REVIEW: Cirque's 'Dralion' transportive, explosive and not to be missed

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Epic hardly seems a big enough word to apply to Cirque du Soleil’s “Dralion,” which consumes the World Arena Wednesday through Feb. 26. 

Spectacular gets a little closer. Certainly monumental. Maybe even a little divine.

Yes, I really liked “Dralion,” two hours of wide-eyed joy that I saw at the 1st Bank Center in Broomfield last week.

You probably have a general idea of what to expect. Since its creation in Montreal in 1984, Cirque has become so identified with otherworldly athleticism that it’s practically become a verb. “Dralion” (pronounced DRAH-lee-on) was the 12th of the company’s touring shows when it debuted in 1999. In contrast to “O,” say, or “Totem,” this show emphasizes the fusion of East and West. The dralion — part dragon, which represents the East, and lion, which represents the West — embodies that duality. The elements find their way into the mix as well as the 3,000-year-old tradition of Chinese circus acrobatics.

You may or may not get all of that. I found myself piecing the disparate symbols and characters into what, in my mind, became a mash-up of C.S. Lewis’ “Narnia,” the Summer Olympics and the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

At the heart of “Dralion” — at the core, in fact, of nearly all 22 of the company’s shows — are the spectacular physical feats, riotous color, immersive sound track and lyrical imagery. 

It’s a revelation on every count.

My first wow came early on, when an elfin girl climbed onto a platform about eight feet off the ground. She wrapped her fists around a small hand hold there and raised her body above her head with impossible grace. Balanced on one hand (and then the other and back again), she twisted her torso and legs into something beautiful and disorienting, almost alien. 

A body, like many here, turned into corporeal calligraphy.

The “Dralion” juggler will banish any preconceptions you might have about the craft. He started with only two white balls, which he manipulated with open elbows, the small of his back, the side of his face. His control is so precise yet so effortless, that the balls seemed to take on a life of their own. Like magnets drawn inexorably to metal.

A man and a woman skimmed the stage and flew into the arena stratosphere in aerial pas de deux. Romantic and poetic, it’s every little girl’s notion of falling in love.

There’s more, of course. Their feats are so magical, though, descriptions fails to capture their awesome dimensions. 

And in between the spectacle, four clowns brought their audience down to earth again. My favorite: a little man with Harpo Marx’s vocabulary and Buster Keaton’s soulful vulnerability. Yes, they seem to say, the performers are superhuman, but we’re like you. We strive for perfection, but again and again, we realize that being human isn’t all that bad. 

Amazing. Which brings up the only stumbling block I encountered that night. With so many shocking, impossible feats parading before your eyes, you can become numb to it. You can forget to be amazed and settle into couch-potato mode. Don’t. Pinch yourself. It’s all real.