This was a comped ticket, and a longstanding point of curiosity: I'd never been to a burlesque show, but it was the sort of thing that (say) a Rock Hudson character would have taken Doris Day to, while pretending to be an Arkansan neurosurgeon in 1962. And I'm a demon for anything Rock'd do. It's not exactly that burlesque is having its moment--that was surely a while ago, what with the film with Cher or whatever--but that moment seemed to be continuing. I thought, hey, it'd mix sophistication with toplessness. I could deal. In the end, though, this was pretty amateurish. In the manner of a Hooters, this was the sort of spectacle in which the presence of breasts would mitigate a range of mediocrities. I had hoped for sophisticated fun; I got amateur archery and bits waggled in my face. Just next door, at the NT earlier this year, I saw someone get a penis grafted onto their body--against their seeming volition--after an evening of choreographed torture. I hardly know what to do, frankly, with someone waggling about in pasties while Adele plays.
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