A&E

Roy Horn was more than a colossal entertainer. He was Vegas royalty

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Siegfried and (right) Roy at the Mirage
Photo: Sun File

In 1981, when I was 14 years old, my parents took my younger sister and me to see our first Las Vegas production show: Siegfried & Roy’s Beyond Belief, at the Frontier. There were two versions of the show, a matinee and a late show featuring “the Beyond Belief nudes”; being a family of Jehovah’s Witnesses at the time, we opted for the matinee.

I wish I could tell you that I remember the show in exact detail, but all I can summon today are flashes. I remember the big cats, of course; I remember the Greek-style chorus that accompanied every scene change (“The grotto! THE GROTTO!”); I vaguely remember the (clothed) dancers; and I remember one bit of stage banter: Following the comical appearance of a mallard on the stage, Siegfried Fischbacher walked out with a white towel and pretended to wipe droppings off the catwalk: “Stupid duck.”

It’s entirely possible that I have some of these details wrong; it has been nearly 40 years since that matinee. And I never saw Siegfried & Roy perform again—not at the Frontier, not on the road and not in Masters of the Impossible, the ne plus ultra S&R show that ran at the Mirage until 2003. I can only begin to imagine something beyond Beyond Belief—a culmination of a brilliant career that began on a cruise ship in the 1950s, when a young cabin steward and magician (Siegfried) and a waiter and animal lover (Roy) met and began creating an act that would remake stage magic for all time. Only a freak 2003 accident—in which Roy was critically injured by Montecore, one of his beloved white tigers—could put a halt to their creative momentum.

There was something I didn’t recognize in 1981 that’s obvious to me today. Long before Roy Horn tragically succumbed to the ravages of coronavirus last week, I had come to perceive Siegfried & Roy as the closest thing this town has to royalty—peerless master showmen whose over-the-top spectacle and glitz made an indelible impression on me all those years ago. When I think of “classic Vegas,” Beyond Belief is the first thing that comes to mind: a go-for-broke spectacle, wrapped in spandex and glitter, with moments of jaw-dropping wonderment (and, of course, a topless option). Other performers and shows would later draw from the S&R playbook—new magic shows, obviously, but I’d also argue that Cirque du Soleil is unimaginable without their trailblazing work.

Over the years I did see Siegfried & Roy, alone and together, at a handful of charity events in the course of my work. I never approached either of them, but I always found their presence reassuring. Knowing that they were still a part of the Vegas experience—even in retirement—somehow lent this town legitimacy, even as Vegas pursued other types of entertainment like theme parks and professional sports. Our city is built on hospitality, of which our population of entertainers, showrunners and stage folk is an enormous and irreplaceable part. In that sense, Siegfried & Roy were living, breathing strands of Las Vegas’ DNA.

Today I wish for two things. First, that I’d crossed the room at one of those charity events and introduced myself, if only to shake the hands that remade the works. Without Siegfried & Roy, this would be a very different Vegas, one lacking in the aristocratic charm they brought to Strip entertainment and the pure passion for show business that followed Horn well into retirement. “Life is our stage now,” he said in a 2013 Weekly interview.

My other wish is that I could travel in time back to 1981 and watch Siegfried & Roy at the top of their game once again. I’d catch the late show.

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