Friday, April 08, 2005 Copyright © Las Vegas Review-Journal

SHOW REVIEW: Not a Girl, Not Yet a Has-Been

Britney Spears just might save her career if she would watch the better version of herself in 'American Superstars'

Kristie Fisher doesn't look all that much like Britney Spears, which illustrates how minimal a part the real Spears plays in her own stardom.

This is an open letter to Britney Spears:

Britney, Britney, Britney. I know you're busy and all, rumbling with the tabloids, keeping tabs on the hubby and dealing with all that pregnancy gossip. But you really have to make time to go see "American Superstars."

No, it's not because of the sheer novelty of someone impersonating you. If that were the case, I'd steer you down the street to see the drag version of you in the Riviera's "An Evening at La Cage."

Sure, it would be eye-opening for you to see Kristie Fisher do her Britney tribute. It illustrates how minimal a part you play in your own stardom. Give any babe with six-pack abs a slick pop tune like "Toxic," add busy choreography, magenta-wigged backup dancers and navel jewelry. Viola! Instant Britney.

Writhing around in glossy, black paint-on pants and halter keeps Fisher in better shape than some of those tabloid swimsuit shots of you. And I'd venture to say she sings better too.

But it's the last act in the show I really want you to see. Believe it or not, Damian Brantley is still doing Michael Jackson. And believe it or not, he's still the clear-cut crowd favorite.

You'd think that anything Jackson-related would be horrifying in the context of the singer's child molestation trial.

But now I get it. And this is the part that you, Britney, need to pay attention to: The Michael Jackson portrayed by Brantley is, sadly, as dead as the Elvis (Darren Lee) who opens the show. Brantley is doing the real Jacko a favor by remembering the good days, the Jackson who busted all those cool dance moves in his white T-shirt and red sequined overshirt. The dazzling moon-walking "Billie Jean" Michael, not the shambling, pajama-bottomed freak we see on the news.

Brantley even distances himself from his meal ticket by making an aside to the ladies, adding, "Watch out! I'm not the real Michael!"

It's too late for Jacko, regardless of the trial's outcome. But it's not too late for you, Britney. Seeing this show can be your own little version of "A Christmas Carol." You can still wake up the next morning and get back in the game to reclaim your own legacy, before it's deeded over to Las Vegas impersonators to remind people of why they cared in the first place.

If not, you're at least in pretty good company here. "Superstars" is a fairly low-profile attraction, considering it celebrates 10 years at the Stratosphere this summer (it started as a lounge show, then moved into its current showroom berth after Danny Gans left in December 1996). Brantley opened this show and has grown up with it.

"Superstars" begins, literally, where "Legends in Concert" ends: with an Elvis rendition of "Viva Las Vegas." Kicking it off with Lee signals to the crowd that this revue is more about good singing and a versatile four-piece band, not plastic surgery or slavish impersonation.

But its aggressive embrace of contemporary pop is what forced "Legends" to kick things up a notch. A few years ago, the show had a Ricky Martin tribute. Now it offers Chad Givens as a respectable Tim McGraw.

And "Superstars" honed in early on your rival for the tabloid-pop limelight, Christina Aguilera. Naomi Rodriguez has been in the show long enough as a taller, healthier-looking version of Aguilera that it's disappointing she hasn't kept up with Aguilera's admirable growth -- compared to your downward spiral, Britney.

They're still doing "Lady Marmalade," and haven't even caught up to "Fighter" or "Beautiful." But they just updated your segment, so maybe Aguilera will be next.

Granted, it's tough keeping up with pop culture and the speed in which we turn our idols into laughing stocks. At least "Superstar" producer Mark Callas tries. And if you keep acting up and end up dead or in the trailer park, Britney, they can always license a James Ellroy book and change the name to "American Tabloid."