Bette Midler

The Showgirl is almost gone, and it adds extra resonance to nearly everything Bette Midler says onstage.

There are 10 more performances of "The Showgirl Must Go On" before Midler wraps two years and about 180 shows in the Colosseum at Caesars Palace on Jan. 31. If the 64-year-old superstar plays Las Vegas again, she says it's likely to be in more subdued circumstances.

Even though she outlasted Paula Abdul on "American Idol" -- making a video clip seem dated -- Midler fans still don't know when they will see her again. So they laugh harder when she cries out, "Oh my God, I'm exhausted! Come back Celine! All is forgiven! ... Donny and Marie, cross the (expletive) street!"

And they find it more poignant when she thanks them for listening to the same dirty jokes for the past 40 years. "If that's not unconditional love, what is?"

"Salty songs and dirty jokes put my daughter through private school," she also points out.

Those were the essence of Midler's roots in the '70s, when "The Divine Miss M" -- like Leon Redbone and Manhattan Transfer -- reinvented Depression-era music and shtick for the disco generation.

As Midler continued her climb to superstardom, two constants in her act paid homage to vaudeville: her aged alter-ego Soph (a nod to Sophie Tucker) and Delores DeLago, a mermaid showgirl who uses a wheelchair as slapstick means of transport.

When a two-year residency allowed the Colosseum production to hire the 20 showgirls she never could take on tour, Midler and longtime choreographer/collaborator Toni Basil carried their old-school leanings to a logical extreme. The showgirls fan Soph with clam shells of pink plumage, and a chorus line of mermaids forms a Ziegfeld-like kaleidoscope pattern seen from overhead.

On a night such as this one -- where Midler's vocal pitch seemed punished by the Vegas air -- the trappings can provide a bit of camouflage. But when she's firing on all cylinders, do they enhance or distract? You can go to the finish line divided on this subject. But at least you appreciate the effort, knowing future Colosseum stars may not be offered a $10 million budget.

The over-the-topness of the centerpiece, 17-minute mermaid sequence -- with the "Idol" judges, Wayne Newton and Elvis impersonator Tony Roi helping out on the video screen -- blusters at a frenzy that conceals the fact it isn't all that funny beyond its very outrageousness.

More subtle use of the giant screen and stagecraft better serves the serious tunes. "Hello in There" puts Midler between scrims of a vintage New York skyline for a 3-D effect. "Do You Want to Dance" floats dreamily amid dancers with parasols. And the singer swirls barefoot amid projected trees in "From a Distance."

Midler's show opened before her roommate Cher's. So it's only in retrospect that we appreciate how much time she spends onstage compared to her roommate, and how we are entertained by humans -- not video clips -- for most of the filler time that's needed to cover backstage changes.

The moment that really brings it all home finds Midler strumming the ukulele on the stage steps. She explains that she created the Soph character, "an old wiseass," to get away with the vintage dirty jokes. "I was about 30, so I thought, 'Well, she's about 60.' ... I can see you're way ahead of me on this one."

It's great that Las Vegas is the place where Midler brought it all full circle. Even if that sense of closure wasn't so evident at the outset, when it seemed the showgirl would just keep going.

Contact reporter Mike Weatherford at mweatherford@ reviewjournal.com or 702-383-0288.