Bleeding Neon

Film producers put out dozens of films. But rarely are their works compared to each other, or expected to live up to a standard established by its predecessor. So why do we do that with Cirque du Soleil shows, specifically their Las Vegas creations?

Oh, sure, the first wave of original, non-linear, mega-circus productions such as Mystère and O feature trademark vibrant costumes, mind-blowing artistry and awe-inspiring sets, all wrapped in a sense of whimsy and wonder orchestrated by their creator, director Franco Dragone. Dragone left Cirque to form his own entertainment group, and since then, the company’s subsequent shows (such as Kà and Zumanity) have diverged from what the general public perceives as the established Cirque status quo, when in fact, they’ve diverged from the Dragone standard.

Since then, Cirque has entered into collaborations for its Vegas shows that have been of, well, questionable success. With The Beatles LOVE, the company produced a much-loved, critically lauded show that even spawned a Grammy-winning soundtrack album. That show stays true to the “traditional” spirit of Cirque du Soleil, never letting either the vague biographical story of the Beatles or the circus performances feel forced. Of course, maybe the Beatles’ eclectic music was always destined for the circus.

On the other hand, Criss Angel: Believe has been … less enthusiastically received. Blame the lack of magic, blame the creepy rabbits, blame Criss Angel’s own lack of charisma and general douchebaggery — whatever it is, Believe proves that not everything graced by the Cirque du Soleil name turns to gold. Or even bronze.

Hence, we come to Cirque’s latest collaboration, Viva ELVIS, which — in case you couldn’t figure it out or have been held hostage from the internet lately — loosely tells the story of Elvis Presley’s life through song, dance and trampoline tricks. On its own, ignoring the Cirque du Soleil name, Viva ELVIS is an adequate, enjoyable musical, featuring an integrated, energetic live band performing along with Elvis’ vocal tracks, enhanced by live singers. It’s a whitewashing of Elvis’ career, of course, leaving out all the ugly parts about drug addiction, affairs and, oh yeah, getting fat and dying. And it’s narrated by an actor portraying Colonel Tom Parker, Elvis’ notoriously manipulative and corrupt manager who, here, appears as a genial carnival barker.

So what makes it a Cirque show? There are kitschy, giant set pieces, such as a blue suede shoe, a guitar and a wedding cake, and acrobats performing feats of derring-do upon them. There is a fun but totally out-of-context trampoline segment. There are aerialists and colorful costumes and creepy plastic Elvis wigs. But unlike The Beatles LOVE — and yes, I’m going to compare here, because these are both Cirque-spawned shows based on the music and lives of giant rock stars — Viva ELVIS lacks that, well, certain je ne sais quoi that makes LOVE so fantastic. There’s no emotional investment. No build-up. No surprises or small, touching moments. It’s just all flashy showmanship, all the time, and even then, some scenes went on too long and could not maintain entertainment value.

Viva ELVIS feels more like the Broadway version of Hairspray, if you removed characters for whom we care about, a storyline we can follow or a genuine feeling of nostalgia. If you just purely love Elvis’ music, and dig musical theater, it may be right up your alley. But if you’re expecting the otherworldly, transcendental experience of earlier Cirque shows, your money’s best spent on a discounted ticket to Mystère.

Yes.

Muse + Silversun Pickups, April 10, Mandalay Bay Events Center.

Consider my mind blown.

I’ve been an unabashed fan of She Wants Revenge from the first moment I heard “Tear You Apart” almost four years ago. Oh, sure, the band (really a duo — Justin Warfield and Adam “DJ Adam 12″ Bravin — expanded live to a quartet) copiously borrowed sonically from Joy Division, New Order and Depeche Mode, but Justin and Adam put such a fresh, dance floor-ready spin on it, that the aping was just fine. I gobbled up the “These Things” EP, then the self-titled full-length, then the eagerly-awaited follow-up, “This is Forever,” and ultimately the band’s last EP, “Save Your Soul.”

Those albums form a fairly cohesive aural snapshot of the band’s first four years, staying close to the darkwave groove first unleashed upon hipster bars of the world in 2005, sometimes adding more subtle textures, sometimes getting more funky, but generally keeping alive the flames of Bauhaus, Siouxsie and the Banshees and their ’80s counterparts. But with the release of “Up and Down,” She Wants Revenge puts that all in the past.

Welcome to She Wants Revenge 2.0.

Adam (I’m eschewing the formality of last names here as Adam is someone I’d consider a fair acquaintance, and let that be my full disclosure) has been hinting — OK, overtly broadcasting — on Twitter for the last few months that SWR has been making music by which to have sex. He wasn’t exaggerating. He and Justin have almost completely shed their ’80s postpunk sound (save for the EP’s instrumental, “Love Me”) for something entirely contemporary. From the opening, booming pulse of “Your Love” to the whiplash synths of “A Little Bit Harder Now,” SWR has found the place where Justin Timberlake meets Prince meets The Faint.

