Digital Nation by Gary Dretzka

The last time burlesque -- that nearly prehistoric theatrical genre -- was given its artistic due might have been in the movie version of The Right Stuff. It came after President Lyndon Baines Johnson introduced the original Mercury astronauts at a giant barbecue inside the Astrodome, and Sally Rand performed a balletic fan dance, manipulating a magnificent pair of ostrich feathers over and around her presumably nude body.

Some howled at director Philip Kaufman’s decision to showcase the oafish Texas politician’s choice of entertainment for America’s newest heroes and their wives. Others, however, saw in Rand’s haunting sleight of hand something far more profound. To those so inclined, the dance was a homage not only to the courage of the astronauts, but those other space-age Icaruses, the test pilots whose dare-deviltry sadly went unsung that night in Houston.

Like Sally Rand, burlesque inevitably would become a distant memory to a generation of Americans who no longer needed to go to a theater to watch women undress. Such “top banana” comedians as Jackie Gleason, Bert Lahr, W.C. Fields, Red Skelton, Phil Silvers and Bob Hope had already abandoned the stage, for new homes on radio, television and the movies. In their absence, a colorful corps of striptease dancers were forced to bear the weight of more than 120 years of burlesque tradition on their shoulders.

By the end of the ’60s, burlesque had gone the way of vaudeville. Entertainers from Hollywood to “Oh! Calcutta!” were shedding their clothes willy-nilly, bringing the age of tasseled pasties and bejeweled G-strings to an abrupt end.

Today, in a curious case of nostalgia imitating art, burlesque has begun to enjoy a resurgence in popularity. The retro revival has even begun to take root in Las Vegas, where there’s a gentleman’s club around every corner, and outcall “models” and “dancers” deliver nudity to the rooms of bored tourists, as if it were a Domino’s pizza and or box of chicken chow mein.

In July, the Tangerine Lounge & Nightclub became the first Las Vegas venue to re-introduce burlesque to the Strip, probably since Rand took her feathers and bubbles and went home, and the last of the Minsky’s productions closed its doors. Situated alongside Sirens’ Cove, at the Treasure Island, Tangerine’s producers decided to forgo the baggy-pants comedy that once was a staple of the genre, and focus instead on the ladies.

At least four times a night, individual members of the hand-picked corps of dancers bump, grind and just generally kick it to the sultry sounds of a very hot three-piece combo. The performers utilize every inch of the runway that borders the rear of the sunken serving area, and occasionally gyrate their way down the length of the bar. Say the word “striptease” too loudly in the company of anyone involved in the production of the show and you’re only inviting a lecture on how the Tangerine dancers bear no resemblance to such practitioners of exotic art as Blaze Starr and Lily St. Cyr.

The Tangerine dancers do, indeed, remove several articles of their intricately designed clothing during the course of their routines, but not enough to offend anyone but a Republican politician on the campaign trail. There’s a bit of a tease involved in each number, of course, but the “girls” appear to be far more concerned with pleasing the show’s choreographer than fulfilling some stranger’s erotic fantasies.

“Tangerine represents a Hollywood version of old-fashioned burlesque,” suggests Jennifer Worthington, the nightclub’s co-owner and a former executive with Jerry Bruckheimer Films, for which she helped produce Coyote Ugly. “The girls are beautiful, but have distinct personalities. They were hired for their versatility as performers, not strictly as dancers … they can be strong, silly, sexy and funny.

“This show has been conceptualized to appeal more to women, than men. It bears no resemblance to a gentleman’s club.”

When the girls aren’t on stage, the audience hardly misses a beat, thanks to the beat-heavy sounds laid down by Tangerine’s DJ’s. There’s one assigned to entertain the schmoozers inside the club -- which appears to have been specifically designed to fool patrons into thinking they’ve been beamed to Miami’s South Beach -- and another for those on the outdoor patio, which also offers premium views of the Sirens of TI extravaganza. (During the afternoon, the pounding rhythms along Tangerine’s patio are provided by a steel band, not a turntable jockey.)

Although Tangerine is still too young an entity to gauge exactly how successful Worthington and her partner, Robert Frey, have been in anticipating the desires of young people willing to stand in long lines for the right to pay $10 for a beer. So far, so good, even if the burlesque too often plays second fiddle to the requirements of the mating ritual taking place on the dance floor and patio.

