Jabbawockeez

The hip-hop dance troupe Jabbawockeez spells out its dream beyond any doubt in its Las Vegas debut, when it offers up cartoon versions of Elvis, a showgirl and a Blue Man.

The fourth member of the parade is a Jabbawockee himself, throwing his arms up in a muscle-man pose to suggest he is taking his place alongside the greats of the Strip. But this comes well into the show, and by then, it just serves as a painful reminder that the other three all have something he lacks:

A face.

Well, yes, that will be kind of obvious to fans. All seven of the break-dancers look like the "Halloween" bad guy if he wore hipper coveralls, their faceless masks serving as the group's signature and as its principle of equality; that no one is the star.

That's great in small doses. But it won't take long for casual viewers to decide they miss that face -- any face -- and that personality isn't so bad in a stage show after all. Those Blue Men may look like androids, but you don't realize how much they communicate with simply their eyes until you have to do without them.

The Jabbawockeez do work hard to compensate. Charitable viewers will say the troupe's naive charm and youthful enthusiasm go a long way to make up for the natural warmth of face-to-face contact. And maybe grown-ups just don't get it. Last week's opening night -- albeit heavily padded with friends and supporters -- packed the Hollywood Theatre with the young club-age crowd producers always fantasize about pulling into a ticketed show.

The proof will come with real ticket-buyers in the rest of this limited run: Is juvenile humor and Mime 101 enough for those not captivated by one dance routine after the next?

The big stage calls for unifying ideas and theatrical structure. The Las Vegas homage leaves out "Stomp," which seems to be the guiding light for directors (and University of Nevada, Las Vegas graduates) Napoleon and Tabitha D'umo. The show even starts with a stage-sweeping Everyman, whose dream life provides the loose theme of people finding their muse (the title "MÜS.I.C" is read "Muse I see") by bringing "the colors of sound" to life.

Basically, that translates into dancing and miming to an endless mix tape that splices together original music (credited to The Bangerz) with dialogue snippets from movies such as "The Matrix" and short bursts of everything from the Jackson 5's "Dancing Machine" to Beyonce's "Single Ladies (Put A Ring On It)."

The troupe cavorts on a stage that's bare save for an overhead video screen for the first 20 minutes or so. Stage Sweeper then nods off in an easy chair while reading Lewis Carroll's "Jabberwocky," triggering the big reveal of a tiered set complete with stripper poles and a giant Oz-like version of the signature mask.

The action packs in all the visual humor it can, including a ninja showdown. There's a bit where the central character's TV downloads a bombardment of pop culture, from an umbrella homage to Gene Kelly in "Singin' in the Rain" to Vanilla Ice.

But eventually the ideas run out and the repetition takes over, perhaps sooner for old-school newspaper guys than the target demo.

Even if a generational split is in play here, it would be tough to hear the creators argue that the show would suffer if, after 20 minutes or so -- gasp! -- makeup or clown-face replaced the masks to expand the original concept.

It might defy the high and mighty notions of a team effort trumping the individual. But it would sure make the collective audience less bored.

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