Cirque du Soleil, Royal Albert Hall, London

Every New Year I try to resist it. Every New Year I give in. Cirque du Soleil is my weakness, and one that's not hard to defend. So why should I feel the need to? Because in the 18 years since Cirque started at a humble street festival in Quebec it has become a global brand, a slick formula whose dependency on hi-tech betrays the sawdust intimacies it grew from. Worse, I tell myself, the ticket prices are outrageous.

But every New Year I trot along and, noting that my £49.50 seat gives only a partial view, decide to write a mean review. And I never do, because at some point during the extravagant, not-far-short of three-hour experience, it works its spell, leaving me slack-jawed, blown away and thoroughly in its thrall.

Since its first visit in 1995, Cirque du Soleil has shown three different productions in London, a mere fraction of its global output which last year numbered seven ongoing shows. This year – for reasons of logistics, I imagine – London gets a repeat of Saltimbanco, Cirque's longest-running spectacle and its most influential in terms of circus/theatre/rock concert crossover.

What is most stunning for a first-time viewer is the scope and daring of its theatrical frame, teeming with extras modelled on the "zanies" of commedia dell'arte. Hobgoblins with rude noses and shrill voices strip patrons of their dignity (and sometimes clothing) before they've even sat down. More masked characters bicker and canoodle around the margins of the straight circus acts. A squad of acrobatic dancers dressed as flickers of flame swarm around the base of an impressive five-piece rock band and a glittery female singer wanders magisterially through the proceedings like Queen Titania searching for Bottom.

Production values don't come higher than this. The costumes are magnificent, the sound quality and lighting effects superb, and the performances – from the lowliest rope-tugger to the trapeze act's identical twins – nothing short of immaculate. However, seeing Saltimbanco for the third time, enjoyment snags on the odd irritation. I strained to discern the speech of one character before realising it was portentous gobbledegook. Ditto the songs, whose passionate sounding lyrics relate phonetically to Arabic, Swedish and German, but in fact say nothing at all – a missed opportunity, surely. Or is it sound commercial strategy, to dominate the world with phoney pan-global music-lite that appears to be inclusive and offends no one? Best of the individual acts are those that go for big-scale visuals. I liked the Chinese Poles, in which 20 multicoloured bodies scamper up the vertical like exotic reptiles, or hold themselves on a gravity cheating horizontal like flags in a stiff wind. Even more beautiful is the all-white bungee ballet, with four seemingly weightless creatures plummeting and floating through 150ft of empty space like snowy hawks. Less memorable perhaps is the Martine McCutcheon lookalike who juggles ping-pong balls, or the tarty pair who dance flamenco while swinging a kind of conker in each hand – they sprang no surprises, and looked rather lost in the Albert Hall.

A show so amply peopled with wacky chorus parts hardly needs clowns, but Saltimbanco devotes an extraordinary amount of time to Rene Bazinet's short-trousered Bash Street kid. His act is essentially a conventional mime with self-generated sound effects and physical comedy at the expense of some poor sod from the audience who gets hauled up alongside. It struck me as considerably less funny than the show's prototype back in 1995 – but it's no good lamenting the loss of individual performers. Personnel turnover in circus is lethal. Some of the artists in the current Saltimbanco weren't born when the show was created. And those featured then have surely run away to join a firm of accountants by now.

j.gilbert@independent.co.uk

Royal Albert Hall, London SW7 (020 7838 3122), to 9 Feb