The most tasteful show in town and the most tasteless both closed last night.

If you can't figure out which one is "Splash" and which describes Clint Holmes, you don't read this column much.

It's an odd coincidence that these two extremes in Las Vegas entertainment both wrapped on the same night. All they have in common is that if they did turnaway business, their host casinos would have tried harder to keep them there.

Some still wonder why Harrah's Entertainment would drop Holmes, the closest thing Las Vegas has to a universally liked goodwill ambassador. Beyond seeking new diversions for Harrah's player's network, it's likely just economics.

Holmes was the rare act guaranteed a salary, while comedian Rita Ruder, who replaces him, is used to the "door deal" -- working mainly for revenue from tickets sold -- that's far more common on today's Strip.

"Splash" had an unusual economic model as well. It was financed by former Riviera owner Meshulam Riklis, who once owned the Riviera but walked away from bankruptcy proceedings with only the hotel's food court and the show.

It always seemed that, like everyone else, Riviera management tried to ignore the goofy show. Riklis, singled out by Forbes magazine for a "lifetime habit of stripping assets from debt-laden companies --and leaving creditors in the lurch," finally pulled the plug.

But let's get back to the taste thing. Holmes is the rare Las Vegas act to consistently improve over the years. You would assume he came to Las Vegas fully formed. He was in his 50s, and worked as an Atlantic City act and New York TV host.

Yet in February 2000, the R-J's Michael Paskevich called him "a special if still undefined performer," relying too heavily on other people's hits. "Holmes must establish a stronger identity to quell questions about who he is."

Mission accomplished. The singer gradually replaced most of the covers with original songs and made the show into the story of his own family, as well as a celebration of the type of entertainer that's all but extinct.

"Splash" sort of went the other way. If you can put it into its 1985 context, it was a newfangled production show that woke up the Strip, acknowledging MTV as the rare Las Vegas show of its day to court people under 40.

But for years, "Splash" watched the rest of the Strip change as it stubbornly preserved the legend of Michael Jackson. Some segments over the years were so insanely weird, "Splash" became the Las Vegas version of a movie that's so bad it's good.

Come to think of it, these two shows had more than one thing in common. They both pushed the envelope of Las Vegas' safe approach to entertainment, albeit in different directions. I shall miss them both. But not for the same reasons.

Mike Weatherford's entertainment column appears Thursdays and Sundays. Contact him at 383-0288 or e-mail him at mweatherford@reviewjournal.com.