Out of fabulous, high-flying Las Vegas last year came a new and mournful melody--the Silver Dollar Blues. Hustling hotel poobahs along the Strip and sweating craps-palace proprietors downtown--long used to watching some eight million spenders drop close to $162 million annually--began to feel the pinch of a tightening economy as well as some stiff competition from the big, bustling, wide-open casinos running full blast in Cuba. 'Round-the-clock gambling and big-name entertainers were no longer enough to draw the monied to Vegas in the droves of yesteryear. Something spectacular, fresh and titillating was needed.
Called in by the canny management of the Dunes Hotel to fix things up: strippers' sultan Harold Minsky. In jig time, he rolled out the biggest, bawdiest barrel of fun-in-the-buff ever to hit the desert gaming spa, or any other spa this side of the Atlantic. Receipts soon started to skyrocket.
Minsky in Vegas capitalizes on the fetching forms of but two energized ecdysiasts, the likes of Tempest Storm and Alexis Van Cort (a new twist for Minsky, who admits, after a spate of strip joint shutdowns in both Chicago and New York, that "Most of the burlycue houses overdid it; they fed you 10 strippers in a row and it's like having too much steak"). The rest of the show couples the spicy Parisian elegance of bare-breasted living tableaus and burlycue-like comedy routines capped by super-tremendous production numbers. Throughout, the girls are as naturel as anything seen at the Lido or the Folies-Bergère.
The Minsky formula is a cagey one: a fast, frolicsome, diversified show with plenty going on (as well as coming off) every second of the time. The girls he employs are gorgeous in both face and figure. Each is equipped with an ostrich plume, a smile and scads of zizz--aptly defined as that ability to outpull such Vegas luminaries as Milton Berle, Jane Russell, Tony Martin, Spike Jones, Nat Cole and Benny Goodman, who dole out their high-paid stuff at other posh hotels that line the Strip.
Originally booked for a scant eight weeks last September, the show has been drawing SRO crowds ever since, often turning away more panting patrons than can be squeezed into the Dunes' Aladdin Room. "The reason is simple," grins Minsky. "We have something here the people can't get on television."
Left: as showgirls will, panty-clad Marilyn Dann gabs with prettily-profiled Shawn Daly between stage stints in one of the Dunes dressing rooms. Vegas is loaded with more chorus cuties per capita than any other city in the world, including Paris.
Upper right: minaret-sized Aladdin grins mischievously atop the desert resort's main entrance.
Right: bevy of beplumed beauties competes with the peppy pipes of thrush Pamela Davis for patrons' attention. Current Minsky review is dubbed "Treats of Paris."
Left: adorned in orchid shoes and matching spotlight, sizzling-sterned Alexis Van Cort bumps bountifully in classic Minsky manner, exhibits top stripper's form à I'Americaine.
Above: for foreign-flavored finale, music director Garwood Van strikes up the band from the wings as statuesque chorus stunners parade regally in a winsome, wonderful windup.
