At "Mystere," you hear this, from two guys rushing to their seats as the house lights dim: "Remember this?"

If you're tired of the show, there are plenty of others to choose from. If not, locals can get excited about the half-price offer through Feb. 2.

However, the discounting -- still not the norm for Cirque -- seems to have replaced Cirque founder Guy Laliberte's idea to "upgrade and refresh" maybe a third of it, as he ventured when "Love" opened. The whole notion of five shows closing the circle is out the window given Cirque's limitless growth.

Laliberte had an interesting concept though. The "Mystere" format is certainly the simplest, the one that could lend itself to new surprises without changing what people love about it.

"Mystere" was the pinnacle of the company's early years, epitomizing "the circus reinvented." Acrobats and circus acts from around the world were stripped of the sequins and calliope music, recast in a theatrical context with otherworldly costumes and a cinematic score.

Flip through the "Mystere" souvenir program, and you realize you may have missed out on characters such as The Black Virgin ("a praying mantis who destroys the illusions and dreams of her victims") or Stas ("a mischievous imp, a thousand years old").

Doesn't matter. It's nice that original director Franco Dragone thought of a back story for the characters. But it's better still that audiences don't have to decipher them, as "Love" pushes you to do.

Instead, "Mystere" has balanced its ethereal elements with universal comedy. Over time, two clowns have emerged as dominant faces.

Brian Dewhurst came to town with "Nouvelle Experience," the touring Cirque show that paved the way for "Mystere" in 1992. Now the 75-year-old ambushes unsuspecting ticket-holders as preshow entertainment, then keeps popping up to taunt the straight-man host (Marek Haczkiewicz). Dewhurst even speaks English, which wasn't part of the show's original handbook.

The big baby (Francois Dupuis) was created to convey the theme of birth and curiosity in a new world resonant with ancient, exotic cultures. Now he's Buster Keaton in diapers, a slapstick comedian who drives a mean golf cart.

The acrobatics may have lost some of their ability to surprise repeat customers, but familiarity doesn't diminish appreciation. Hurry if you want to see the amazing hand balancing of strongmen Marco and Paulo Lorador, who will take a year off after Wednesday's show (another hand-to-hand act will come in).

Don't forget the anti-gravity pole-climbers, the teeter-board gymnasts or the bungee aerialists who drop down from above. If Cirque ever decides to revamp the show, the climactic trapeze act always seemed too familiar from Ringling Bros.-style circus days to provide a knockout punch.

And the music that was radical for the Strip when the show opened in late 1993 now seems as dated in places as the notion of a "new age" bin in record stores -- or perhaps the notion of record stores.

The quickly evolving perspective of Las Vegas can make this 14-year-old show "nostalgia" for the grown-ups and a fresh experience for youngsters. Not a bad combination around the holidays. This time, you can even pick up the program to answer a nagging question that may have carried over from last time: Why a giant snail at the end?

Answer: It's the "carrier of the souls of the ancestors and herald of the future."

And its future seems fine.

Contact reporter Mike Weatherford at mweatherford@reviewjournal.com or (702) 383-0288.