The first time I saw Celine Dion live was an auspicious date, although I hardly understood why at the time. It was my 26th birthday, she was in the post-Titanic throes of her Let’s Talk About Love tour, and my then-partner surprised me with tickets I’d later realize he charged to my credit card. But that’s a whole other tacky matter.
The date was October 16, 1998. Any dyed-in-the-wool Vegas devotee worth his chips must recognize this as the day that Steve Wynn’s Bellagio opened. Just a mile west of the Thomas & Mack where Celine crooned along with videotaped performances by Barbra Streisand and the Bee Gees, the crème of the Sin City crop was eating richly, drinking liberally and ushering in a milestone in the city’s history with the debut performances of the Cirque du Soleil aquatic spectacle O.
It’s sort of funny to think about now, because it just goes to show how completely unlikely it was then that Celine would go on a few years later to stake her own claim at revolutionizing Las Vegas. Or that it would be that Cirque production, helmed by Franco Dragone, that would famously convince her that she wanted to deviate radically from the normal pop-star-in-her-prime script and become a long-term Vegas headliner.
And now, after nearly five remarkable years, Queen Celine is voluntarily abdicating, flinging herself off her ginormous Colosseum throne with gusto and back into the whirlwind of international tours, record promotion and possibly additional parenthood. And I can hear the hipsters and aspiring hipsters among you who huff “Good riddance!” or “Who cares?” and pity you for having no appreciation for the fact that she ever graced us with her regime.
Now is the time for all good-hearted people who love this city and destination to lay down their arms and embrace our gentle, benevolent departing monarch. It’s not about the music, so if your complaint with Dion is that she over-belts sugary wedding-dance ballads that appeal to folks who wouldn’t know The Cure from Tupac, then you’re as arrogant and elitist in your own way as you believe Celine’s fans are toward you and yours.
This moment is significant. As major as the final days of the Rat Pack or Elvis.
Really.
It is not overstating it to say that Celine Dion revolutionized Las Vegas at least as much as that other major brand from Quebec you might have heard of around here. She didn’t have to do it, to be sure, but she did. And yes, she was paid handsomely—detractors may say obscenely—for it. But as she leaves, she’s done more for us than we’ve done for her.
Don’t believe me? No less than her successor, the inimitable Bette Midler, told me in a recent interview that without Celine, there’d be no Elton John, no Barry Manilow, no Toni Braxton, no Prince. Pick your delight, whatever the genre, and when Celine proved that Vegas was an efficient, highly profitable and personally fulfilling place to hang around, that word got out.
“The effect is absolutely huge, enormous,” Midler said of Celine’s tenure. “She was a giant headliner, and she made a choice. It was a choice that a lot of other people wouldn’t have made at the time, and it opened a lot of people’s eyes to the possibility not just to the Colosseum but to all of Vegas. And I think it was a very sharp and shrewd move, and also she had a good time.”
There’s no doubt there’s a large chunk of this magazine’s audience that must think I’m a square queer by now. And to that I’ll clarify that I haven’t always been kind to Celine or the show myself. I even told LA Times travel-section readers that they’re better advised to see Clint Holmes if they’re looking for an amazing headliner experience. And I have wondered in print whether the simplicity of Celine’s bio—she married her manager as a teenager and became a mammoth pop star—made her lack personal understanding of the desperation of loneliness and heartache contained in the lyrics of some of her songs.
But more recently I realized I’d missed something impressive about her personal story that ought to earn her a salute even from the cooler-than-thou crowd: This woman has taken more abuse than just about any noncontroversial pop-culture figure and just kept trucking along anyway. She never complained. That’s character-building.
Still, the cool kids can’t help themselves. She gave loads of access to Newsweek recently, and they rewarded her with a largely sunny tribute, except that the first sentence of the story opened: “Celine Dion is going to try to sing. This isn’t a setup for a joke.”
Only it is. Or, that is, everyone has to be in on the joke to get the irony of the setup, which is that a viral infection in October caused some show cancellations. And consider that this is the same publication that ran a snarky piece when she arrived under the headline “She’s Just Not Vegas.” That piece quoted some Vegas luminaries questioning whether she’d fit in here, the standard seeming to be based entirely on whether she’d ever show up to do celeb karaoke at the Bootlegger on Monday nights. I should know. I contributed to that piece.
Over the years, she did her shows, found creative ways to raise large gobs of money for charity, kept out of trouble and turned the Colosseum into the closest thing Vegas may ever have to New York’s Radio City Musical Hall. It’s by far the most prestigious and classiest theater to perform in in the Western United States.
And so, a grateful Vegas ought to bid her a fond farewell. I know I do. Seriously.
Read Steve Friess’ daily blog at TheStripPodcast.blogspot.com and catch his weekly celeb-interview podcast at TheStripPodcast.com. He can be reached at [email protected].