‘Zumanity’ still dips into art of lust after five years

Two women wearing nothing but skimpy bottoms do handstands atop a 500-gallon "water bowl," then contort their legs behind their heads and slip into the bowl.

This goes on for six minutes, as the women intertwine seductively and move in slow-motion acrobatics, in four feet of 99-degree water and on the bowl’s edge. Suffice it to say, the act’s creator, Gyulnara Karaeva, has no problem with the nudity.

"Not at all. In the bowl, you don’t feel like you are on stage. You feel like you are behind glass," Gula (her nickname) says. "In the bowl, I feel like I’m a statue, and they’re looking at the bowl."

The water bowl routine is, like most acts in "Zumanity," a slippery combination of sexuality and athleticism, a pretty possibility of what the human body is capable of physically, artistically and sensually.

The reason for my kind words now is "Zumanity" is celebrating its fifth birthday today.

When it was created in 2003, some tourists walked out and complained it was too naughty.

But most stayed and gave it standing ovations — those who didn’t have a problem with a drag queen emcee or men and women embracing mostly nude. Call this "enlightened sexuality" if you want, but it’s really just the art of lust, presented exquisitely, without shame and never crossing the line into porn.

In other Strip shows, nudity is a beauty unto itself. But in "Zumanity," by stripping away the curtain of clothes behind "Cirque" athlete-artists, you see the stretch of a body, the extreme bend of a back, the naked physicality of stars like Gula.

There are new performance elements, and a new emcee drag queen whose comments are viewed as less raunchy. But the most unforgettable moments remain, like the water bowl and the S&M straps.

The "straps" is where a female aerialist twirls above stage, manipulating black straps holding her aloft into S&M positions, simulating masturbation. This is supremely impressive performance art that looks fairly dangerous to a layman’s eyes.

If you take a tour atop the ceiling, directly above the stage and seats, you see that the ceiling is a see-through grid of metal grating.

From large holes up there, performers, such as the straps aerialist, are lowered from a diving board by a technician wearing a strap. Yeah, it’s scary.

Eight to 12 technical workers a night can see right down onto the audience. And since this is a sexy show in Las Vegas, sometimes workers see theatergoers, uh, doing things with each other while believing they are not seen in the dark.

I asked several ceiling workers what they’ve witnessed theatergoers engage in. But they’re tight-lipped.

The best I got was a bunch of laughs and, "You don’t want to know."

Backstage is a maze of workout, wardrobe and makeup rooms. There are also, naturally, large sexual toys that stay in holsters when a show is not in progress.

John Barnett, operation productions management, said he forgot about those toys briefly when he was ushering his mother around on a tour.

"I got about halfway downstairs before I realized I was about to show my mom a bunch of dildos," he says with a laugh.

Elaborate wigs are mold-shaped to performers’ heads, then held in place by four pins and a bit of glue, says hair and makeup supervisor Roger Stricker, who used to work with Madonna, Cher and Sinatra.

"I was big in the ’80s," Stricker says. "This is where all the old Broadway people come to die," he jokes and laughs.

Under contract, performers must remain close to the body shapes and hairstyles they begin with when hired, in some measure to keep their costumes well-fitted.

For the crew — on the ceiling, below the stage and behind it — there are daily inspections of "56 axes of automation" (winches and other pivotal pieces of moving equipment).

Technical Director Phil Hampton came here from the Actors Theater of Louisville two years ago, taking the job in part because it was such an immense operation.

"It’s just a technician’s dream," Hampton says.

The backstage tone is said to be at its most professional.

There are legendary stories about performers hooking up five years ago, when "Zumanity" was in "creation" (stories I will not recite here).

Now, "Zumanity" moves like clockwork, but the stage show is anything but rote.

It is still graceful, lovely and sometimes raunchy (perhaps too raunchy for the moderately offended).

How did people even come up with the ideas for the most bizarre acts? A director could use a documentary to give you full insight.

But let’s focus on the water bowl, at least. Gula brought it here from Russia after "Cirque" caught her act and brought her here, she tells me outside a stage door at New York-New York, while she smokes a cigarette.

Her goal is to present "spectacular elements," rather than bending so much that people gasp, "Oh my God, she’s going to kill herself."

And, of course, it’s "Zumanity," so there is the lesbian connotation of her performance, which is acting; off stage, she does not love women so.

"Not really," she says in a smoky Russian accent, and grins at me with a "Zumanity"-esque facade of secrets and wit. "But I can play it out on stage."

Oh, yes she can.

Doug Elfman’s column appears on Mondays, Tuesdays and Fridays. Contact him at 702-383-0391 or e-mail him at delfman@reviewjournal.com. He also blogs at reviewjournal.com/elfman.