Cirque du Soleil’s OVO has fluttered into Windsor’s WFCU Centre, reimagining its insect-inspired saga with vibrant updates that celebrate nature’s artistry. Running through March 2, this refreshed production—originally staged in 2009—combines Cirque’s signature acrobatics with a lush, wordless narrative about the interconnectedness of life. Directed by Chantal Tremblay, the international cast of 53 transforms the arena into a buzzing ecosystem where crickets vault, spiders contort, and fireflies dance, all under a canopy of bioluminescent flora. Opening night revealed a show that leans into visual storytelling, inviting audiences to marvel at Earth’s smallest wonders through jaw-dropping feats and whimsical design.
OVO’s brilliance lies in its ability to weave stories through bodies in motion, a technique that bridges age and language. The romantic chase between a clumsy outsider fly and a spirited ladybug unfolds through playful tumbles and gravity-defying lifts, their chemistry echoing silent-era comedies. Every flutter of a wing or ripple of a limb becomes a sentence in this silent dialogue. Ants march in hypnotic patterns, spiders melt into impossible shapes, and dragonflies balance on trembling bamboo poles—each act mirroring the rhythms of the natural world. By ditching spoken language, Cirque spotlights universal truths about cooperation and survival, themes as old as the soil beneath our feet.
The redesigned set immerses viewers in an insect’s-eye view of the world. Towering petals arch overhead like stained glass, while glowing mushrooms pulse to the score—a mix of rainforest percussion and electronic hums. Costumes blend biology with fantasy: beetles shimmer with metallic shells, fireflies wear fiber-optic antennae, and a centipede’s legs multiply through clever layering. Projections add depth, with vines snaking across walls and sudden downpours drenching the stage—a nod to nature’s unpredictability. These elements don’t just decorate; they create a habitat where every acrobatic act feels rooted in ecological logic.
Cirque’s performers channel insect agility in routines that blend precision with poetry. The cricket act sees athletes bounding off trampolines to clear a seven-meter wall, their arcs mimicking grasshoppers mid-leap. A dragonfly duo manipulates diabolos (spinning spools) at dizzying speeds, threads slicing the air like windborne seeds. While most acts astonish, a straps routine, though flawless, misses the raw emotional pull of the spider contortionist’s solo—a slow, trembling emergence from silk that mirrors a moth’s first flight. Such moments remind us that nature’s drama needs no embellishment.
Amid the spectacle, OVO finds heart in its smaller interactions. A pair of dung beetles steals scenes with a slapstick routine involving a giant “dirt” ball, their antics highlighting nature’s recycling genius. In a quieter moment, an aging mantis wobbles on his perch, his shaking muscles baring the human effort behind the illusion.
The lobby buzzes with OVO-themed wares, with profits funding Cirque’s youth arts programs. Budget-minded fans can snag the $25 program book, packed with backstage snaps and interviews. The merch strategy mirrors Cirque’s ethos—extravagant but purposeful, like a peacock spider’s mating dance.
Longtime fans will spot updates in the show, but the soul remains intact. What lingers isn’t the height of the flips or the sparkle of costumes—it’s the quiet message. In a world where concrete often overshadows soil, OVO replants our sense of wonder. As golden pollen drifts across the finale, viewers leave not just dazzled but newly aware of life’s delicate web. Cirque reminds us that heroism isn’t reserved for giants; sometimes, it’s in a cricket’s leap or a spider’s patience.
Photos by Jimmy Baikovicius (https://www.flickr.com/photos/jikatu/)
