The safety curtain lifts on a copse of tall white trees with spindly stubby limbs. On a plinth, a goldfish circles in a bowl. A woman in scarlet descends from the sky. Leaves fall likewise. She exits slowly, trailing an endless red train. And all the while, jangling strings and melodious gongs meander an ever-descending scale… We are in a legato world, and though there are changes of pace, under all, this freefalling dynamic suffuses the whole.

In this midst of the Dali-esque environs, stands a portly protagonist. Cajoled by a dapper but cynical wise guy, he recollects his adolescent first-love, and a traumatic moment of childhood abandonment. The enactment of this scene by stilt-walkers is the show’s most bewitching moment of drama in action. But for the most, all is pinned on the portentous dialogue, which is a cryptic montage of hoary idioms and famous lyrics.

Clear themes do emerge. The memory of a Mexican Kissing Fish, we are told, is but seven seconds. Ponder that. To be ever on a first date: paradise or a nightmare? At times, however, the words tumble into the confusion and emotional dystopia that Harold Pinter made so his own. The big difference here, however, is the addition of a lithe and keen acrobatic chorus. On occasion, they seem to still be playing through the devising games used to create new work. But their hijinks – like becoming a shoal of vacuous, snogging fish – certainly gets the audience cackling merrily.

For the most, however, watching this chorus is to watch human Lambourginis idle. I just want to ask, "When are they gonna do some tricks?" Moments of promise surface throughout: impeccable acrobalance; the precarious delight of a solo trapeze artist, sans net; and a guy dangling in improbable, cantilevered postures from a ten metre, vertical pole.

Yet, circus is about the visceral rapport of bodies – and the company’s drab costumes hide theirs. In the same way, much of the time their corporeal talent is buried background. The elliptical narrative upfront throughout obscures the eloquence of their flesh. When the box of big top toys is finally opens up, for a joyous handful of moments all the classic goodies are there: red noses, unicycling, hulahoops, tumbling, and a man in the sky spinning and spinning, utterly dizzyingly. Lion tamers and chimps in shoes went out with the ark; I know that. But this work strays too far, for me, from the remarkable magic of risk and spectacle that makes circus so eternal.
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