The Devolution of a Diva
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Published in: January-February 2009 issue.

 

Cher in Concert
The Colosseum at Caesar’s Palace,
Las Vegas

 

CHER has a long history in Las Vegas. In 1969, she and Sonny were the opening act for Pat Boone at the Frontier Hotel, where they morphed from a folk-rock hippie couple into the wisecracking lounge act that became the Sonny and Cher Comedy Hour for CBS television. In 1972, on break from the top-rated variety series, she walked off the stage of the Flamingo Hotel and filed for divorce from Sonny, citing involuntary servitude. In 1975, having divorced Sonny, she married druggie rocker Greg Allman in a Las Vegas chapel, only to annul the marriage nine days later. In 1979, she performed solo at Caesar’s Palace. “Las Vegas is my gig,” she told Rolling Stone at the time. “That’s how I pay my rent and my kids’ school. It’s not my favorite thing to do. It’s like a play; there are lines, and it’s the same every night.” Cher

 Throughout her uneven career, Cher has consistently returned to the Strip. In 1983, she was at Caesar’s again; in 1991, at the Mirage; in 1999, at the MGM Grand. She now promises to ease into retirement with 200 performances over the next three years at Caesar’s for a reported $100 million paycheck. She is alternating with Bette Midler, Elton John, and Jerry Seinfeld in the theater that Celine Dion christened.

My first Cher concert was in 1965. My thirteen-year-old gay self got a front-row ticket at the Auditorium Theatre in Chicago to see the bell-bottomed, bobcat-vested duo sing “I Got You Babe.” As someone who has been an avid and loyal fan ever since, I looked forward to experiencing her latest, her final final extravaganza.

After descending over the audience’s heads in a birdcage singing, “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For,” Cher mentioned in her opening monologue that she fell on all fours the previous night, joking that someone her age should not be on all fours, ever. Maybe she was a bit sore, but throughout the entire ninety minutes she seemed tired and bored. At $500,000 per show, I expected more. Sure, the costumes were over-the-top fabulous. Bob Mackie was on steroids for his last fashion faux pas with Cher—bugle beads for miles, multi-layered Goth headpieces, mink capes in a gondola, and a reprise of the infamous R-rated battleship underwear. At 62, she played with the irony and camp value of this get-up as she strolled around the stage singing “If I Could Turn Back Time.”

Between every song, wonderfully entertaining home movies, archival photo and video sequences, and movie clips glitzily covered her numerous, lengthy, off-stage costume changes. For years, she barely mentioned Sonny in her shows, but now she’s pimping his legacy for all it’s worth as they coo “It’s The Little Things” from their Good Times movie and belt “The Beat Goes On” from a European television appearance, both in 1967. And there is a montage of “I Got You Babe” through the years.

During the brief period that she was actually on-stage singing, virtuosic dancer–gymnasts surrounded and supported her, performing passionately. However, Cher barely broke a sweat. Her singing was anemic, distractingly overpowered by two back-up singers. In addition to the songs already mentioned, she meandered through the obligatory hits, including “After All,” “Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves,” “All I Really Want To Do,” “Half Breed,” “Dark Lady,” “Take Me Home,” “Strong Enough,” and “Believe.” A wonderful “Walking In Memphis” including video footage of her as Elvis almost compensated for a what-was-she-thinking cover of “Love is a Battlefield” set in a Mad Max-like bleak environment.

After the finale, from my seat at the far left of the stage, I saw her immediately drop character as she turned to walk off stage, relieved her onus for the evening was over. It seems she had no more fun than the audience. The curtain came down with glitter and Cher-bills cascading from the ceiling, sending us all back into smoke-filled casinos with dancing fountains. Perhaps her amazing three-year Farewell Tour should have been enough. She could have gone out on top, delighting fans and critics alike with highlights from her forty-year career. But now she is stuck in Vegas—again—this time as a senior citizen, listlessly walking us through her programmatically remembered past.

 

John R. Killacky is an arts administrator and writer in San Francisco.

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