Cirque’s water-drenched ‘Luzia’ under Toronto’s Big Top is an enchanting masterpiece

Not only does 2026 mark the 10th anniversary of the acclaimed spectacle, but with its Mexican vibe and standout soccer sequences, it fits right into the current FIFA World Cup zeitgeist. (Mexico, of course, is co-hosting the event along with us.)

Plus, as is usual with most Cirque productions, the run coincides with summer, when flowers are in bloom, their colours at their most vibrant. Sure, there’s the chance of a sudden shower, but it’s usually the kind that stops after a few minutes, the sun appearing behind the clouds moments later.

All of that — and a lot more — materializes beautifully in writer/director Daniele Finzi Pasca’s “Luzia,” one of the most cohesive and enchanting shows in the company’s touring repertoire.

Our guide is an adorable clown figure known as the Traveller (Andrii Lytvak) who gently falls from the sky when his parachute fails to open. After discovering an oversized windup toy key, he decides to turn it, and that’s when the magic begins.

A huge monarch butterfly played by a woman (Helena Merten) with a long flowing silk dress flits by him, followed by a galloping, oversized metallic horse operated by puppeteers.

Toto, I don’t think we’re in Cancun anymore.

Wondrous acts continue. Gymnasts outfitted like hummingbirds swoop and seemingly fly through raised hoops. A woman (Anastasia Gorbatyuk) is tossed through the air and repeatedly caught by a trio of men (Roberto Carlos Freitas Grispach, Anton Glazkov, Krzysztof Holowenko) as if she’s weightless. And then two women (Zore España & Sarah Togni) circle the stage in Cyr wheels while another twirls and twists on a trapeze, all while rain pours down from the top of the Big Top, making their moves all the more dangerous.

The use of water in “Luzia” makes an enormous splash. Lytvak the clown has a running gag in which his water bottle is always empty. When he tries to fill it by anticipating bursts of water coming from the sky, he’s always a nanosecond behind. One of the most jaw-dropping sequences in the show comes when water falls from above and creates sculptures in the air: flowers, animals, fish.

(Lest you worry about the environment or artist safety, the show recycles and filters its water, which is kept at 39°C for the comfort of the performers. And there are nearly 95,000 hidden holes on the stage for the water to drain into a basin beneath the floor.)

Writer/director Daniele Finzi Pasca trained as a clown, and his love of the form shines throughout. In most other shows, clowns appear between acrobatic acts, or during changes of scenery. Lytvak is a continual presence here, whether he’s leading the audience in competitive clapping games or interacting with a trio of comical cacti.

Pasca’s design team leans into a nostalgic version of Mexico. Men are often dressed semi-formally in crisp white shirts and ties. The band, led by Sébastien Laurendeau and a joyous presence throughout the show, features some members wearing animal headpieces. One of the most charming sequences in the first act involves the making of an old-school movie, in which a strong man figure (Ugo Laffolay) balances upside down on an increasing number of canes, wobbling dramatically but never betraying his nerves.

Speaking of nerves, yours might be frayed while watching contortionist Aleksei Goloborodko twist and turn his body into a pretzel. His moves are so impressive they should come with a warning: “No AI was used in this act.”

And then there are the soccer sequences, performed by Abou Traoré and Igo Da Silva Matos as if the footballs were extensions of their limber bodies. They don’t just kick them and twirl them on the tips of their fingers. The balls travel the length of their bodies and, when catapulted into the air, land naturally on the backs of their heads. When rain pours down on them, they keep their cool.

The theme of grace under pressure always underlies a circus show. What if a stunt doesn’t work? When, at the performance I saw, the show’s juggler (Tikin) missed catching a couple of silvery pins, he recovered and used his rapport with the audience to get us on his side. Then he wowed us with a final bit.

One final word about the production. Pasca employs two turntables on the stage, so some of the acts gently turn as they go on. This allows the audience to get multiple perspectives on a single section. And it ensures that even if you’re sitting in the cheaper seats at the extreme sides, you’ll get a kick out of the show.