Seated at "The Red Piano," Elton John puts himself almost at a spectator's distance from David LaChapelle's dazzling pop art visuals.

Most nights, the most amazing sight at Elton John's Caesars Palace show is going to be the giant inflatable breasts. But on a recent evening, the honors went to something witnessed only by those who kept their eyes on the guy who often takes a backseat to his video and stage trappings.

It was at the beginning of "The Bitch Is Back," amid the diversion of Pamela Anderson on the giant video screen. The man who created the song planted both of his palms on the top of his red piano and vaulted his portly 58-year-old body a few inches into the air, a faint yet resonant echo of the days when John himself was the focus of his concerts.

OK, it wasn't much. But fans can only wonder what might happen if the singer put a treadmill and bench press in that big Caesars Palace suite of his. By this time next year he could be kicking over the piano bench again, or even stomping around in the giant "Pinball Wizard" boots from the "Tommy" movie, as one cohort suggested he should do every night to justify a $280 ticket.

Most of us would settle for a few more songs. To dwell on the 90-minute running time after this second viewing of "The Red Piano" would sound too much like a broken record of the show's debut in February of last year. But the opinion echoes all the way to the men's room, where a guy headed back into the Colosseum for another encore after "Your Song" had to be told not to bother.

If only the singer would add even 15 minutes, preferably alone at the piano to provide a rest from the eye-popping video. It would go a long way toward a more complete experience and hitting the essential points of his song catalog.

That said, a second viewing of "The Red Piano" brings renewed appreciation to what the singer and director David LaChapelle did with the chance to create a custom spectacle for Las Vegas using the tools in place for Celine Dion's "A New Day."

"This is a great show. It's fun. Let's get on with it," John tells the crowd near the beginning, rightfully putting himself almost at a spectator's distance from LaChapelle's visions on the high-definition video screen.

Songs get reinterpreted or finally explained. "Philadelphia Freedom" celebrates the hedonistic rush of the '70s. "Daniel" confirms its protagonist never came home alive after heading for Spain and combat duty.

LaChapelle's pop art sensibility blends perfectly with the contrast between John's diva-glam persona and the grit underscoring his music. Both paste a glitzy, over-the-top veneer on the truth that lies beneath, not quite concealing it but finding a rugged beauty there as well.

As John sings "Believe," giant roses bloom onstage in dazzling contrast to the black-and-white video. "Pinball Wizard" is a hepped-up race along the Strip, from the flashy Eiffel Tower replica to the cake-faced makeup of a stoic card dealer.

"Candle in the Wind" and "Rocket Man" zoom in on the ravaging toll of celebrity for Marilyn Monroe and John himself. The latter gives John's piano and the five-piece band their only extended musical comment, punctuating the comically sad video -- the singer at his '70s peak, trapped and hounded by sycophants -- with a long instrumental where the piano dips into melancholy, then bounces back with barrelhouse defiance.

The video is balanced by fun commentary by a performer who once used his outlandish stage garb to compensate for his shyness.

He calls his co-tenant Dion "a singing Q-Tip ... Put her behind a grand piano for 36 years." He talks about what it was like to share Ray Charles' final recording session, for a duet of "Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word." He then performs the song in the one slot that appears to allow titles to be swapped from visit to visit.

The singer eliminated last year's political barbs, and instead thanked the United States for "(giving) me everything to start with" back in 1970. Needless to say, it's also the country where market dynamics have the final say in whether people will pay $115 just to get in the door.

Oops -- wasn't gonna mention that again. But I can't resist this: In last year's review, I facetiously suggested that if Caesars officials wanted to get people back to the tables so badly, they should pass out match-play coupons at the exits. Imagine my surprise when they appeared to be doing just that.

The coupons, however, turned out to be mere reminders to visit the Elton John retail store. Not even a 10 percent discount. A fine country for him, indeed.