"Traces': Dazzling spectacle from 7 Fingers

When the lights go down, a raspy voice over the loudspeaker urges you to keep your cell phone on in case you miss an important call. That same voice also encourages you to eat and drink to your heart's content throughout the performance (don't worry— the ushers will be pleased to clean up after you). It also grants you permission to leave at any time to use the rest room, as you won't be missing anything.

My advice is: Don't trust that voice.

"7 Fingers," that unique, multidisciplinary company from Montreal (a.k.a. "Les Sept Doigts de la Main"), will arrive in Philadelphia this week with Traces "“ a dizzying, dazzling spectacle that defies definition. Traces is the unique creation of a company of seven dancer/acrobats whose 90-minute performance"“ part circus act, part dance theater, part cabaret "“ flashes by in an instant, treating you to acrobatic feats and new-age choreography of a kind you've never seen before.

The purpose of Traces, according to the program notes, is to combine diverse performing forms into one magical new mix— the sort of "new form" that Chekhov saw as an imperative for every generation.

In an empty space Ó la Peter Brook, with only the bare essentials of props necessary to perform their feats (ropes, high wires, mattresses, etc.), the performers introduce themselves and launch into a series of 16 scenes"“ some solo, some duets, some ensemble. The daredevil stunts include a man who balances himself on a tower of chairs (first on one hand, then on his head), followed by a man in a gyrating hoop that twirls around the stage, followed by a gravity-defying juggling sequence, followed by a skydiving stunt from scaffolding into a mattress.

Impossible somersaults

Each number tells a story "“ some amusing, some witty, some thrilling, some touching. One standout scene is a touching, romantic pas de deux that is as balletic as it's acrobatic. Another finds a girl reading a book in an armchair, during which she and the furniture turn upside down and inside out together, somersaulting in seemingly impossible positions.

These solos and duets alternate with ensemble interludes, each one more surprising and innovative than the next. There is soccer and basketball playing (with a human hoop, of course), skateboarding, and general clowning around.

In another stunning sketch, pairs of acrobats climb up the two poles, leaping from one pole to another, hanging in impossible positions, sliding from top to bottom, and stopping just inches from the floor. In yet another, the ensemble crisscrosses the stage on skateboards, leaping over and under one another. In the culminating stunt, solos, duets, and trios tumble through an ever-escalating tower of hoops in unimaginable combinations.

Some interludes tell a story. In one, the sole woman performer (the lithe, supple Valerie Benoit-Charbonneau) registers her feeling for her fellow performers by drawing on their shirts with a magic marker and a piece of chalk.

Human towers

Sometimes you'd swear dozens of dancer/acrobats"“ not seven— were twirling about the stage, jumping, tumbling, forming human towers that reach the ceiling and then topple over in an instant. It's hard not to gasp out loud in fear for them, as these acrobats, simply clad in gray sweat pants and T-shirts, perform in bare feet and without safety nets.

The entire 7 Fingers company is credited with the direction of this fabulous creation, along with its founder Shana Carroll, and the choreographer Gypsy Snider. The mise-en-scène is gritty urban "“ bare stage, non-descript walls occasionally enhanced by interactive video, as in the moment when performers lie on the floor and others trace their shadows in an image projected on the back wall of the theater.

From rap to "'Paper Moon'

The musical score alternates between throbbing urban rock music, rap and insouciant piano solos of original composition (each member of this gifted ensemble plays and sings at one point or another). Every now and then there's an unexpected moment of nostalgia "“ like when the ensemble breaks into a charming 1930s-style dance to the tune of "It's Only a Paper Moon."

Ultimately, the triumph of the evening lies in the grace and generosity that the performers extend toward each other. They achieve the miracle of performing as a fearless, flawless ensemble while at the same time rendering unforgettable individual performances.

In the program, each performer is listed as "artist." More than any performing ensemble I've seen in years, they merit the title, singly and collectively.