Leslie Gray Streeter

Postcard From The Strip: Oh, what a knight!

I've finally gotten the hang of this West Coast time zone business, almost in time to go back to the East Coast and have to adjust all over again. Joy.

We caught two such productions yesterday, both of which you'll be reading the complete scoop on in a few weeks. The first was the "Tournament of Kings," the jousting extravaganza at the Excalibur Hotel and Casino. You know this sort of show - the audience sits at long tables, eating food with their hands and screaming "Huzzah!" as the knight of their choice rides around and tries to knock other knights off their horses.

What I didn't expect was that there was a whole storyline behind the show, involving an "International Male" selection of attractive "kings" from various countries, King Arthur, his "Blue Lagoon"-era Christopher Atkins-looking son, the evil Mordred and an inexplicable collection of shirtless, long-haired guys who tended to the horses, assisted the knights on and off their horses, and flexed a lot. Apparently, the missing chapter of English history involves the stirring story of Rex, the heroic shirtless man servant, who invented the breakaway suit of armor, making it easier for knights to easily run and hide from danger, and also easier for early fans of male dancers to find somewhere to tuck their tips.

We also caught the gorgeous "Love," the ethereal, fantastical Beatles-inspired show by Cirque du Soleil at The Mirage. I'd never seen Cirque live, but thought I knew what they were all about based on their old Bravo TV show and several glimpes of their sometimes precious modern dance acrobatics on TV. Let's just say I was wrong. I can't remember the last time a live show moved me literally to tears. There was that 25-minute long song at last year's Widespread Panic show. But it wasn't the same sort of crying.