Traces leaves other circus-theatre shows panting in the wings and looking on in envy. Les Sept Doigts de la Main are all ex-Cirque du Soleil – although none of this lot (four men, one woman) look old enough to be ex- anything and the skills level is what would be expected of that heritage. Breathtaking no-hands Chinese Pole; exhilarating acrobatics; basketball; skateboarding – it seems they can turn their hands, feet, torsos to anything. Give them an object and they will manipulate it with ease and grace. Give them a floor, a wall, a rope, and they'll go that extra mile.

But what is most wonderful is their rare understanding of circus-as-theatre: that theatre comes from what your body brings to that space and those other bodies in that space; that narrative means far more than just words telling a linear tale. Here, there is an overarching story – of growing up, forging identities, processing memories that builds in layers, allowing the audience to write the book rather than have the performers read it to them.

There's a lovely, minimal use of screen image (photos and home movies creating flickering traces of childhood selves). There's further a clever little device that I love – a way of acknowledging the dilemma of integrating audience response to circus tricks into the theatrical world created onstage: after each impressive trick or turn, they walk downstage as if to take a bow, then stop and look straight at the audience, then snap back into the stage world. Perfect.