Spamalot

Last night we saw Spamalot, the musical adaptation of Monty Python and the Holy Grail. This meant that the audience was packed with die-hard Monty Python fans who could recite lines and burst into laughter minutes before something that was going to happen actually did, and who probably should have been restrained.

This being the Vegas production, it was abbreviated to fit into 90 minutes, which they do for every show here. Jenn advises me that the cuts to Phantom have made it even less sensical than in its original format, and that disturbs me. But anyway, onwards to the Grail.

Our production starred John O'Hurley (J. Peterman from Seinfeld) as King Arthur. We were in the third row, about ten feet away from the stage, looking upwards at a sharp angle to see under the showgirls' skirts. Before the show, we (the audience) were crammed into the very small "Snackalot" area outside the theater, where water was $5 and Grail Ale was something more expensive.

The plot was pretty simple. Arthur recruits Knights. Galahad is vain, Lancelot is closeted, Bedevere is flatulent, and Robin is a coward (with chicken insignia on his robes). The Knights who say Ni won't let them pass to find the grail unless they stage a Broadway musical. but there are no requisite Jews to cast in medieval England. Hilarity and musical numbers ensue. Play ends much more coherently than the original film.

Not being a Python fan, I was still somewhat amused, although wicked annoyed at the guy behind us who had the movie memorized and felt the need to prove it, vocally. Cute pixie redhead in front of me provided extra entertainment when the showgirls weren't on stage. O'Hurley delivered his part in the Peterman persona, as the public will not accept him in any other role. It worked. You can rarely go wrong performing any part as J. Peterman.

So, this was our first non-Cirque show in quite a while. We've run out of Cirque shows, thankfully. No more mimes will prod us to help them take the lids off their jars of rainbows before shoving their spandexed crotches into the air. Unfortunately, there's really nothing else of note left playing here at all. We have officially used up Las Vegas.