‘Doggone Silly’

Here's the dog-eat-dog world of Las Vegas show business in a nutshell.

An afternoon family show featuring trained cats opens in the challenged shopping mall connected to a challenged casino. Against all odds and the sexual drift of the city's collective marketing, the cat show digs in and does well enough to operate year-round.

So what happens? Someone brings in a dog show to go up against it in the same mall.

At least the kitties in the Popovich Comedy Pet Theater get some foot traffic in front of the V Theater at the Miracle Mile Shops. J.R. Johns' "Doggone Silly" has an even tougher location in the Harmon Theater. The venue doesn't connect from the inside of the mall -- you walk out to the sidewalk and back in -- and locals who know it at all might still think of it as the gay-oriented Krave nightclub (now just one part of the overall operation).

Not the most inviting conditions for a family show. But never underestimate the appeal of a pound pup doing a handstand. Grown-ups who aren't dog lovers or Jerry Lewis nuts might feel silly for coming on their own by the time the see the "hot dog." Yes, it's a little pooch wearing a foam hot-dog outfit. Wait until you see the shark.

But those with youngsters in tow will be rewarded by their laughter and an experience more memorable than, say, a trip to see "Fred Claus." The dogs really do some amazing things. In the era of computer-generated movie animation, it takes an extra second to realize you're really seeing a dog walking a dog -- upright on its hind legs, with leash and all.

One Jack Russell terrier, Badger, does the handstand while another, Skippy, does a backward somersault. "You have to match the right dog with the right behavior," Johns explains after the show.

The Reno-based trainer really is the hardest-working man in local show business. Sharing the stage with his 14 rescue dogs (all other humans are tucked away backstage), he takes pratfalls and plays the canine's fall guy. He'll jump rope with one and let another do barrel rolls on his back as he somersaults.

Perhaps anticipating concerns that he's a harsh taskmaster, Johns makes himself the butt of a "stupid human trick," bouncing up and down in a bungee contraption while the dog watches passively from the top of a ladder.

The grand finale is a live version of an old silent movie, with Johns as a befuddled dog catcher. It's perfectly timed, and only later do you wonder how long it took for one dog to learn just when to pull its head out of the circular hoop of a "leash," go free another dog from its cage, then return its head to the hoop before Johns can turn around.

The four segments of the show are spelled by videos of Johns at home with his menagerie and comic yo-yo tricks from a pleasant-enough guest star, Spike McGuire. The collective enterprise is a little thin; in a perfect world, the dog segments would be one component of a larger variety show, maybe even teamed with the nearby cats.

But that's not how this tier of local show business operates. Everyone is in business for themselves. And the Strip is still a big enough carrot -- or dog biscuit -- that Johns was coaxed from a steady gig at Circus Circus in Reno by topsy-turvy club management that failed to deliver on early promises. "I guess being a mid-sized fish in a small pond was something I took for granted," he says.

Johns still hopes to make lemonade out of the lemons of his predicament. A holiday season that's good for family-oriented magicians might be good for him, too. At the start of the show, Johns tells audiences there's no need to buy a thoroughbred when a shelter dog will turn out just as well. "It's the heart and brain and the amount of time you put in," he says.

Maybe it's true of Las Vegas shows that also are in need of rescue.

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