Actually the thought of going to one of the many shows hadn't occurred to me during my first couple days there, but by third day, having walked by so many half-price ticket brokers, and having seen so many posters for the dozens of choices available, I realized that to really have gone to Las Vegas, I had to see at least one show.
But which one to see? So many looked appealing, including the half dozen or more incarnations of Cirque de Soleil. I was tempted for a while to splurge for the Donny and Marie Osmond show at the Flamingo, considering it was the closest to the classic entertainer venues of Yestervegas, but it didn't seem right.
Then on the last night at the Elara, I was watching television and happened to land on an old rerun of the 1970's television show, Charlie's Angels. It was the episode "Angels in Vegas," in which the angels have to go undergo at the Tropicana casino to solve a series of murders. One of the angels (Jaclyn Smith) had to audition and become a dancer in the house show, which was a classic showgirl line-up in shepherdess costumes from the Folies Bergère.
That's what I want to see! I thought to myself. "a classic showgirl line-up."
Of course I knew it wasn't going to be the same as back then. We live in a much cruder time. There are no more shepherdess costumes, at least not in any wholesome way.
The next morning I found myself standing in line at a ticket broker, and when I got to front, having perused the listings on the television screen mounted from the ceiling as I waited, I bypassed all the higher priced offerings and laid out twenty-six bucks for a ticket to see Crazy Girls at the Riviera Hotel and Casino on the Strip. The poster showed a line of nude women from the rear.
Of course I knew it was a topless show. The thought of it didn't really excite me very much, but I figured it was the most Vegasy show to see in Vegas.
By the time the show rolled around that evening, I barely wanted to go at all. But I figured it was part of the whole experience of being in Las Vegas, so I forced myself out of my room at the Super 8 and walked down Las Vegas Boulevard all the way to the Riviera.
The Riviera is one of the the "classic" casinos from Rat Pack days of Las Vegas, and although it has been renovated, as all the remaining ones have, it nevertheless retains a simpler more unrefined feeling than its more glamorous and newer siblings further down the Strip.
But that was somehow just what I wanted. I killed time before the show putting quarters not into a slot machine but one of the vintage pinball machines near the casino floor, the kind seemed old when I was a kid.
But when I got in line outside the theater, I began to feel a bit icky. What the hell am I doing? I asked myself. Thank god it wasn't all men in line, I thought. About a third of the people waiting were female.
When I got inside the tiny theater I felt even ickier. The dark empty stage had two stripper poles on it, and the VIP section was circular booths. This is just a strip club, I thought. And I hate strip clubs. I detest the pointless titillation of it all.
The usher had seated us all right next to each other in the first rows of general admission, leaving all the empty rows behind us. I wound up next to a guy from Cleveland holding two beers, one in each hand. He chatted me up for a while. He was in town for a seminar on construction techniques. "This is the kind of show I couldn't see if my wife were with me," he said, in somewhat of an innocent tone.
He didn't quite understand when I explained my own lifestyle and job. But soon enough our conversation was over when the usher offered him a seat in the VIP section, because of the beers he had bought.
As showtime approached, I told myself that if I didn't like the show, I'd leave after the second number. But when the show began I found myself enjoying it much more than I imagined.
First off, it started with a male emcee in the form who did a crude, old-time stand-up comedy routine to warm up the audience. It felt like Old Vegas in spades. He announced that the show was celebrating its twenty-fifth anniversary this year---the longest running topless show in Las Vegas. That made me glad I had come.
Then the dancers all came out and filled up the stage, and then came out into the audience for the initial "Crazy Girls" number. One of them was standing only a foot away from me, but it would have been weird to turn and watch her.
I was amazed at how all the dancers looked almost the same---all of them rather slender with the same build and height, and all wearing blonde wigs for the opening numbers. I noted that they all seemed "natural" in the figures---no apparent implants, at least not egregious ones. Thor would approve.
For the most of the rest of the numbers, the dancers were either solo, or in pairs, threes or fours. In a few of them, they lip-synched to classic musical numbers, or simply danced with various costumes and props.
So it wasn't a strip club after all. It was a real show. The stripper poles were part of the set, but the numbers were real dance numbers. The age of the show (and the theater) was apparent, especially when compared to the newer elaborate show. The dancers were good and well-rehearsed, but they couldn't compare to Cirque de Soleil. This was definitely a holdover show from an earlier bygone era of Las Vegas. When the show finally closes, it will be the end of an era.
As far as the nudity part, I found myself enjoying the show when I forgot about the topless aspect, although some of the numbers, such as "You Gotta Have Boobs" forced one's attention on the subject. But I would have enjoyed most of the numbers more without the nudity, I thought. I say this not as some kind of "White Knight Male Feminist" (God knows I am not that), but simply as an observation of what I enjoy personally, and what I find erotic.
I kept thinking back to those wonderful shepherdess costumes in "Angels in Vegas." It reminded me again of what a crude time we live in, and what a shame it is that in order to get attention, a show has to put the nudity front and center. It is the plight of women of our time, that to get attention (and love), one must "give it away" in the most forward way. All this is the fruit of "liberation."
Yet, as I said, I was able to overcome the topless part and enjoy the numbers. I had great respect for the dancers at the end. It was clear they earned they paycheck with the show.
When it was clear that the last number had arrived, I was actually a bit disappointed. I actually wanted more. Crazy, indeed!
After the show, I realized that seeing shows was what Las Vegas was about. The next time I come, if that happens, I'm planning on splurging on as many as possible. Why else come?
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