Luxurious Luxor

The Luxor is an adventure in itself - larger than life (what isn't, on The Strip?). There is a huge pyramid faced in reflective material and a searchlight that shines out of the top "crstal" by night. A huge fake Sphynx is the entrance way, and there's an obelisk as well (not to be muddled with Obelix, of Asterix fame, you understand.) When you go in, more glass and glitz meets you: the first of the slots are pretty close and you can hear the casino music even as you gawp at the giant statues and palm trees inside.

I found my way through the seas of slot machines to the theatre. It wasn't so straightforward; the noise and reflections are quite disorienting which, I suppose, is the general idea. Picked up the tickets, gleefully. The attendants seemed sort of bored; Blue Man video played in the background. We were With Ticket.

Arrival

The theatre is a large, black cavern with what looked like carousels to left and right of the stage - circles of static dancing figures. We were in the front row, and had to put on plastic raincoats against the possibility of being splurged from stuff on the stage. A running neon strip was showing announcements; the audience began to shout them out as they played, and various groups or individuals were recognised or teased. All of them seemed to cheer. There was a huge sense of excitement and fun. Lots of whooping. Everyone took the "vow" to not take photographs - but you were allowed to do sketches. I thought this was a fun idea, in keeping with the overall "feel" of Blue Man Group, which is a lot more about people and a lot less about commercialism than almost any other professional act I've seen. It has a lot to do with why there is such a huge and friendly fan scene, too.

So, eventually the attendants came by and gave us strips of toilet paper with which to decorate ourselves so the "Blue Men would know you were excited about seeing them." We later got to see video feed on a big screen at the back of the stage and got to see how creative everyone had been with them. People had twisted them into glasses and bows and all sorts. Don did the hippy headband - now I know what he looked like thirty years ago - and I just tied it in a bow round my neck. The paper tickled.

In time, the theatre darkened, and a huge projective screen came down. The cheers were more like a rock concert than a show; we saw the silhouetted shapes of the Blue Men playing music, and then the curtain rose to the music that had become so familiar from their CD, Audio, and there they were - three figures wearing welders' masks, perfectly still, ready.

The Show

I sit here and wonder if there is really any point in describing the show, because words can not tell you what it feels like. It's a musical and also an emotional, feel-good experience - and experience is the right word. I can describe the various scenes, but not the music. You would have to get the CD and play it louder than is probably legal to understand the music and how fabulous it is. You would have to go to a show to have the image of the Blue Men, aliens come to earth and exploring it and learning, bit by bit, about themselves and us.

The scene with the Cap'n Crunch cereal was hilarious - two with a normal sized box and one with a huge one, getting a Hard Stare from the others so that he discards it. Then they eat - in time to the music - or perhaps making music with their crunchings. One of them gets covered in cereal - it sticks to the blue paint but he seems unaware of it. One of them politely flicks his own face to demonstrate that perhaps his brother should clean up - the sticky fellow follows suit, gesture for gesture. After a couple of shy attempts to help, not knowing he can touch the other Blue Man, the helpful one gives up, and the sticky one remains sticky, and by this time your sides are aching with the laughter.

Some of the scenes are grossly funny. The Blue Men throw marshmallows at each other - and one of them catches an impossible number of them in his mouth. He eventually spits it out - and puts a $4000 price tag on the shaped pile of marshmallow goo. Those of us who can't stand abstract art got the joke. The concept is gross, but the gag is funny. Meanwhile the others have been playing with paint balls - and put the pallette into a spin, creating a clever "spin art". I later found out these were for sale - but never saw them there.

As the show progresses, the Blue Men realise that they can not only play with stuff, they can touch one another. Suddenly they notice the audience. We are shown a network of lines interacting, connecting us all... and are told that this wonderful network is... "modern plumbing". Sometimes this miracle backs up and becomes... interactive. Cackles of laughter, particularly from Don and from me - we have interactive plumbing on a regular basis.

Then the fun really starts. Blue Men surge forward into the audience; one of them is standing over a slightly worried little girl two seats down. They look hard at you then move on, obviously trying to figure out who or what you are. The huge video screens show what goes on behind you. And suddenly a lady from the back is being escorted gently to the stage, and the Twinkies tea party begins. The lady chosen was elderly but a natural, tenderly showing the Blue Men what to do with their Twinkies (including unwrapping them). I won't tell you the outcome, because it's one of the gross but extremely funny gags and it won't be a surprise if you know before. Oh, my sides, my poor sides...

Between each skit or sketch, you have music, seeing the fantastic and bizarre instruments created by the Blue Men. There are animations which include dancers dressed in neon suits, so you don't know where the line between real and cartoon is drawn. There are highlights on the towers where the musicians play - and the strobe lights make the carrousel appear to dance. For nearly two hours you are spellbound, and the audience is together, not apart.

Finally, the end draws close; twisted double helixes of paper come from the ceiling and spiral above you. Then, the grand finale - rolls and rolls of white toilet paper being passed from the top of the theatre to the bottom, everyone working as a team to get it further down to the end. Everyone is totally buried. It's an exercise in team work and I guess, community - everyone working in the same task, pointless, funny, and perfect. And finally we are done - there is a sea of paper, and a kid jumps into the enormous pile. I follow - and so does Don, and the entire row of adults next to him. Who cares about being grown up. That can wait.