A Circus Combines "Pow" and Subtlety There are much bigger shows than "Cirkopolis," 90 minutes of circus-theater by the Cirque Éloize troupe of Montreal. But I'd bet there aren't more beautiful ones. This wonderful work often errs on the side of simplicity, and that makes even its smaller moments quite stunning. The program opens in an anonymous office in a nameless city, and at first focuses on a deskbound drone whose labors are soul-crushing. Gray is everywhere - in the suits and hats of his fellow workers, in the steel and concrete buildings that are projected onto the set, in the cogs and gears that turn ceaselessly on that same screen. It's a mesmerizing setup, complete with pulsating, industrial sounds (Stéfan Boucher) and sinister lighting (Nicolas Descôteaux). The severe images evoke Fritz Lang's "Metropolis," Chaplin's silent films, 1950s noir, Art Deco architecture and Soviet propaganda posters. Those visuals are incorporated into the show's segments, which imagine the characters breaking out of their monotonous lives. Controlled bursts of color amid the grays - a red dress or a bright balloon - contrast brilliantly, and the resulting mood is all the more elating because of the dread that prevailed earlier. Among these scenes, contortionists and jugglers balance on desks and bounce across office floors. Acrobats, usually wearing drab work attire, leap from filing cabinets to land on giant seesaws that vault other players into the air. Here and there characters rise high above the stage on a rope, trapeze or straps and spin around (nerve-rackingly without a safety net below). Other acts, including Angelica Bongiovonni in the Cyr Wheel (an extra-large hoop that she spins inside) and Ashley Carr as a man who romances an imaginary woman (represented by a dress on a hanger), are more subtle yet no less enjoyable. A few understated dance segments are lovely. In that vein, it's important to note that audience members searching for large-scale spectacle won't find it here. Unlike the case with many glitzier troupes (some with the same first name as Cirque Éloize), there's very little flashiness, and no mugging or shouting to the crowd; talking and clowning are kept to a minimum. There's lots of joy here, but most of it is created through an artful sincerity, as well as with a touch of sexiness. (It is family-friendly, however, perhaps best for those over 8. My 10-year-old was rapt.) That stark approach allows viewers to better value the images and performers in this production, directed by Jeannot Painchaud and Dave St-Pierre, and presented at the Skirball Center. Granted, in the circus there's nothing wrong with excess. But for "Cirkopolis," spareness and style are the reasons this show is special.