It is oft noted that Samuel Beckett drew inspiration from the circus, especially the clowns, when creating Waiting for Godot.

Thus in many versions of this absurdist masterpiece the doomed characters don baggy trousers and oversized shoes. I even recall a Perth production of Waiting for Godot in which Vladimir squirted Estragon with one of those big joke-shop flowers pinned to his lapel.

Almost half a century later Que - Cir - Que has, in best post-modernist fashion, reversed the trend. This Swiss-based trio of circus performers draw their inspiration from the theatre of Samuel Beckett.

Using a bare stage with a pole in the middle (recall the lonely tree in Waiting for Godot), minimalist John Cage-like musical accompaniment and the simlest of everyday items as props - a broom, a bicycle wheel, a roll of carpet, a cigar - Que - Cir - Que act out the kind of existentialist drama that will have audiences reaching for their Sartre and Camus.

Actually, it‘s a whole lot more fun than that - and, importantly, a good deal more sensuous. While Que - Cir - Que‘s performance begins in Beckett mode,with extremly delicate movements and the meaning emerging in shards and fragments, by the end there is enough gyrating, sweaty bodies and grunting on the soundtrack to make a warm Perth night that much warmer.

And it‘s doubtful that old Sam would have approved of the marvellously erotic sequence in which viperish Emmanuelle Jacqueline sprays a stunned Hyacinthe Reisch with mouthfuls of water, circling him like a seductress in one of the movie-cliche French cafe dances. (How she manages to keep what seems like a litre of water in her mouth is anybody‘s guess).

And then there's the marvelluos moment in which Jaqueline, who is just about the sexiest circus performer I‘ve seen, whips off Jean-Paul Lefeuvre‘s buttock-clinging stretchy underpants. What‘s underneath I daren‘t reveal but it made the audience gasp with delight then fall about laughing.

Que - Cir -Que - whose name is a playful echo of Beckett‘s obsession with circles, empty space and eternity - is not a circus in the traditional sense. There is no white greasepaint, funny red noses or exploding cars (though there is enough slapstick to keep the younger members of the audience amused).

Rather, the show is a mix of clowning, modern dance, theatre and - when in the many frozen moments - conceptual art- Performers use a number of objects but the main props are their bodies, which are so delicately bent and twisted and turned that they create a continuity with each other, the circular performance space and, ultimately, the audience.
Quite literally, in fact. At the end of the show the performers construct, in fast-motion Benny Hill fashion, a makeshift bar on stage and invite the audience to come up for a drink.

That sense of continuity, of openness, is reinforced by the fact that none of the dramatic fragments feels complete. It‘s rather like an artist‘s first sweep over a blank page - a series of graceful arcs, lines and, dare I say it, circles - which will evolve into a meaningful, emotionally powerful shape.

In fact, this feeling of a work in progress is the modus operandi of Que - Cir - Que. Speaking to producer Ueli Hirzel after the show in the makeshift bar I learnt that the trio, who are living on site so as not to break the concentration, are constantly evolving their act, working in new moves at each morning rehearsal.

With this bit of news I broke from the magical circle and contemplated a return visit to Que - Cir - Que, a group with more artistry in their miniscule, heart-on-the-sleeve movements than all the elephants and hippos of the Great Moscow Circus.