Okay, I'll have to admit, I started with a view of Cirque du Soleil that was a tad bit prejudice. I mean, the French and clowns, could it get any worse? And, when Cirque du Soleil first came to Portland I remember thinking, "Hey, it's like the circus, I'll take the kids." This worked until I called for reservations and got the ticket prices, deciding I'd send my kids to a good college instead.
So, imagine my excitement when Karen said "We have tickets to see "O" by Cirque du Soleil in Las Vegas!" I was speechless, which, curiously, I have often found to be the preferred response at moments like this.
So, we met friends Jim and Carol at the Bellagio (about 30 minutes late, after driving on the famed Las Vegas "'parking' Strip"), had a marvelous steak dinner and then went to the show.
It started with clowns squirting people with water. At this point, you consider leaving. I mean, after all, even if they are from Montreal, these are the heirs of people who think Jerry Lewis is the ultimate comedian. These are the people who think hairy arm pits are sexy and it's okay to eat slugs.
And then, "funny clown" moment, they take someone from the audience. You begin to suspect that he might be a plant when he climbs a ladder about 70 or 80 feet to the ceiling. Had they chosen me for that particular act, there would have been a colorful monologue added to the performance.
The plot (SPOILER ALERT): I think it's something about a guy with a baseball cap being guided by a tall skinny skeleton-like guy through a maze of people who spend their time acrobatting and diving into the water, but never actually breathing, while a nymph-like girl (or possibly an attractive boy) appears and disappears periodically. There are some French-type Dragoons who might be Coachmen, or gay waiters, who swoop in and around, while a cast member from Showboat reads a newspaper while being burned alive. In the meantime, a Polynesian fire eater dances around with a couple of clown refugees from Hurricane Katrina. Throughout it all, three girls from China, or the Philippines, or Omaha, Nebraska, twist their bodies into shapes that boggle the mind (to the constant refrain of "stop staring, Gary" from what I think was somewhere off stage).
But I'll admit it, in spite of the French heritage, in spite of the clowns, in spite of the dearth of plot and the total absence of dialogue, I LOVED THE SHOW.
I felt guilty any number of times, when I wasn't applauding, I was just sitting there amazed, wondering, "What did I just see?" "Did I just see what I thought I saw?" "How the hell do they do that?" "What the hell are they doing?" Oh, and "Can you please move that Clown?"
Apart from the plot line (see above), this show is indescribable!
I'd see it again and again (well, if I could afford it), just to see what I missed and then to see the stuff I saw but didn't believe!!!
So, imagine my excitement when Karen said "We have tickets to see "O" by Cirque du Soleil in Las Vegas!" I was speechless, which, curiously, I have often found to be the preferred response at moments like this.
So, we met friends Jim and Carol at the Bellagio (about 30 minutes late, after driving on the famed Las Vegas "'parking' Strip"), had a marvelous steak dinner and then went to the show.
It started with clowns squirting people with water. At this point, you consider leaving. I mean, after all, even if they are from Montreal, these are the heirs of people who think Jerry Lewis is the ultimate comedian. These are the people who think hairy arm pits are sexy and it's okay to eat slugs.
And then, "funny clown" moment, they take someone from the audience. You begin to suspect that he might be a plant when he climbs a ladder about 70 or 80 feet to the ceiling. Had they chosen me for that particular act, there would have been a colorful monologue added to the performance.
The plot (SPOILER ALERT): I think it's something about a guy with a baseball cap being guided by a tall skinny skeleton-like guy through a maze of people who spend their time acrobatting and diving into the water, but never actually breathing, while a nymph-like girl (or possibly an attractive boy) appears and disappears periodically. There are some French-type Dragoons who might be Coachmen, or gay waiters, who swoop in and around, while a cast member from Showboat reads a newspaper while being burned alive. In the meantime, a Polynesian fire eater dances around with a couple of clown refugees from Hurricane Katrina. Throughout it all, three girls from China, or the Philippines, or Omaha, Nebraska, twist their bodies into shapes that boggle the mind (to the constant refrain of "stop staring, Gary" from what I think was somewhere off stage).
But I'll admit it, in spite of the French heritage, in spite of the clowns, in spite of the dearth of plot and the total absence of dialogue, I LOVED THE SHOW.
I felt guilty any number of times, when I wasn't applauding, I was just sitting there amazed, wondering, "What did I just see?" "Did I just see what I thought I saw?" "How the hell do they do that?" "What the hell are they doing?" Oh, and "Can you please move that Clown?"
Apart from the plot line (see above), this show is indescribable!
I'd see it again and again (well, if I could afford it), just to see what I missed and then to see the stuff I saw but didn't believe!!!
Perfect weather in Vegas:
Playing a "friendly" game of Canasta, in which Carol and Gary, through skill, grim determination, dueling table talk and divine providence (who is the patron saint of amateur card players, anyway?), emerged victorious, in a humble sort of way.
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