It’s not summer anymore without cross-dressing jugglers and seminude contortionists.

It was only last year that the racy cabaret-meets-circus extravaganza “Absinthe” reached New York. But its dissolute vibe and irresistible setting (one of the few remaining “spiegeltents,” a one-ring circus imported from Europe and made of teak and mirrors), coupled with an adventurous slate of concerts and downtown theater performances, quickly made Pier 17 of the South Street Seaport a choice address for thrill-seeking summer theatergoers.

And so the producers decided to push their luck this year. The run has been extended by a month. The pier now features, in addition to last year’s modified beer garden, a dance floor, and a dozen or so individual-size hammocks looking out over the East River. (They’re tucked in behind the DJ booth, and very worth seeking out.)

Most important, an almost entirely new iteration of “Absinthe” has been paired with “La Vie,” a second, more plot-based bit of acro-sensuo-theatrics. The expansion was more of a success than they perhaps intended: While “Absinthe” certainly has its low-down highs, it is trumped both by the mise-en-scène and by the sheer craft on display in “La Vie,” courtesy of a wonderfully nimble Montreal-based company called the 7 Fingers.

“Absinthe” has hardly rested on its laurels, with only Nate Cooper, the aforementioned cross-dresser, remaining from last year’s roster. (Riding a pogo stick in platform heels while juggling three scimitars is apparently what it takes to earn a return engagement.) The basic formula, however, is the same: a louche singer, plenty of high-flying eye candy, and repeated violations of one’s personal space, generally in the form of careening bodies.

But despite the familiar, um, face of neo-burlesque icon Julie Atlas Muz, who rolls out two of her striptease setpieces — a grisly grope with a stimulated severed hand is particularly memorable — much of this year’s slate represents a step backward. The androgynous emcee Paul Capsis runs hot and cold, and while Voki Kalfayan and Anais Thomassian score points in a lewd “Cirque du Soleil” send-up, they devote far more time to two uninspired bouts of insult humor. The men and women of the press came in for particular abuse at a recent performance; I, for one, was singled out as first a Christian Scientist and then, owing to a few sketches on my notepad, a critic for Highlights magazine. (I got off easy: An esteemed critic directly in front of me ended up with much of his bare right foot in Mr. Kalfayan’s mouth.)

Substantial chunks of both shows take place 21 feet up in the air, and while each aerial sequence has its own filigree — tied together bedsheets in one, loose-hanging ropes in another, various skimpy outfits throughout — diminishing returns set in after the sixth or seventh routine. Two exceptions stand out, however, both of them in “Absinthe.” While the lovely Marieve Hemond and Annie-Kim Dery each acquit themselves in their individual bits, the partnering in their tandem act is considerably more nerve-wracking. And a buff Moroccan fellow by the name of Adil Rada differentiates himself by engaging with the audience during his high-flying pugilist act.

The acrobatic feats continue closer to the ground, as each show also contains a handful of balancing acts. While the danger factor doesn’t run quite as high here, the sheer proximity adds a new level of appreciation for the practitioners’ speed, strength, and pinpoint control. And in a few cases, notably a pair of whirling-dervish roller skaters in “Absinthe” and two different sequences featuring the burly but supremely graceful Sebastien Soldevila in “La Vie,” these feats take place literally inches from the audience’s faces.

Mr. Soldevila acts as an altogether different sort of host: We are no longer in a Weimar-style cabaret but in purgatory, on a “flight to hell that never quite gets there.” And while many of the sequences cover similar ground to those in “Absinthe,” this unifying concept makes an enormous difference in terms of maintaining viewer interest. Even when the metaphors are stretched to their breaking point — a madwoman subplot quickly overstays its welcome — the action moves forward with hurtling speed, amplified throughout by DJ Pocket’s wonderfully eclectic score.

Patrick Leonard makes a memorable entrance as the latest arrival to the afterworld, and in terms of pure visceral excitement, his and Mr. Soldevila’s chaotic routine with a diabolo (an hourglass-like juggling tool) is unlikely to be matched on a New York stage this year. Almost as dazzling is the emcee’s rough-and-tumble pas de deux with the superb Emilie Bonnavand, one that spills out into the audience with menacing virtuosity. Despite what you may have heard from your clergyman or Dante, purgatory sure ain’t boring. So my advice: If skin is what you’re after, head to “Absinthe,” ideally after a drink, or three. If you want some smarts mixed in with your sex, “La Vie” is the answer. Either way, the hammocks are non-negotiable.

“Absinthe” and “La Vie” until Sept. 30 (Pier 17, South Street Seaport, 212-279-4200).