I was divided in my assessment of Lovesick, a documentary on the gaudy Las Vegas sex show 'Zumanity'. Half of me liked the film because it showed a first-hand, explicit backstage peek into the lurid world of lavish showbiz musicals; the other half hated it for the same reason.
If you want to be a dancer or any other kind of musical performer, you might want to see Lovesick first. I'm not sure if director Andrew Cohen set out to do this, but he vividly captures some of the most unpleasant, neurotic, whiny, kvetching, vengeful, insecure, jealous examples of humankind ever committed to film.
With one exception (a bubbly and oddly conventional dancer who can't wait to get married)), I had a difficult time liking ANY of these people. Parading for us through the lens is a walking cliché, the aging, bitchy drag queen-emcee Joey Arias, who lives a frantic dual life on and off the stage; the massively muscled (and emotionally conflicted) Alex Castro, who doesn't know what love is; and artistic director Andrew Watson, who is so involved with his career (and himself) that he hasn't seen his family in months and doesn't even take a day off to see the birth of his child.
We often hear about showbiz types being a 'fraternity' of kindred spirits. If so, this is one messed-up fraternity. Everyone seems to be suspicious of everyone else, or complains about everyone else, from the performers down to the suits who control the tacky New York-New York hotel-entertainment complex in Las Vegas, which looks like it was designed on a computer by schlockmeister director Michael Bay.
The Canadian-based and internationally known Cirque du Soleil created 'Zumanity,' which is a ridiculously expensive extravaganza based more or less on sexploitation (you know, pushing the envelope and all that). And where else to stage such an ambitious project than Las Vegas, which sprawls in the the barren emptiness of the desert? This geographical vacuum is a perfect metaphorical construct for human beings doomed to seek again and again the heart of nothingness.
According to the film, Vegas had become 'stale' of late (i.e. the monument to sleaze hadn't been pushing many envelopes lately). So, presto, why don't we do a musical that celebrates explicit sex, with a cast of thousands and bizarre costumes and sets? Our planet is dying, and more than half of its inhabitants are suffering; it only makes sense to do a show that costs the equivalent of launching the next world war.
Despite my griping, this is a fascinating film, and raises important questions (many of them perhaps unintentional) about the nature of showbiz performers and showbiz itself. More importantly, I think, it shows the dark side of human beings caught in pressure-cookers that they create themselves.
If you want to be a dancer or any other kind of musical performer, you might want to see Lovesick first. I'm not sure if director Andrew Cohen set out to do this, but he vividly captures some of the most unpleasant, neurotic, whiny, kvetching, vengeful, insecure, jealous examples of humankind ever committed to film.
With one exception (a bubbly and oddly conventional dancer who can't wait to get married)), I had a difficult time liking ANY of these people. Parading for us through the lens is a walking cliché, the aging, bitchy drag queen-emcee Joey Arias, who lives a frantic dual life on and off the stage; the massively muscled (and emotionally conflicted) Alex Castro, who doesn't know what love is; and artistic director Andrew Watson, who is so involved with his career (and himself) that he hasn't seen his family in months and doesn't even take a day off to see the birth of his child.
We often hear about showbiz types being a 'fraternity' of kindred spirits. If so, this is one messed-up fraternity. Everyone seems to be suspicious of everyone else, or complains about everyone else, from the performers down to the suits who control the tacky New York-New York hotel-entertainment complex in Las Vegas, which looks like it was designed on a computer by schlockmeister director Michael Bay.
The Canadian-based and internationally known Cirque du Soleil created 'Zumanity,' which is a ridiculously expensive extravaganza based more or less on sexploitation (you know, pushing the envelope and all that). And where else to stage such an ambitious project than Las Vegas, which sprawls in the the barren emptiness of the desert? This geographical vacuum is a perfect metaphorical construct for human beings doomed to seek again and again the heart of nothingness.
According to the film, Vegas had become 'stale' of late (i.e. the monument to sleaze hadn't been pushing many envelopes lately). So, presto, why don't we do a musical that celebrates explicit sex, with a cast of thousands and bizarre costumes and sets? Our planet is dying, and more than half of its inhabitants are suffering; it only makes sense to do a show that costs the equivalent of launching the next world war.
Despite my griping, this is a fascinating film, and raises important questions (many of them perhaps unintentional) about the nature of showbiz performers and showbiz itself. More importantly, I think, it shows the dark side of human beings caught in pressure-cookers that they create themselves.