“Please take your shirts off, gentlemen. We want to see body line.”

A couple dozen young men remove their tank tops and T-shirts, revealing chiseled abs and bulging arms. Ke$ha is playing lightly over the speakers, and there isn’t a tie or suit coat in sight. This is the best job interview ever.

We’re sitting inside the Academy of Gymnastics and Dance in Henderson, where about 30 athletes are trying to turn skills in acrobatics and tumbling into a career with one of the premiere entertainment companies in Las Vegas. Stacy Clark and Julien Panel are the gatekeepers, acrobatic scouts for Cirque du Soleil, who will spend the day evaluating these young candidates on their skills and technique, looking not for a polished performer ready to take the stage but for the “p” word—potential.

“Our job is to take them through the day and elicit from them the most that we can,” says Clark. “We look at them through Cirque du Soleil goggles.”

This is Day 3 of open auditions, the only tryouts all year in the U.S. where anyone can show up and show off their stuff. That means today’s crew might include international-level gymnasts and hobbyists who’ve never had a day of professional training.

“Everyone is theoretically a surprise,” Clark says. Does she ever see someone who truly doesn’t belong, American Idol-style awful? Absolutely.

Mostly, however, it’s a self-selecting group—skilled gymnasts who’ve hit a stopping point in their athletic careers and want to turn years of training into a full-time job.

Twenty-two-year-old Raymond White has been doing gymnastics for 17 years, including at the University of Oklahoma. “Why not become a circus freak?” he asks with a laugh.

Sitting next to him, Jamie Corona agrees. “This is the only thing you can take your gymnastics and make a career out of it.”

But to earn a spot in Cirque’s talent database—the ultimate goal for these open auditions—candidates will have to do more than stick their landings. Those who show potential are invited to callbacks, a day of jouer, or play, designed to draw artistic inclinations out of athletes used to burying emotion in the quest for perfection.

“Getting athletes to play, phew, it’s like extracting water from a rock,” Clark says.

Getting them to show off on the floor is easier. Even the warm-ups are impressive—presses into perfect handstands, effortless splits and big tumbling passes that send the athletes flying. Panel and Clark caution them to only throw moves they know they can land. “It’s great if you can chuck a skill, but you’ll never chuck a skill in a show 10 times a week,” Clark explains.

A few minutes later, a kid wearing bib number 810 goes big on a warm-up pass, flipping, flipping, flipping, then still flipping as he comes down … rotating too far until he misses his feet and lands hard on his back to a slight gasp from the rest of the gym. He pops back up and shakes off the scouts’ worrying, but it’s hard not to feel this is exactly what Clark was warning against.

As Ke$ha sings, it’s go-time, and White’s up first, wearing bib number 801. He flies across the floor, all lovely lines and clean form with an artful flourish at the end. Not far behind him 810 nails his pass and soon 20-year-old Corona is up, wearing number 815. He’s powerful on the floor, earning appreciative applause from his fellow contestants as Clark and Panel jot notes straight-faced.

The range of skill and form is vast, from advanced level gymnasts who twist and flip through the air, sometimes ending in a practiced salute, to rough-edged athletes who muscle through front tucks and back handsprings, strong but sloppy. Each candidate gets three chances to show what they can do, to make an impression that will carry them forward.

By the time the group moves on to the second apparatus, everyone seems a bit more relaxed. Those who aren’t trampoline specialists lounge on massive crash mats, like Michael Radiff, a 27-year-old local who’s just finished a run as a showboy in Jubilee. “Last night was my last night,” he says. “I decided it was time to go. This is my dream.”

More specifically, his dream is to play Red Bird in Mystere, a show he saw when he was 8 years old and stuck with him ever since. Radiff already completed aerial auditions on Wednesday and beams as he says he’s officially in the Cirque database as aerialist. He’d like to add acrobat to his talent profile, so he’s back for a second go.

“It’s been a very emotional week,” he says. “It’s such a supportive, artistic, loving environment. And everyone is respected for what they do. This business can be so defeating,” he adds, getting choked up. In here, “you feel like you’re home.”

But in here you’re also scrutinized. Number 810 flies down the trampoline track, soaring into the air with a massive trick before slamming into the mat below. Despite the crash, Clark has seen something she likes. “Do you know what went wrong?” she asks, before telling him to repeat it. The next time, he lands it, flashing a smile as he turns to the scouts.

Soon there will be cuts, some athletes leaving disappointed while 18 are invited back for play day tomorrow. When auditions wrap up, Clark and Panel will add 14 names to the Cirque du Soleil talent database, artists who may be signed to a show in the next 36 hours or in a few years. White and Corona make the cut, but 810 isn’t on the list.