Friday, October 29, 2004 Copyright © Las Vegas Review-Journal

SHOW REVIEW: Why mess with 'Jubilee!'s' success?

Even though it was dated when it opened in 1981, the producers have wisely left its endearingly campy charms alone

"Jubilee!" includes an elaborate segment about the sinking of the Titanic, including a pre-disaster show from "the dollies of ze "Folies,'" perhaps a nod to the Strip's other long-running showgirl opus. Photo by Craig L. Moran.

If you're not too distracted by all the razzle-dazzle to listen, "Jubilee!" almost reviews itself via its own soundtrack.

"Hot!"

"Chic!"

"Class!"

"Unique!"

A recorded chorus chants this during a part of the show where guys in sequined vests (but not shirts) cavort with topless showgirls in headdresses of yellow plumage.

Imagine the music as orchestral '70s disco, very much in the pocket of the "Charlie's Angels" theme, and you have "Jubilee!" in a nutshell: A spectacle that was all of the above by old-Vegas measures of class and sophistication, but also had to tell you it was, just in case you didn't know.

In truth, "Jubilee!" was probably kitschy and dated to much of the outside world when it opened in mid-1981. It was the last spectacular created by the late Donn Arden, a bookend to his "Lido de Paris," which used the same basic formula to make the showgirl a Las Vegas icon in 1958.

This time capsule of another Las Vegas outlasted other milestone epics, including "Siegfried & Roy at The Mirage" and "EFX." And it has done so with no real performance value at the heart of its pageantry, beyond a few dance duets and a couple of live singers who gamely chime along to the taped score.

Its chief appeal is that it's now, along with the Tropicana's "Folies Bergere," the last place to see real, old-Vegas showgirls. While "Folies" is being updated piece by piece, the custodians of "Jubilee!" wisely chose not to mess with its endearingly campy charms.

Instead, they concentrate on keeping the 2,000 costumes and the technical aspects up to speed. In theater, costumes and stagecraft support whatever the show is about. But in the old Vegas, the shows were about the costumes and stagecraft.

Earlier this year, Bally's overhauled the lighting system to install automated fixtures comparable to other big shows on the Strip, and brought in veteran Broadway designer Ken Billington to redesign the lighting cues to gorgeous effect.

One of the two big set pieces is the 20-minute "Titanic" sequence, which exists mainly to show you how the scenery can change four times without a curtain: an exterior of the fabled ocean liner at dock, the grand ballroom, the boiler room -- where a drunken female passenger distracts the boys from their iceberg-dodging duty -- and finally, an exterior of the sinking ship as a lifeboat crosses in the foreground.

It's still fun to watch, even if the nominal song-and-dance action isn't nearly as far out as the other big number, "Samson & Delilah."

That one marks the only time in the show that a female is topless for a sexual reason, rather than walking up and down stairs. It also has the most memorable campy music still heard on the Strip, using the Les Baxter/Martin Denny genre now packaged as "exotica" to relate a cautionary tale: "Love can drive you wild, can paralyze, can hypnotize you."

"Jubilee!" always had a problem following the Titanic segment, which ends a half hour before the rest of the show. The issue isn't helped by the current crop of specialty acts, seemingly chosen as a nod to Cirque du Soleil.

There's no questioning the skills of the Asian acrobatic duo The Long Twins, the "flying on fabric" aerialists Stoyan & Alexi or the manically juggling twin brothers of Doubble Troubble. It's just that none of them talk. And that ignores a historical role of the "Jubilee!" specialty act: Creating a place to reach out and make contact with the audience sitting out there.

There's also a weak limp to the grand finale that came about in 1997, when the producers were faced with the challenge of trying to update the show within Arden's dated style.

The resulting tribute to Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers has all the retro chorus vocals on "Begin the Beguine" and "In the Still of the Night," but is almost too visually discreet for its own good.

Looking at the often-bemused younger folks scattered amid an audience heavily stacked with Asian tourists, I wondered how this show is perceived beyond those who view it as a history lesson. How long will the big sets and costumes sprouting with feathers and rhinestones continue to draw them?

For now, at least, it doesn't matter. The reasons have changed, but the show is still what it was when it opened: Something you can't see anywhere else.