Theatre in Review: Toruk -- The First Flight (Cirque du Soleil/Barclays Center)Toruk, one of two Cirque du Soleil productions to pass through New York this fall -- the other is Kurios, which opens on Randall's Island later this month -- is undeniably spectacular. When it comes to deploying cutting-edge technology on a large scale, the company appears to be at the height of its powers. The production contains any number of remarkably beautiful stage pictures, each blending various design disciplines to consistently eye-pleasing effect. To these eyes, however, Toruk reveals Cirque du Soleil to be in the throes of a full-blown creative crisis. It's one of the great entertainment stories of our time: Beginning as a troupe of street performers, Cirque du Soleil has evolved into a kind of multinational corporation. (Wikipedia calls it "the largest theatrical producer in the world.") In its heyday, it opened a new spectacle in Las Vegas every couple of years, each one breaking new technological ground, even as it deployed its touring tent shows around the world. (There have been other successful sit-down productions, most notably La Nouba, at Disney World.) For nearly two decades, Cirque du Soleil has been a nearly ubiquitous presence, a watchword for a certain kind of circus show informed by an indie-European sensibility. Times change, however: The last few Vegas shows, including Criss Angel Believe, Viva Elvis, and Michael Jackson ONE, suffered from bad reviews and poor word of mouth; in any case, Vegas has moved on, forgoing circus extravaganzas for flashy, enormous nightclub spaces, the better to lure an under-thirty crowd. China might have beckoned, but Franco Dragone, a onetime Cirque collaborator and now its major rival, has colonized Asia with shows like The House of Dancing Waters. More recently, the company has had New York in its sights, but its efforts, including the underperforming Zarkana and the disastrous Banana Shpeel, have been major disappointments. Paramour, an attempt at merging the Cirque sensibility with a conventional book musical format, opened in June to terrible reviews and is struggling at the box office. Paramour stands out as the rare Cirque show to embrace a full-blown narrative; this strategy continues with Toruk, which is derived from the James Cameron film Avatar. However, Toruk mostly jettisons the kind of thrills one associates with Cirque -- the astonishing acts of derring-do -- for a slow, lumbering fantasy narrative that is big on scenic and visual effects and embarrassingly short on character and action. We are on Pandora, the planet where the film takes place: Two young Na'vi men -- members of the tribe of blue-skinned (Na'vi blue?) indigenous Pandorans -- head off on a quest that requires them to discover five sacred objects that will save the Tree of Souls, which, apparently, is the source of life on the planet. Or something. But don't ask me: The performers speak the gibberish language invented for the film; the one English speaker is the narrator, who is given to dolefully intoning statements like, "The catastrophe seen in the Shaman's vision has come to pass." Aside from a thrilling moment when a group of drummers is hoisted to play their instruments high above the stage and a moderately interesting passage in which six contortionists balance themselves on the vertebrae of a dinosaur-like skeleton, Toruk contains very few typical Cirque performances. Featured instead are big scenic effects -- a giant tree trunk repeatedly opens up, the stage deck sprouts flowers -- and vast, mural-like projections that cover the stage, continuing up the wall of the arena. These images -- bursts of flame, floods of water, and arid deserts, among them -- are remarkable in their detail and dimensionality. In one especially impressive sequence, a group of performers climb a cliff face that, courtesy of video projection, leaks several waterfalls before blowing apart. The Tree of Souls, a kind of weeping willow, its branches lined in LED tape, declines, nearly dies, and comes back to life. There are many Julie Taymor-style animal puppet parades: the title creature, a kind of winged serpent, is a giant puppet that requires six handlers to move it around. Carl Fillion's scenery, Kym Barrett's barbaric costumes and makeup, Alain Lortie's colorful lighting, Patrick Martel's puppets, and Jacques Boucher's powerful sound design are impressive in every respect. But, as in Paramour, the nonexistent characterizations and the lack of a compelling story prove fatal. Suspense is at a minimum, as is the excitement of seeing performers attempt difficult and dangerous physicals feats. Under the direction of Michel Lemieux and Victor Pilon, entire sections of Toruk seem to consist of so much milling around. At the performance I attended, applause was sparse; entirely absent was the buzz created by such popular acts as the aerial silk ballet or the wheel of death. Clearly, Cirque du Soleil is in a quandary. With less call for sit-down spectacles likes O and KÀ, and with tent shows that increasingly resemble each other, a new creative direction is needed. Only a fool would bet against this troupe of inventive artists, but at the moment the way forward isn't clear at all. -- David Barbour 
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