Hard act to follow

One of the Quidam characters, Boum-Boum, who is fit and aggressive but a lost soul.

After watching a Cirque Du Soleil show the overwhelming impression is of a cross between the best Olympic gymnastics and an acid trip.

Audiences, dazed by flashing lights, thundering music, fluorescent costumes and insane acrobatics, file out of the Grand Chapiteau, aka the Big Top, saying: "Wow, how did they do that? That was amazing."

A backstage tour of Cirque Du Soleil gives the overwhelming impression of a highly structured multi-national organisation. And talk about clean. Crikey, you could eat your fish and chips off the floors backstage.

And permission seems to be required for everything, which leaves those who may have expected sawdust, greasepaint, maybe even a sweaty clown or two, wondering: "Was it my imagination, or did everybody seem to be incredibly uptight?"

Then again, Cirque Du Soleil is no ordinary circus.

Formed in 1984 by a small group of French-Canadian street performers, the once anti-establishment Circus of the Sun is now an international company with nine shows running in different parts of the world on any given day. The shows have been seen by more than 40 million spectators over the years.

This tremendous achievement over the past two decades, and the controlled atmosphere, are closely related.

Artistic integrity is a phrase frequently used by Cirque insiders. This ephemeral quality is seen as the key to Cirque's success and is as carefully protected as the last albino kiwi.

"The way we work is that everything is done to protect Cirque and to make the shows happen," says Marie-Helene Gagnon, artistic co-ordinator of Quidam's Pacific tour.

"Even financial decisions are made around how great the show can be. The show comes first always."

That is why the performers, who work here six days a week, are so well catered for. Besides advertising on the internet and newspapers, Cirque Du Soleil talent scouts roam the globe seeking acts.

Many of their artists come from sporting backgrounds and there are several former Olympians among the casts. And many come from acting, dance and circus schools.

The featured acts - the tumblers, acrobats, rope artists and others - are in the main highly trained athletes who have been honing their skills all their lives so that, to the audience, it looks easy.

"Actually," Gagnon says, explaining the regulated atmosphere, "everybody performing here has been raised with a lot of rules because a lot of people come from an acrobatic model. That sort of skill doesn't just happen - it is work, work, work. Rest. Work, work, work. It's very structured."

"The fun is there for the people in the audience. They have paid and they've earned the right to have fun. That doesn't mean we don't have fun. It's just that we are here to work."

That's why the backstage atmosphere is closer to a marathon runners' training camp than the crazy, fun-filled party place outsiders might expect.

And lots of hard work is why you'll often find people fast asleep on tumbling mats backstage. This is a very exhausting job.

Quidam's performers are not accommodated in traditional circus caravans but in pleasant inner-city apartments, although they spend as long as 10 hours a day, seven days a week, on site.

Wandering around with our guide, we discover that the circus lot is like a small town, with security guards and its own powerplant - a giant generator in a shipping container that goes everywhere the circus goes.

The tent area has been specially asphalted for the circus and the place comes complete with a small school, offices in trailers, a workshop and a cafeteria.

The cafe is the social hub. Here performers from as many as 11 countries are looked after by chefs who do borscht for the Russian tumblers and rice platters for the Chinese schoolgirl jugglers.

The cafeteria's walls have several large noticeboards, some displaying wedding announcements.

Employees tend to spend a couple of years with one tour, then move to another, leaving close friends behind. So the noticeboards are one of the ways the touring groups keep in touch.

Yes, love often blossoms at the circus, although as one rather bemused hired hand confesses later when the public-relations people aren't around, you better choose your love interest carefully because you'll be touring with them for the next few months, if not years.

Other noticeboards tell of workshops, social club outings, superannuation and taxation lectures.

Tax matters often arise because of the travel from one country to another, Gognon says.

As well, post-Cirque pension lectures are required because most of the acrobats have already come from another area of skill.

"Say, for example, they were professional sportspeople before they got here, clearly a physical job like this has an age limit," Gagnon says. "So we have them for five or six years, but then they have to find another job. They have to realise that this is not going to last forever and they have to think about going back to school or doing something different, maybe even within the circus."

So Cirque Du Soleil has a social conscience to match the conscientious approach taken in the show's storylines.

Besides taking good care of their staff, you'll hear about things like the circus' international headquarters in Montreal being surrounded by a large vegetable garden, staffed by locals. And they serve only eco-friendly coffee.

As well, they run a circus school for the underprivileged. Cirque Du Soleil is also all about staunchly supporting their hometown - practically everything the circus uses is made in Montreal and then delivered to touring companies.

We're taken into the backstage area known as the artistic tent. This second large marquee is connected to the Big Top by a canvas hallway. Here the performers gather before, during and after performances. They get into costume, rehearse and train here. There are semi-private curtained dressing-rooms and this is where you may stumble on people dozing between shows on piles of padded tumbling mats.

"We live here 10 hours a day," one performer says: "For six days a week we get up and we come here, to this tent."

In the middle of the room, padded practice mats cover the floor. From the walls and ceiling dangle all manner of gym equipment, ranging from the slightly masochistic in style to the playful.

It's late morning so there's hardly anyone here yet, only one Eastern European-looking chap in a far corner juggling his pre-school leotard-clad daughter on his knee. The father look stern, as does the child - already serious about her role in a future Cirque show.

A little later on, some incredibly muscular, petite young women with beautiful Slavic faces will start rehearsing their aerial hoops act. They fold themselves together like wire, smiling all the while, and then combine their tiny bendy bodies into a hula hoop suspended from the ceiling of the tent. And if you thought this looked astounding from a seat in the audience, it's even better when you are standing right next to the high-tensile, highly strung group.

Leaving the lithe young ladies to it, we're led into the wardrobe department, a large alcove that takes up almost a quarter of the tent.

It's crammed with racks of leather and lycra, frills, laces, feathers, hats and all manner of outfits that look like they've been left behind by acid-house ravers from the 80s.

A wardrobe woman with an ironing board is looking harassed. Not surprising perhaps - each performer averages three changes of costume in one show, which makes for about 600 wardrobe items. After any item of costume touches the skin, it has to be laundered.

Next to these is a cupboard full of carefully stowed wigs, custom-moulded for individuals. Not a hair out of place, each is named and sits on a polystyrene head. They are washed and styled after every performance. There our backstage tour ends. But for some strange reason it's been a bit depressing. You can understand why a British critic wrote: "An air of corporate smugness pervades the whole event, for Cirque Du Soleil isn't so much a circus these days as a brand name and a hugely lucrative big business."

Maybe seeing a show will make amends. And, for everyone out there who is planning to attend, it does indeed. The highly regimented regime behind the scenes would make anyone cringe.

But when it's showtime, there are times when you can scarcely believe your eyes: a woman contortionist twisting sensuously in red silk a good 20m above the stage; the tiny Chinese girls, amazing with their yoyos; the co-ordinated skipping ropes, where one false move could send 20 performers flying; the precise Italian acrobatics. And the rest.

As we leave, filing past racks of Cirque merchandise, we can only hope all those amazing performers are having much more fun when nobody's watching.

Performance

* What: Cirque Du Soleil - Quidam

* Where: Auckland Showgrounds, Greenlane West

* When: Opens New Year's Eve

* Tickets: Ticketek, adult ($69 to $230) child ($49 to $170)