Cher revels in her new spectacle at Caesars

Do we really need to talk about this?

After all, you've had 40 years to decide what you think about Cher.

Is her throwaway singing a casually confident, relatable kind of cool? The very definition of pop as accessible, sing-to-the-radio commonality?

Or is that throaty voice monotonous and unengaging, devoid of emotion and unwilling to bend for the song?

What about the fashion parade of outrageous costumes: The ultimate statement in fabulosity? Or just plain silly after a while?

You really, really ought to have some opinions along these lines, if you've considered plunking down a C-note for the nosebleed seats, or $255 for the primo ones at the Colosseum at Caesars Palace. This is a tough ticket to score, not an impulse buy. But journalism gigs are getting hard to come by and I need to earn my keep. So let's start with this:

Cher hasn't changed one way or the other. But the new Cher show is the Cheriest Cher show of them all.

There. Is today payday? What? There should be more? Oh, all right.

No one has reinvented the pop show in more than a decade. The acts change, particularly on the boy band front. But you can close your eyes and imagine the popping-and-locking backup dancers, the blinding banks of moving lights, the giant-screen conceptual video blended with live camera close-ups. And, nearly always in the past few years, random breakouts of circus acrobatics.

If the nearly-62 Cher (her birthday is Tuesday) sticks with this showcase until retirement age, the pressure will be on someone else to upend the formula. This show, a continuation of her touring opuses of the 2000s, takes the format to its logical peak (and hopefully its conclusion).

The stage design is the best yet for the Colosseum. If Celine Dion and Elton John relied too much on the novelty of a giant video screen, this one amends that by adding three-dimensional scenery and rock-concert scaffolding.

It does seem as though the spectacle is front-loaded. And since nothing ever tops Cher's grand entry, they might want to think about saving it for the "Believe" encore. The gutsy lady makes a 40-foot descent out over the audience, landing on the stage in what she later calls her "Flying Wallenda, Evel Knievel death-mobile."

And no costume ever tops the first get-up, a Mayan priestess, gold-feather thingie that proclaims the queen-bee gay icon reigns eternal. After touchdown, flanked by two beefcake acolytes, she opens her mouth for that polar-opposite girl talk that is the key to her charm: "OK, well, so ... I'm glad you're here. Or else I'd be a big bomb."

The charm is front-loaded, too. Cher doesn't speak for any substantial stretch for the rest of the show. She retreats to the role of singing fashion mannequin -- or "a very big Barbie," as she calls herself -- leaving it to the video screens to recap her career and to punch emotional buttons.

The real Cher sings "The Beat Goes On" to old footage of her early self and late ex, Sonny Bono (who is celebrated more in this show than in the past). Present-tense Cher doesn't look younger, but better rested.

Nostalgia bells ring back to Cher's TV variety days, and their intersection with what for years was called "a Vegas act." Her own hits are spelled by a variety of covers, from the opener, U2's "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" to Pat Benatar's "Love Is a Battlefield" and Marc Cohn's "Walking in Memphis."

The star dips into her costume vault to dust off the headdress for "Half-Breed" and the gypsy garb for "Gypsies, Tramps & Thieves." Film clips and acrobatics cover for costume changes and stage resets, but come perilously close to taking the "Such a kidder!" out of Cher's promise that the show is fun "even when I'm not in it."

The sound is wonderful, with Cher's voice perched strong on five musicians and two female singers that ride floating bandstands. Still, by the time she takes a boat ride to the middle of the stage, you might be wondering if the boat will move again instead of listening to whatever tune she's singing. It does.

Her torchy 1972 hit, "The Way of Love," might be a fine place to bring it down and concentrate on the song for a change. But no, she comes out of a giant pearl in another crazy outfit. You wouldn't expect less from this big, empty spectacle.

And you don't need me to tell you if that's a good thing.

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