Careful attention to the song lyrics reveals a smidgen of storytelling: that top-hatted magician, called Zark and portrayed by the French-Canadian pop star Garou, is in love with a woman named Lia (the similarly single-named Cassiopée), who remains stubbornly elusive until the grand finale. (Perhaps she’s off having a very elaborate manicure?)

Also unusually, and I am tempted to add unfortunately, all the songs in “Zarkana” (written by Nick Littlemore) are performed in English instead of the usual fantasy Esperanto that’s been a Cirque trademark. But while the recipe has been tweaked here and there, this new production plays to the company’s core strengths: it’s basically a series of familiar, reliably exciting old-school circus acts embroidered in baroque, sometimes bewildering art direction. There is also, of course, the requisite pair of jabbering, mugging, whimsical clowns, as delightful or as tiresome as ever, depending on your age and your tastes. (One of them is shot from a cannon and careers around above the audience, brandishing what appeared to be a Spider-Man T-shirt.)

I’ll admit I’m a sucker for quite a few of the aah-inspiring feats performed by the company’s roster of 75 acrobats and performers of various nationalities. The young woman engaging in scary aerial feats on a moving balance beam held by two men was pretty staggering. The crack trapeze team conjured memories of big-top delights of my youth. The contortions performed by Anatoliy Zalevskiy, twisting himself into rubbery forms while standing on one hand, were amazing, even if he did remind me of that irritating showoff in every yoga class who smugly flips into a perfect headstand while the rest of us teeter and experience uncalming thoughts about aneurysms.

What remains appealing about Cirque du Soleil shows is this emphasis on the human ability to create excitement from sheer physical prowess and perfectly drilled gymnastic feats. Even the Italian corps of flag-throwers, while hardly the most physically perilous of acts, won my admiration for the grace and skill with which they fling their batons aloft, creating dizzying patterns that suggest swarms of butterflies moving with the grace of champion synchronized swimmers.