Tangerine may be Las Vegas’ first new burlesque club in years, but it soon will face competition, in the form of Ivan Kane's Forty Deuce, which opens in mid-September at Mandalay Place. Two years ago, Kane introduced Los Angeles trendoids to the joys of burlesque at his Melrose Avenue club, which couldn’t be more deceptively drab, austere and cramped. Once such celebrities George Clooney, Leo DiCaprio, Nicole Kidman, Sandra Bullock, Lara Flynn Boyle and Mick Jagger discovered the club‘s “back-alley” vibe, it became one of the hottest tickets in town.

Clearly, Forty Deuce provided the template for Tangerine, as both clubs feature spectacularly beautiful dancers, an energetic combo, loud recorded music between sets, talented bartenders … even shelves full of bottles and glasses that disappear just as the performers are about to emerge on the runway. Kane says he wants the Las Vegas version of Forty Deuce to maintain the original’s intimate atmosphere, boisterous environment and appeal to VIPs.

Although none of the dancers at either club gets down to the bare essentials, the girls of the Forty Deuce -- who conceive their own routines, with the cooperation of the band -- would seem to have more in common with Ann Corio, Tempest Storm and Gypsy Rose Lee, than Tangerine’s opening-night attraction, Carmen Electra. Their costumes are more gauzy and utilitarian than the designer gowns and lingerie worn by the Tangerine dancers. The music, too, has a more traditional -- nasty, even -- feel than that which accompanies the Tangerine dancers, who have learned routines inspired by songs that run the gamut from classic striptease, to Led Zepplin and Jimi Hendrix, and on to more contemporary fare.

The Forty Deuce’s new Las Vegas home, inside the recently completely Mandalay Place mall, will have a far less gritty feel than the club in L.A., which sits kitty-corner to Paramount Studios and could easily be mistaken for a body shop of a different sort. Kane insists, however, that it will include facsimiles of the various pipes, beams and beaded curtains upon which his dancers tend to swing, stretch, climb and straddle whenever the mood hits.

Every Wednesday night, Tangerine invites toilers in the local service industry to its Moonshine party, which helps build buzz in the community. These events can attract crowds every bit as large as those on Friday and Saturday nights. Among the revelers on the second Wednesday in July were All Pro defensive tackle Warren Sapp, R&B singer Brian McKnight and Palms owner George Maloof. The dress code read “casually chic,” but it could just have been “nearly naked,” as, more often than not, the dancers wore more clothing than the women in the crowd.

Indeed, despite the burlesque conceit, both Tangerine and Forty Deuce attract as many women as men. Kane estimates the breakdown at Forty Deuce to be close to 65 percent women.

“For this generation of women, going out and getting crazy is part of growing up,” argues Worthington, who left the Pacific Northwest as a teenager to attend college in New York City. “They don’t want to feel compelled to wear blue conservative business suits everywhere they go.”

Worthington and Frey have a pretty good track record when it comes to opening nightclubs in Las Vegas. Their first collaboration, Coyote Ugly Bar & Dance Saloon, was inspired by the club immortalized in the hit film she produced for Bruckheimer. Like its lower Manhattan counterpart, the New York-New York-based Coyote Ugly features a bevy of boot-scooting, beer-spritzing, babelicious bartenders, who like nothing more than getting soon-to-be-brides on stage for a bit of last-minute debauchery. In 2002, they pair also introduced the concept of the indoor beach party to Rio guests, with BiKiNiS Beach & Dance Club, and it, too, became a must-stop attraction for party packs of bachelors and bachelorettes.

“There was nothing in Las Vegas that combined nightlife and high-concept, mass-market entertainment … like it’s done in Hollywood,” Worthington recalls. “That’s where I came from, working with Jerry Bruckheimer, and what I wanted to bring to Las Vegas. At Coyote Ugly, we wanted to create an atmosphere in which a woman could jump up on stage and get her 15 minutes in the spotlight.

“We didn’t want to create another intimidating red-velvet-rope club. It had to be very democratic, and create moments you’ll want to remember the next morning.”
Or forget, as the case may be.

- by Gary Dretzka

July 20, 2004

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