If Christopher Nolan were handed the reins to Cirque du Soleil—with only a microbudget and a constricted Off Broadway space to work with—Traces would be the result. A troupe of seven fearless, fearsomely good acrobats show up in mute grays, earth tones, white T-shirts, and zero body fat, and start throwing themselves through the air with a reckless mastery that only hormones and youth confer. You've seen these touch-the-sky stunts before, but rarely in a theater as intimate as the Union Square. Ignore the show's vaguely silly police-state frame: This is about sex and kinesis—not that the kids in the audience will know that or care.
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