Cirque du Soleil, Albert Hall, review I hate to begin the theatrical year on a peevish note, and perhaps I should have given Cirque du Soleil's annual residency at the Albert Hall a miss. I did, after all, give Totem a pretty dusty review this time last year. But I wondered if I had been too hard on the piece, created by one of the world's most visionary theatre-makers, Robert Lepage. And after receiving lukewarm notices from most critics last year, I thought Cirque du Soleil might have taken the trouble to make improvements for this return visit. No such luck. The show appears to be unchanged, right down to the strenuously unfunny clowning and the incomprehensible narrative about creation myths and evolution with an old guy with a beard pottering around on the periphery of the action who might be Charles Darwin. There are lots of performers dressed up as chimps, gorillas and Neanderthals running around the stage, while the sound score, performed live, is the usual bland, synthetic blend of world music. The acts themselves are often tremendous but even here one has quibbles. All the more dangerous stunts are performed with highly visible safety wires, robbing the show of the sweaty-palmed anxiety about the performers" safety that is always part of the adrenalin kick of great circuses. The pace is often mind-numbingly slow, and the whole show seems overblown and pompous in comparison with say Zippo's punky circus that was such a hit at Hyde Park's Winter Wonderland over the festive season, and the wild communal atmosphere of the La Soirée cabaret, still running at the Roundhouse, where the performers are allowed to have personalities of their own rather than the grim regimentation of Cirque du Soleil. There are, admittedly, moments of wonder. The opening is stunning, with performers dressed as amphibian creatures performing trapeze and trampoline stunts within the gigantic skeleton of a turtle. There's a thrillingly erotic trapeze routine from Louis-David Simoneau and Rosalie Ducharme that the Royal Ballet's Kenneth Macmillan might have been proud of had he choreographed circus artists rather than dancers. And the show ends with a tremendous climax in which company members soar high into the air and perform elegant double somersaults as they bounce on bendy planks. But there are far too many inert passages when nothing much seems to be happening, while the "comedy" sequences are so unfunny that you squirm with embarrassment for the poor blighters involved. Worst of all, though, is the feeling that the show is the most tremendous rip-off. Standard top-price seats cost a whopping £94, but for "tapis rouge" premium tickets you will fork out £199. It even costs £22.50 to stand in the amphitheatre, whereas at the Proms the price is a fiver. A programme comes at a tenner, while a carnival face mask consisting of little more than glitter and some feathers will set you back £379 at the ludicrously overpriced merchandise stall. In hard economic times, Cirque du Soleil feels like a bloated, self-indulgent luxury one could very happily live without.