I have vivid childhood memories of two circuses: Ringling Brothers and Shrine. The latter was a delightfully shabby affair held in an old auditorium where audiences sat on concrete bleachers that were occasionally adorned with tacky plastic chairs. There were lots of animals, and the holding areas outside had a strong smell. Inside, rough-looking men hawked huge rubber balls, finger puppets and technicolor cotton candy. I was usually allowed one purchase, and for some reason I always chose the finger puppets.

I remember the year that Ringling Brothers, which performed at the much classier Erwin Center in my hometown of Austin, Texas, brought a "real live unicorn" to its show. It was a goat that emerged for a few minutes at the end — complete with a transplanted horn — though it was barely visible from my seat way up in the arena.

Cirque du Soleil feels about as far away from those shows as a high school play from Broadway. There are no animals, to the relief of many circus enthusiasts long disgusted by reports of mistreatment. Though the shows are typically staged in a circus-style "big top" flying brightly colored flags, it's a slick and clean and temperature-controlled affair. No one is hawking finger puppets or cotton candy, though there's a plethora of Cirque merchandise in the entryway.