Vegas Has Become Nothing But A Circus

Back when I was a kid, which according to my daughter was sometime in the Paleozoic Era, circuses were already on the decline.  You had the Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey Circus, "The Greatest Show On Earth," which was usually held in civic centers and arenas instead of the traditional and much-beloved circus tent. 

Then you had a slew of also-rans like the one that occasionally came to my boyhood home in Maryland which featured an anemic elephant and a couple of hungover clowns.  As for the trapeze artists, I had seen greater aerial deeds of daring at the elementary school swingset, frequently introduced with "Hey mom, look at me" instead of "ladies and gentlemen, tonight under the bigtop..."

Even the sideshow was second rate.  I remember being so excited to see the "Spider-Boy."  It turned out to be someone inside of a papier mache' spider that didn't move, other than the occupant's eyes.  At nine and a student of Havre de Grace Elementary School in 1970, I was something of an expert on papier mache', so I recognized the medium immediately.  And even at nine, I had received enough schooling to know that two eyes was about six eyes short for an arachnid.
But it was the circus, and as a child I was required by law to enjoy it.

Through the years, circuses seemed to have pretty much vanished.  In my current hometown of Mesquite, a small circus will still roll through on occasion.  At least, I guess it's the circus.  The posters look very colorful and circus-esque, but they're all in Spanish, so it could just as easily be an invitation to a quinceanera.  (If you have any Hispanic friends, you know these traditional celebrations for a girl's 15th birthday have become far more elaborate than any mere circus.)

A small circus visited our town a couple of years ago.  How small?  It was held in a tent roughly the size and shape of a phone booth.  It was probably appropriate, since the highlight was an act that was about as exciting as making a long distance collect phone call with a Mercury dime.

So I figured the circus was passe', a relic relegated to a bygone age.

Then I drove through Las Vegas last week.

It turns out that the only entertainment you can find in Sin City, other than watching homeless guys on the sidewalk passing out brochures for hookers, is the circus.

Cirque du Soleil, O, Ka, Mystere, Zumanity...it appears that if Elvis and Sinatra were alive today, the only way they would appear on a Las Vegas stage is if they could juggle.  According to comedienne Kathy Griffin, even the show at Caesars Palace should be called "Cirque du Celine."

I've never been to any of these shows personally because, well, I'm no longer nine.  But judging from the ads, somehow we've reached a place where topless showgirls are out and androgynous men in full body suits jumping on each other is in.

Personally, I'm not impressed.  If I wanted to watch a terrifying act where someone does death-defying feats high above the crowd, I'd stop in at the VooDoo Lounge atop the Rio at 2 a.m. (although with admission charges as high as $300 at the lounge, an evening at Cirque du Something-Or-Other would probably be a lot cheaper).

I'm also skeptical of the claims made at these three-ring copycats.  Let's be honest, it's Vegas.  People occasionally drink there.  After 14 or 15 Alabama Slammers, even the watered-down variety served at the slots, seeing pink elephants dancing on a miniature polka-dotted piano isn't much of a trick.  You could tell a well-oiled tourist from Philadelphia that the show he just saw had involved a purple monkey swallowing its own face while balancing on a drum swinging from a flaming trapeze.  Not only would he believe it, he'd be recounting the astounding details of the act to his buddies back home after 18 or 19 Rolling Rocks at the next Flyers game.  (Note to the Cirque people: if I see an ad next month on the big outdoor screen at Treasure Island featuring a purple monkey swallowing its own face while balancing on a drum swinging from a flaming trapeze, I want royalties.)

Someday, I'm hoping entertainment in Las Vegas will return to featuring big name, talented acts.  And no, Mirage, a guy from America's Got Talent with singing Muppets doesn't qualify.  Of course, by the time that happens, it will most likely be a septuagenarian Lady Gaga performing in a pair of Depends, oversized glittering blacked-out louvered tri-focals, and a sequined bra hanging somewhere around her knees.  (Wait...that's the outfit she wore on "Good Morning America" last month).

I guess I'm just a traditionalist, wishing Vegas would go back to the old ways of music, nudity and sleaze to be found somewhere other than the sidewalk.