Most of us hew to the standard English-language definition of “fixation” (as in “I have a sudden fixation with actresss Crystal Chappell“). However, in Cirque du Soleil-speak, “fixation” means “damage repair.” To wit: Criss F. Angel vehicle Believe has been in need of fixation since before it opened. (Only Crazy Girls and Steve Wyrick get lower ratings from LVA members.)
It’s nigh upon 11 months since Believe was foisted upon an eagerly skeptical Las Vegas and apparently, the “fixation” process still drags on within the catacombs of Luxor. Or not. Whatever the case, Cirque du Stuck on Themselves ain’t tellin’, not even to the Los Angeles Times.
Two thoughts: If the show’s problems are so intractable they take nearly a year to “fixate,” why not just bag it? Also, if what Cirque is presenting is a work in progress, ought not Believe to charge consumers a “price in progress”? Like, oh maybe $15/person to see Mr. Angel and his Cirque enablers try to figure out what the hell kind of show they want to do?
While I don’t share Richard Abowitz‘s enthusiasm for Zumanity (for me, it’s a show about sex that’s staged by eunuchs). Ka is awe-inspiring and Mystere is enjoyable if you have a very high tolerance for whimsy. But it is with masterly understatement that Abowitz writes, “Cirque can be pretentious on stage and in the corporate culture.”
Guy Laliberté’s cosmic dream, our nightmare
Scarily, he reveals that head Cirque jerque Guy Laliberté is planning to spread coulrophobia to the cosmos. Is no place safe from putty-nosed clowns? Can’t they accidentally-on-purpose open the airlock when Pennywise is trying to juggle in zero gravity or whatever Laliberté has in mind? (Given the reports of Laliberté’s heterosexual athleticism, I have my suspicions as to what he really wants to experiment upon in zero G’s.)
On the subject of ass-clownery, this takes the cake. I guess he believes “If you haven’t been bookmarked, re-Tweeted and blogged/You might as well not have existed.”
Adios, Charo? Moving further up the Strip, Abowitz speculates that an ankle sprain may provide the excuse for the Riviera to draw the curtain on Charo in Concert. (I accidentally typed “Charon.” A Freudian slip?) Even reliably everything-is-better-than-ever Robin Leach concurs. Who’d have thought that, back when I reviewed Charo‘s show for CityLife, in tandem with Ali Spuck‘s cabaret act, that two months later, the plucky Ms. Spuck would be the one — pardon the pun — still standing?
Since the flamenco-guitar portion of Charo’s show was a bit light on content (five songs), the Riv could have turned lemons into lemonade by working in more guitar and less coochi-coochi. But evidently not. But don’t despair, guys. The Riv’s still got Scarlett, Princess of Magic and her red bikini.
In an unrelated rumor, Tony ‘n Tina’s Wedding is alleged to be halfway out the door at Planet Hollywood. That always seemed a mismatch of show and venue; it will surely pop up somewhere else (LVA members give it our highest rating), should the rumor turn out to be true.
