‘Charo: A Musical Sensation”‘

She said what I had been thinking, though the thoughts in one's head usually don't come with such a funny accent: "It's like a flashback."

Charo said this near the end of her new Riviera showcase, when she talked about having played the hotel circa 1982. But it seemed like a flashback from the get-go.

The "cuchi-cuchi girl" is the way you always remember her: one head-to-toe jiggle, with bouncing hair and bouncier breasts, all balanced precariously on platform shoes.

There was nothing to shatter the illusion of jumping back in time. Not the '80s-era showroom, which hosted "An Evening at La Cage" until early this year. Not the Latin disco aerobics, which take a trained ear to date the technology behind the synthesized rhythms. Not the dudes dancing behind her in Spanish puffy shirts.

Charo is back. Had she ever been gone?

Doesn't matter. She's one of the few originals we can still celebrate from the era when the Riviera was a front-line casino, not a faded shadow of itself.

And being such a unique character lets her get away with a show that's basically unchanged since she last performed on the Strip in 2003. It's not like anyone else can copy it, right?

Charo is quick to volunteer the first half is so much "hanky panky." It's certainly not about the disposable dance songs, where the four-piece band feels less than immediate because of supplemental tracks.

Throwaway songs are just an excuse for contact, be it verbal or physical. The crazy Spaniard still mangles the language and makes funny faces, just as she did when Mike Douglas had a talk show.

Then she's off the stage, shaking it in the audience, all the way back to the cheap seats. A few guys even get the equivalent of a lap dance and still seem to be lucky for the privilege; no small feat for a woman whose age is debated as 58 or 68.

(When she became a U.S. citizen in 1977, Charo's court papers changed her birth year from 1941 to 1951. She said she originally lied about her age to make her 1966 green-card marriage, to bandleader Xavier Cugat at Caesars Palace, seem more palatable.)

However old she is, Charo gets plenty of mileage out of reading our minds. Does she do lip injections? "No, a big mouth run in my family." Did she have a face-lift? "No, because of what happened to Joan Rivers. She used to be Jewish and now she looks Chinese."

After 45 minutes, she follows through on a plan spelled out at the beginning. She leaves the stage to change into a spangly tux while a six-person Spanish-dance troupe covers for her, re-emerging to play the guitar: "No more hanky panky. This is it."

After all these years, people still are surprised by the change-up. Charo hunkers down to pluck out Andres Segovia-influenced flamenco instrumentals, even playing one with left-hand melody on the neck and right-hand flourishes. The room's sound mix brings it all to rock 'n' roll volume and backing arrangements in the Ottmar Liebert "nouveau flamenco" vein border on distraction.

It all wraps up in 75 minutes, by which you feel the show has reached its limits anyway. Charo's past Vegas excursions featured variety acts, which seemed to acknowledge she is more potent in smaller doses.

But variety acts aren't the answer anymore. A good director -- one with experience in one-woman showcases -- might be more valuable for providing outside eyes at this point. Someone who could shape the first half into something more consequential, drawing upon this woman's colorful life and times and her knack for storytelling.

But at this point, you might have trouble convincing her anything like that is needed. Charo is so good at being herself already, it's hard to say what else she could be.

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