She might be 62, but the singer is still full of her trademark glitz and glamour. Her show is lavish, nonstop fun.
Like the temples of the ancient Roman world that it simulates, the Colosseum at Caesars Palace is an environment suited to extravagant immortals. The artists who've graced its huge stage have all achieved that status in which one name not only serves but also explains and expands upon whatever the star projects.
First there was Celine, clean and lean, selling every song with unmatchable melodrama. Then came Elton, whose eloquence (if not always elegance) weighs a ton. Later, there was Bette, and you can bet on her -- she's the go-to girl for solid showbiz flair.
Tuesday night, the ultimate Colosseum dweller arrived. Cher -- the cherished icon of pop reinvention, beloved by freaks and squares, gay liberationists and straight soccer moms, Netflix-renting couch potatoes and rump-shaking disco denizens -- used every possible corner of the stage (as well as several huge screens and the walls) to present a signature performance based upon her larger-than-life story, a mythology of self-reinvention in which we can all . . . oh, you get the idea.
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