Corteo by Cirque du Soleil — The Weird and the Absolute Wonderful

Seeing Cirque du Soleil’s Corteo at Spark Arena felt a little like stepping into a dream I didn’t realise I’d been waiting to have. I’ve loved the theatre since I was a kid, and after studying performing arts for over 15 years, walking into a space where creativity, oddity, and pure talent are celebrated so boldly felt strangely emotional. It was like every part of my childhood fascination and adult appreciation met in the middle for one perfect night.

What struck me first was the atmosphere — that delicious blend of weird and wonderful that Cirque du Soleil is known for, but turned up in this beautiful, slightly creepy, almost vintage way. It echoed back to the original circus world, the one filled with performers who were once unfairly labelled “freaks” simply for being different. But Corteo doesn’t lean into that history for shock value; it transforms it into a celebration. Every character felt like a tribute to bravery, individuality, and the kind of talent that doesn’t fit neatly into a box. Instead of asking the audience to stare, it invited us to understand. To see the humanity, the vulnerability, the strength. I loved that more than I expected to.

One of the most magical moments was when a performer floated above the crowd, held up only by a giant balloon and the hands of the audience guiding her through the air. It was such a simple idea, but in person, it felt whimsical and intimate — almost like the whole arena collectively exhaled and remembered what childlike wonder feels like. For a brief moment, the boundary between performer and audience disappeared, and we all became part of the story.

Even though much of the narration and music came through in French-Canadian inflection and language, I never felt lost. Their expressions, physical storytelling, and musicality filled in every gap. It reminded me why performance is so universal — when it’s done well, you don’t need every word to understand exactly what’s being said. Kids, adults, people who’ve never set foot in a theatre… everyone in that arena could follow the story without missing a beat.

I kept noticing how many acts were inspired by classic circus traditions — juggling, aerial work, acrobatics — but every routine felt like someone had taken an old idea, tossed a handful of fireworks at it, and let it reinvent itself. Behind the scenes (or at least behind the illusion of it), I could also see the performers quietly spotting each other, sliding into safety positions with such seamless choreography that the majority of the audience probably didn’t even realise how much care and awareness was woven into the chaos. As someone who’s spent years in rehearsal rooms learning how to fall safely, how to catch someone, how to breathe with a group… I almost wanted to applaud the safety work alone.

The integration of modern tech surprised me in the best way. It didn’t overshadow the human element; instead, it enhanced it. Screens, projections, and subtle AI-driven effects felt like the present day gently threading itself through the bones of old circus storytelling. It gave the show this feeling of timelessness — not past, not future, but something suspended between them.

And then there was the stage setup: a split layout with half the audience facing one direction and half the other. At first, I thought it was an interesting quirk, but throughout the night, I kept catching myself thinking, “I need to see this again, but from the other side.” It was such a clever way to give every audience member their own version of the show — like no two people would walk away with the same memory. In a world where so much art feels repeated or recycled, it was refreshing to feel like I’d witnessed something uniquely mine.

Of course, the circus should always make you squeal a little, and Corteo absolutely delivered those moments — the ones where you catch yourself gripping your seat or narrowing your eyes because you can’t quite believe what you’re seeing. Those tiny, squeamish gasps mixed with absolute awe are exactly why I love this kind of performance. The show never felt like it was trying to shock for attention; it just pushed the limits of what the human body can do in the most breathtaking way.

By the time it ended, I felt that familiar theatre glow — the mix of adrenaline, admiration, and a weird sense of longing that only truly great performances leave behind. Corteo wasn’t just a spectacle; it was an experience that made me reflect on why I fell in love with performance in the first place. It reminded me that creativity thrives in the spaces where uniqueness is celebrated, that language doesn’t limit expression, and that sometimes the most magical thing is simply seeing people be extraordinary in their own way.

I walked out of Spark Arena already trying to figure out which date I could go again… from the other side of the stage this time. And honestly, I think that says everything.