Aside from the beach itself, the casinos, the “family” bars, the “rock” candy, the Tower and the various other tourist traps, Blackpool is also known for live entertainment. Specifically, old-school vaudevillian entertainment of the type that you’re unlikely to ever see in America (outside of Branson, Missouri anyway).
There’s the usual staple of aging stand-up comics who would probably be working resorts in the Catskills if thay had been born on the other side of the Atlantic. There’s an oddly popular female-impersonator show called Funny Girls. And, Blackpool Pleasure Beach offers it’s own selection of not one, but three shows for the whole family.
There’s Hot Ice, which is a Vegas-style (we’re talking Downtown Vegas here) show featuring scantily-clad showgirls on ice skates. There’s Mystique, which is essentailly the same thing, minus the ice. And, then there’s Eclipse, which is basically their attempt at doing Cirque du Soleil.
“A stunning circus musical” is how they describe it. Well, there was music, and there were circus jugglers, and I was stunned (in the “set phasers to…” sense of the word). So, I guess it delivered, technically speaking. But, Cirque du Soleil, it ain’t.
They’re really trying, and I give them credit for that, but the result is what you’d get if a travelling Cirque show (say, Quidam) had lost all of it’s drama, most of its talent, and only had $1.95 for sets, and three laser-pointers for lighting. Oh, and a broken gas pipeline, capable of emitting enormous fireballs at the finish of each “act”. And, there you have it.
The “acts” are the standard Cirque fare: tumblers, acrobats, aerialists, trapeze artists, and one of those guys who stands in a big metal hoop and can spin around the stage like a quarter on a tabletop. As in Cirque, there are “clowns” who are mainly there to distract the audience while the trampolines and whatnot are brought out or put away. In this case though, the “clowns” didn’t do any tricks or try to make us laugh. They just did a sort of odd jazz-dance routine, which you could tell by the looks on their faces, they weren’t enjoying. Jazz-hands, spirit-fingers, and a look that said, “Yes, we know this is the lamest show on the planet, and we’re very sorry you have to sit through it. We’re not this lame in real-life, honestly. Please don’t throw things at us.”
Sadly, we only saw half the show. As we took our seats, we were informed over the loudspeaker that, “Due to injuries sustained during rehearsals, Vladimir will not be appearing in today’s performance.” Who’s Vladimir, you ask? Only the producer/director/star of the show! He’s the one on the poster, in the acrobatic pose, wearing only a thong. Apparently, when he’s not down for the count, he’s flying over heads of the audience, suspended on ropes, the thong within whiffing distance.
The (mostly female) crowd seemed genuinely disappointed. And, rather than call up an understudy (“Nobody could possibly understudy for Vladimir!” I hear his fans shouting.), they just skipped over his act. Never mind that part he’s supposed to play in the finale, when the cast all point in awe to an empty spotlight that I’m pretty sure was supposed to be for him. Oh well. The show must go on… even if it makes no sense.
More info: Blackpool Pleasure Beach
A Yank in London 