The Scintas moved from the Rio to the Sahara, but their act remains a familiar throwback to the vintage lounge era. From left, Frank, Chrissi and Joe Scinta and drummer Peter O'Donnell. Photo by Ralph Fountain.

When I came to Las Vegas in the late 1980s, I never thought I would be writing this sentence: Las Vegas casinos are starting to forget about entertainment for people in their 50s and 60s.

This is not to say all age groups don't enjoy Cirque du Soleil, or that we don't get enough classic rock for baby boomers. But the original golden-age Vegas acts are gone or starting to face the final curtain -- catch Don Rickles and Steve and Eydie while you can -- and the tide has shifted away from acts who either imitate the greats outright or preserve their ring-a-ding style.

The Scintas do both, rolling out comic celebrity impressions combined with their own sibling chemistry. The family act's manic style hearkens back to the "show bands" of the vintage lounge era, though a few dramatic or sentimental moments also rise up in a very old-Vegas fashion as well.

You either dig this old-school shtick or you don't, and you'll know it from the top of the show. When "Ain't No Mountain High Enough" segues into the Black Eyed Peas' "Let's Get It Started," brother Frankie Scinta dons sunglasses and accessories to affect the guise of a rapper.

"What the hell are you doing?" brother Joe asks. "Who do you think you are? Snoop Dago Dogg?"

After five years at the Rio, Harrah's Entertainment officials felt The Scintas (pronounced Shin-tahs) had run their course with the player's club. In May, the group moved into a tough theater at the Sahara where nothing has seemed to click for very long.

The group improved the room's acoustics and the show is better paced than it has been since The Scintas' local debut in the place where they seemed most at home, the Las Vegas Hilton's 325-seat cabaret venue, way back in 2000. They pull the crowd in quickly, and keep them in their corner.

For those on board with The Scintas, the only real complaint is one that also applies to the like-minded Society of Seven, which returns to the Strip next week. Both groups at this juncture depend on the kindness of loyal fans and repeat customers.

Both groups claim to have a deep bullpen -- hours of material they can rotate in and out of the show -- but I don't see a lot of rotating.

This one is still a variation of the "Scintas 101" we saw at the Rio, an introduction to the Buffalo, N.Y., family. Frank is the multi-threat talent, who can play the spoons as well as the piano, and does better-than-average imitations of Tom Jones and Dean Martin.

Brother Joe is more deadpan in his own persona, coming out of his shell for impressions that rely more on comedy and wigs: a wacky Mick Jagger, a Joe Cocker who has been hungover since the '60s and a Jerry Lewis in "Nutty Professor" regalia.

Sister Chrissi, younger than the two brothers, drops in time to time for the more serious singing, playing the Keely Smith to their Louis Prima and Sam Butera. Her tastes run wide, from the Josh Groban and Charlotte Church duet "The Prayer," to Journey's "Separate Ways (Worlds Apart)."

Drummer Peter O'Donnell is the only full-fledged Scinta who is not a blood relative. His drum riser is positioned between the siblings and the three backing musicians, allowing him to interject a running comic commentary.

A few minor differences -- such as Frank playing George Burns strictly for laughs, rather than getting maudlin -- edge the show a little more toward the free-wheeling Rat Pack affair it could be. But some of the routines, if not the white suits with zebra-striped lapels at the end, remind us that the Rat Pack not only did Vegas, but all sorts of cornball cue card-reading TV variety shows.

Other than, say, vodka or bourbon, The Scintas in 2006 are the closest thing we have to Las Vegas comfort food: Nothing trendy or surprising, but always dependable.