

The incredible Cirque Du Soleil performers seem to defy gravity. Picture / Carolyn Elliott

There, in the opening scene, sat a father figure with his head buried in a copy of this very newspaper, its Friday front page telling of the rising death toll to the west.

As Dad, Mum and their armchairs ascended to the heavens on wires - leaving our own Letitia Forbes as Zoe to begin navigating the metaphorical maze which attempts a meaningful connection between Quidam's breathtaking acts - that was the last we saw of the real world for the next two and half hours.

Or, for that matter, real bodies.

As with Allegria, the previous show from the French-Canadian franchise to hit these shores three years ago, Cirque Du Soleil might pour on the existential Lloyd-Webberisms and art references - my list ran Magritte, Da Vinci and, er, Bladerunner.

But it is the physical beauty, strength and daring that really makes Quidam so impressive.

The faux spiritual or metaphorical trappings, you suspect, might be there to help programme sales to folks wondering what the story meant.

Or you could always grab a CD of the show's score, which played live failed to be as exotic as it thinks it is, with its world muzak rhythms and synthesiser-sting exclamation marks making it sound like the sort of stuff they have as sports show soundtracks.

But it was best just to absorb the power and beauty of all those unreal bodies doing unreal things. Like the two-person Vis Versa and their act Statue, which might have been done in slow-motion at ground level without any props, but managed to astound with what appeared to be part extreme yoga, part contortion duet and part show of unbelievable strength.

Likewise, the one-person "aerial contortion in silk" was a display of grace, precision, and possible allusions to all manner of things - birth, death, er, descent from up there to down here - which was equally awe-inspiring.

One might wonder at some point in the show whether Cirque Du Soleil's Quidam is suitable for younger kids. It is, at some points, dark and foreboding.

It does have, at fewer points, some gently ribald content in some of its crowd-participation skits by the clowns. One of those dragged up on opening night was a Herald entertainment team colleague. Her performance revealed hidden talents.

But next to our seats were half a dozen children who marched in with their booster cushions, an adult minder in tow, as the lights went down.

They - from toddlers up to the age of seven-ish - were circus offspring.

A couple of them waved as papa or mama, possibly, flew overhead. They had probably seen Quidam a few times before.

They might be biased but they were entranced throughout - though you do hope their bedtime stories are better than this one.

Apart from the professional figure of Letitia Forbes, there were some youngsters on stage too, with the four Chinese girls and their yo-yo-like diablos, which was a cute early sparkler before the night's major fireworks, and the nearest Quidam gets to the old spinning plates or trad juggling act.

And just before halftime came another kids' plaything taken to its spectacularly illogical conclusion - skipping ropes as a part acrobatic act, part old Hollywood musical extravaganza.

There were plenty of ropes above our heads, on a track system that pulled performers forward from the back of Le Grand Chapiteau (something to consider when booking your seat).

But much of the aerial stuff appeared effortless compared with the terra firma exertions, whether it was the spinning human hubcap act of the German Wheel, or the acrobats of Banquine, who capped their derring-do by making a tower of three men standing on each other's shoulders and adding a fourth by chucking him up there.

It was a moment that made you go: "Ha!"

In Quidam there's one of those every couple of minutes, sometimes every few seconds.

And that's all the artistic statement this physically brilliant and fabulously escapist show needs.