Las Vegas, where the Rat Pack once wrote themselves into the history books (and countless spin-off tribute shows) for their live appearances, later became a kind of retirement home for old-timers to have one last gasp of public attention. But nowadays its star (and its stars) are riding a crest of a wave of fame and acclaim: not only is there serious money to be made here, but also – by putting down roots in Las Vegas for resident seasons – performers can not only avoid the rat race of having to tour and instead get audiences to come to them, but also there’s an opportunity to build properly theatrical shows specially for Vegas, too.
With the departure of Celine Dion after a long residency at Caesar’s Palace, her place has just been taken by the inimitable Bette Midler who started last week, and who I saw last night; she’s sharing the massive Colosseum space with Elton John (who also took over when Celine had breaks) and Cher, who begins her own show from May 6. “Does it get any gayer?”, Bette asked last night; and you may well ask.
But the surprising thing about seeing Bette last night was the audience demographic; for though the Divine Miss M built her career on her gay following – and famously began it as a performer in gay bathhouses – it’s a distinctly middle-aged, Middle America crowd who flock to see her here now. (At these prices, maybe it has to be: top price is $250). She’s far from a niche act nowadays, of course, but the terrific thing is that, despite her apparently broad appeal, she still keeps all the signposts and landmarks of where she has come from, too. So there’s her immortal mermaid in a motorised wheelchair – but, as typically expanded for Vegas, is joined by a chorus of 21 other mermaids (eat your out, Disney’s latest Broadway-isation of The Little Mermaid), which reminded me rather of The Producers line-up of zimmer-frame bearing chorus line of old ladies. And of course there’s Soph, originally devised as a tribute to Sophie Tucker, but now famous in her own right as one of Midler’s most foul-mouthed characters. (Sample joke: her husband tells her, “If you could learn to cook, we could fire the cook.” She replies, “If you could f**k, we could fire the chauffeur”.)
The show is a greatest-hits canter through her career (and canter it has to be, since the show is billed as 90 minutes long and that’s all there is time for, because the casinos wants the audiences out and back doing the real business of this town, which is to hit the tables); but what is amazing, in between renditions of her hits like “The Rose”, “From a Distance” and “Wind Beneath My Wings”, is just what an unfailing energy she still has. At the age of 62, she is showing no signs of slowing down – or indeed of ageing (she may be a poster child for Botox and photoshop, or maybe I just wasn’t sitting close enough to the stage – though thanks to my friend Steve, who booked the tickets nearly a year ago, we were actually just 14 rows back). I wish I could say the same thing for myself: right now, burning the candle at both ends, I am shattered.
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