… that is also spelled “S-U-C-K.” We’re speaking of CHER the production show at Caesars Palace’s Colosseum -- not Cher the performer (of whom more below).

When attending a show entitled Cher, one might reasonably expect it to prominently feature … Cher. Such expectations are sadly crushed. Cher runs 100 minutes, and both I and a City Life colleague estimated it to 30 minutes (or less) of Cher onstage and 70 minutes of Other Stuff. It’s as though Gary Loveman was paying Cher by the minute and determined to minimize his outlay.

In Céline Dion: A New Day, Dion and Franco Dragone knew what the public was coming to see (Céline) and delivered it, in spades, whether one liked the final product or not. Bette Midler’s Colosseum show, too, is generous with her talent. It also has rhythm, pace and a unifying style, qualities lacking in Cher.

The stupefaction-inducing spectacle that transpires is, instead, more like “V: The Ultimate Variety Show with special guest Cher.” The nominal headliner is upstaged by her Bob Mackie costumes (12 in all), a fashion parade that seems to be have been Cher’s creative starting point, a creatively fatal decision from whence it was all downhill. Cher is brought onstage, sings half a song or so, then must depart for another wardrobe-and-wig change, leaving five-minute-or-longer lacunae in an already slack show.

The “down time” is filled with second-rate Cirque du Soleil-style acrobatics, blinding Nuremberg-rally lighting effects, contortionists, disco dancing and a one-man-plus-puppets rendition of “YMCA” so bad it doesn’t even qualify as camp. (If Midler’s show was High Camp at its finest, Cher is Vegas Tacky … and not in a good way.) As for the choreography, it could be the textbook definition of “uninspired.”

The well of inspiration having apparently run dry quickly, other changes are covered with innumerable and interminable video segments. It’s like watching your entire Sonny & Cher DVD collection in the company of a few thousand of your closest friends. (To drive the point home, we were subjected to the constant verbal obbligato of a quartet of goombahs behind us. [“That’s Jerry Lewis!” “Where?” “Right.” “He’s good.”] Imagine watching a Cher concert while listening to an episode of The Sopranos and you’ll get the effect.)

Only in a Sixties-themed segment was all the show’s infrastructure – dancers, backup singers, band, set and video cyclorama – employed to maximum potential. Otherwise, you’d have to have to be in a remarkably indulgent frame of mind to regard Cher as Colosseum-worthy entertainment. But, judging from the audience reaction, mine is a minority report.

As for Cher herself, it wouldn’t be cricket to give an in-depth critique of a performance where she was clearly indisposed and looked to be on the verge of collapse in “If I Could Turn Back Time.” Least affected was her voice, which is remarkably well-preserved (the rest of her is pretty well-preserved too, but let’s not get into bionics) with intermittent “froggy notes,” as she called them, adding an appealing touch of humanity.

Deeper than ever, Cher’s voice is a plumy alto throb, verging upon a basso profundo. In truth, she’s in fresher vocal estate than Bette Midler, but takes far fewer risks and it’s a shame that such a lush timbre is lavished upon songs that are mostly piffle.

Truth in Packaging Dept.: If Caesars were to be candid about what it’s presenting, it should re-slug the show “A LOTTA RANDOM S%!T … and (intermittently) Cher.” Yeah, that’d about sum it up.

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