Las Vegas (Confidential)

Las Vegas (Confidential) - The Musical State Theatre Until November 23 Tickets $59.90-$89.80 Critic's rating 2/10 THE expression "train wreck" is barely adequate when it comes to describing Las Vegas (Confidential). After all, there's always something grimly fascinating or educational to see in a train wreck. No, this is a fiasco, an embarrassment to all involved in its making and an insult to its audience. Based on "previously untold true events", the plot revolves around Alexander "The Great" Dean (Tamlyn Henderson), a stage illusionist and headline act at a Vegas casino managed by Mob figure Tony "The Tool" Spitori (Tony Nikolakopoulos), to whom Dean owes a million bucks or more. With encouragement from his personal Goddess of Fortune (a ludicrous role written for producer-writer James Karp's wife, Simone), a love affair blossoms between the feckless Dean and the understandably wary Francesca, a singer. In order for it to survive, however, Dean must work out an exit strategy from the dangerous situation he finds himself in. Responsibility for this mind-bendingly inept jukebox musical lies with Karp - a stage illusionist himself - and it bears all the hallmarks of a vanity project gone mad. Without exception, the scenes are sketchy, the dialogue dull-witted and the characters hopelessly cliched. Humour only arises because Karp is unable to distinguish the funny from the laughable. Some episodes exist only as framing devices for magic tricks, all of which look silly in this context. Design-wise, there's nothing to arrest the eye other than the migraine-inducing glare of the stadium-style jumbotron screen dominating the stage. Karp's choice of songs - ranging from Que Sera, Sera to an excruciating version of Robbie Williams's Me And My Monkey - is as strange as it is unappetising. Director Christopher Hurrell struggles to make the basics - entrances, exits, scene changes - work and James Taylor's choreography is a mess of showgirl shape-throwing, Eurovision twizz and tawdry bump 'n' grind, much of it inexpertly realised. Rhythm and sass are what's needed and both are utterly absent. Henderson shows some determination in the lead role yet not for an instant do we care about Dean or anything he does. Leading lady Katrina Retallick was indisposed on opening night and would do well to stay that way. Our sympathies go to understudy Diana Holt, who gamely played the thankless role of Francesca. Tiffani Wood, of the late and unlamented pop act Bardot, is rather too obviously there as an audience drawcard but her role - a hooker-singer named Tiffany - is restricted to a couple of Shania Twain-style workouts in the second act. Garry Scale certainly earns his fee playing an elderly Mexican barman in what appears to be a tribute to Tattoo from Fantasy Island. Tosh from top to tail, Las Vegas (Confidential) is rubbish and a rip-off.