Justin’s distinctive robotic baritone and visual storytelling is still intact, but it’s been accented by raps hearkening back to his MC days (remember Bomb the Bass’ “Bug Powder Dust?”). As well, the duo is joined by new discovery ZinaStar on “All Wound Up,” where she delivers a Pussycat Dolls-style verse as well as background vocals.

The more goth-inclined members of SWR’s fan base might be put off by the suddenly mainstream club-friendly sound, but if they’re not able to grow with the band, then they’re missing out. This is pure ass-shaking ear candy you can enjoy without feeling guilty. And it’s made by two dudes who, I can confirm, are real people, writing their own music, playing in a real band that plays real venues. And they’re doing it all without the support of a major record label, so that $5 you should drop on iTunes today for “Up and Down” is money well spent.

Not to piss on a man’s grave before it’s even finished being dug*, but I saw this today and had to post it.

This is a photo provided by Mohamed Hadid, the older gentleman pictured to the left of Michael Jackson. Hadid was the developer who built Jackson’s rented Westwood (Los Angeles), Calif. home. Below Hadid are his two children. And below Jackson are his children, Michael, Paris and Prince.

Now look at those kids. The offspring of Michael Joseph Jackson. The man who, by nature, should look something like this:

Now, the mother of two of the kids is ex-wife Debbie Rowe, who is pale and blond. And I’m guessing the undisclosed surrogate for his youngest is also in the lighter-skinned arena. OK. BUT. You gonna tell me that in the genetic crap shoot involved in the magic of reproduction, where, admittedly, it is possible for a child to not reflect any of one parent’s physical traits, that in not one, not two, but three cases (with two different mothers), that MJ’s beautiful blackness, fro-tastic hair or even prominent nose failed to show up in even one of his kids? Look again:

I call bullsh*t. MJ, what do YOU think?

*Disclaimer: I am a Michael Jackson fan, musically, whether or not I choose to believe any unseemly legal/moral accusations against him, rest in peace. But let’s be real here, I ain’t alone here.

Holly Madison, Josh Strickland and Shoshana Bean will star in the sequel to Peepshow, "Threesome." Not really. (Photo by Erik Kabik | RETNA | erikkabik.com

Things you should know about Peepshow, the topless revue now playing at the CHI showroom inside Planet Hollywood:

• Despite the top-billing, advertising face time and press coverage given to Holly Madison, who replaced Kelly Monaco’s role in the show, the real star of Peepshow is Shoshana Bean, formerly of Broadway’s Wicked, currently occupying the lead singing/dancing role abandoned by former Spice Girl Mel B. Shoshana is funny, charming, spunky, cute and can sing the hell out of anything.
• Though the show’s title and sometimes-topless cast of dancing beauties would lead you to believe good ol’ fashioned boobies are the draw of the show (and, specifically, the artificial ones supported by Madison’s tiny frame), the surprising truth is that the singers steal the show. At least for me, they did. Led by Bean, a few non-stripping female singers, male lead Josh Strickland and the occasional topless rapping hottie belt out tunes with such chutzpah you’d swear you just hear a subway train rumble past.
• Aside from a few slow spots (notably the opening number featuring the show’s eponymous theme song), the 80-minute production buzzes by quickly with mercurial energy. It balances well the erotic, the humorous and the silly. A particularly creative number involves three nearly-nude women inside a giant glass vat filled with “milk”; another features a particularly buff dude performing slippery antics on a suspended cable above a bathtub.
• As with almost every other striptease-type show I’ve seen, an “audience participation” segment breaks up the bouncing bosoms of the show with some well-placed light comedy. I put that in quotes though because, like many “volunteer” situations, the audience participants are plants. I don’t have a problem with that practice, it’s entertaining, and I like comedy. Just sayin’.
• The biggest disappointment? Madison. I said it. Holly Madison is adorable. She is down-to-earth, unassuming and very considerate. The character she plays should be perfect: An innocent, shy girl looking for love. But Madison is completely uncomfortable on stage. Actually, you can tell she’s even a bit awkward in front of the camera, too, but that’s a discussion for another time. Madison distractingly plays with her hair, tugs at her robe and stumbles around for most of her limited appearances in the show. And when it’s time for her to come out of her shell, after being prodded by Bean’s character and seduced by buff bathtub guy, the excitement over her spotlight performance has nothing to do with her dancing or acting — it’s more like an elevated sigh of relief that FINALLY, HOLLY IS NAKED. But the odd thing is, despite her Barbie looks and perfectly crafted breasts, Madison is just not sexy. Especially not in comparison to the caramel beauty who rocked the hell out of “Brickhouse” or the cat-like redhead who practically made love to a car. No, Madison tries hard to shashay and work her fluffy, white boa, but especially put next to the professional entertainers surrounding her, she comes off looking as if she’s the lucky hottie drawn out of the crowd at random to join the cast on stage for one night.
• Given the last point, Peepshow still ain’t bad. It’s naughty enough to work well for a bachelor (or bachelorette) party, but polished enough for a guilt-free date night. And I didn’t fall asleep during the first 20 minutes, unlike a certain show starring Madison’s ex-boyfriend Criss Angel.