But the fans might be asking him the same question from their seats. It looks like their guy (most of the time, anyway), and talks like him. But is he still there?

So it goes with "Criss Angel Believe," which officially was unveiled at Luxor on Halloween. It's the shotgun marriage of Criss Angel, sort of, and Cirque du Soleil, kind of, where both seem to have their hands tied by new rules. Neither seem completely comfortable.

Like any Cirque production, "Believe" is full of audacious and beautiful visuals. You're again reminded it's a good thing the Strip's conqueror is a benevolent one with bold ambitions. What other commercial show gives you bunnies in black leather, or a ghostly bride's wedding dress unspooling in an unending train?

The dress raises into a vertical wall, which the magician proceeds to walk down, before it's engulfed by a wash of (video-projected) blood. Moments like that make you wonder what this show could have been if Cirque and David Copperfield had come together 10 years ago.

Copperfield understands that the best illusions are little one-act plays, each building to a carefully constructed payoff that isn't just an effect, but the climax of the story.

Angel and director Serge Denoncourt, who co-wrote this one together, don't get much further than rock-concert theatrics rolled up with a cinematic soundtrack (a fine one, by the way, by film composer Eric Serra).

Their "Believe" is more like Alice Cooper circa "Welcome to My Nightmare," full of cool monsters, sinister death traps and devilishly hot bad chicks. But only in a fourth-quarter rally does the wedding-gone-bad harness Cirque's gift for lyricism into a glimpse of story-telling emotion (despite some real bad-actor howls of angst on Angel's part).

The unintended irony is that the show rolls smoothly for the first 20 minutes, when Angel does the straight-ahead showcase he probably would have mounted without Cirque's involvement. But then a surprise sends him down the rabbit hole into a weird Wonderland that's sometimes fun -- Larry King in a bondage mask! -- but more often frustrating.

The magic makes it painfully obvious that Angel is a showman whose gift was creating his persona, not anything new in his field. The dude's buff and tough enough -- hanging upside down over the audience in a straitjacket -- but the big illusions plod to predictable conclusions; dressed-up versions of the typical Vegas big-stage show.

The touted innovation is that instead of boxes and cabinets, the trickery is concealed by the fabric of fans or cloaks, or fog machines. Big whoop.

Angel's speaking role has expanded since previews began, a double-edged sword. Remember, Cirque isn't big on the talking thing. But this is a star vehicle, and the star's gotta say something, right?

So you might be lulled into the haunting imagery the same way you might be hypnotized by an old horror movie on TV. But then your roommate comes in and starts with the wisecracks and it goes the way of "Mystery Science Theater."

The magician makes awkward banter in his Long Island accent and even throws down dance moves with his comic-relief sidekicks, who wandered in from some other Cirque production in their derby hats and Euro-clown makeup. It's supposed to be incongruous -- and they sure got that part right -- because remember, it's all a dream.

Time and ticket sales will prove whether the dream turns out to be nightmare. Friday afternoon, Cirque founder Guy Laliberte reminded us of two things: A) Cirque shows don't stop evolving after the opening night party. B) No matter what you think of the stage show, $5.5 million in presales in this economy is some real magic after all.

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