Assuming your baby-boom bones are still up to gettin' down ... beat, two, three, DO THE HUSTLE! ... each end of the Strip is now your boogie wonderland.
Anchoring down south is the dancing queen of Mamma Mia at Mandalay Bay, joined up north by disco king Tony Manero at the Sahara's Saturday Night Fever, which disco-ducked into town earlier this week.
ABBA and the Bee Gees have your leisure-suited ass surrounded—glam nostalgia from glitzy years for a glitzy-glam town. And nothing calcifies an era—not even VH-1's I Love Some Decade or Other—like a musical.
In the same lightweight, Vegas-ized style with which Gotham imports succeed on the Strip—heavy eye candy, light brain food, so it's a sugary gambler's snack, not a filling theatrical meal—Fever stays alive just fine.
Based on the production that bowed in New York in '99 (itself inspired by the '77 movie) and played 500 performances over 14 months, Fever shoves the movie's drama—Brooklyn mook escapes mundane life through dancin' and dreamin' of the big-time—into the shadows. It's flashing lights, flashy moves, tacky outfits and the Bee Gees-centric soundtrack that carry this sight-and-sound spectacle, the dancing tent-poling the show. Though departing from Mamma Mia's Broadwayesque, two-act format—Fever's 105 minutes unfold over one intermission-less act—both are disco-dominated, drama-lite confections designed to dazzle the eyes and ears and stoke the fires of nostalgia.
And who knew the Bee Gees' thumping oeuvre—"Stayin' Alive," "Night Fever," "Tragedy," "How Deep Is Your Love," "More Than a Woman," etc.—harbors genuine heart once you sub out their strangulated falsettos for soulful stage voices?
The vibe commences in the Sahara Theatre lobby, outfitted to resemble the 42nd Street subway station at Grand Central. It continues into the theater with mirrored balls, as the throbbing hits of Donna Summer, Barry White, Gloria Gaynor and KC and the Sunshine Band pound over the P.A.
But once Tony Gonzalez struts out as Bay Ridge big shot Tony Manero—aping the movie's opening strut to "Stayin' Alive"—you know the monster hurdle is the lack of that legendary surge of electricity known as Travoltage. Unsurprisingly, Gonzalez can't plug into that, but he makes a fair-to-good Manero, packin' just enough braggadocio to affect a 'tude, yet reveal vulnerability. And he can bust some mean moves and wear those skin-hugging threads with assured cool.
He's ably backed by supporting standouts, including the charismatic Clarissa Grace as desperate tagalong Annette. She boasts a brassy, expressive voice that will get you to sit ramrod straight and listen, especially to her trenchant "If I Can't Have You."
Brandox Nix infuses soul into ill-fated Bobby C., who meets his end atop the Verrazano Bridge. His rendition of "Tragedy" elevates it to a new realm. (Amazing what enunciation will do to a Bee Gees hit.) Kristin Piro is winning as Stephanie, Tony's dance partner, potential paramour and window to the major-league Manhattan scene. And Shea Raffertty is a horndog hoot as Monty the DJ/dance instructor (apologies to our own Monti Rock III, the movie's original), who turns every twirl into a rhythmic grope.
Director-choreographer Arlene Phillips inventively stages several numbers, including "Stayin' Alive," which cleverly introduces Tony and references several of the film's opening encounters—grabbing a hot slice, eyeing a cool shirt—in one song. And in "It's My Neighborhood," whispered musical pantomine by nearly the entire cast backdrops a dance-club conversation. The tunes roll out at a furious pace—that's the point—almost with the relentless tempo of a mix tape.
The disco—the show's center ring—is vibrant without being cluttered, red lights blazing behind a perforated black wall, mirrored ball throwing off rainbow disco rays that turn us into part of the club. Otherwise, Phillips tends toward sparse sets—Tony's bedroom, (with Pacino-as-Serpico poster) is an extended cart on rollers—leaving much of the stage unoccupied. Beyond a budget blessing, it evokes the sense of vast, unexplored potential for the dancin' blue-collar hero.
Massive stage mirrors reflect Tony's gyrations (echoing Travolta's iconic poses), though it also catches the orchestra conductor's image in full gesticulation, which is a discordant (or is that "disco-rdant"?) note.
But Saturday Night Fever is a Vegas-ready retro-fest—and one entertaining mutha.
Burn, baby boomer, burn.