Planetary pleasures: “Star Wars” gets erotic

Galactic gals

“The Empire Strips Back: A Burlesque Parody” (a review)

by Bondo Wyszpolski

Well, it seemed promising, and overall I guess it was, but the Force wasn’t entirely with me for “The Empire Strips Back,” a wry, lavish striptease with most of the “Star Wars” characters letting it all hang out: Luke Skywalker, Princess Leia, Han Solo, Darth Vader, Chewbacca, R2D2, C-3PO, and various others. In that sense, it’s a real hoot.

The show is comprised of maybe a dozen vignettes, isolated scenes such as the opener, where a girl — should we call them dancers? performers? I’m not sure — enters from the wings riding a Taunton (a large reptomammal), and then, after dismounting, does a sexy dance around it.

In another scene, a young woman washes her landspeeder, and by association herself, while suggestively gyrating after having tossed off most of her clothing. This is auto-eroticism in the classic mode of sexy girls and sleek new cars.

Sure, this is all fun stuff, but in between each scene, after the curtain has gone down and the lights have gone up, an emcee hurries onstage and distracts the audience with jokes and banter, liberally sprinkled with saucy language. He seems intent on stirring up the house, to get everyone to voice their enthusiasm, which they do, but for me it doesn’t work.

Why? He’s a bit of a huckster, this alleged nephew of Lando Calrissian. We’re not at a political rally, and we don’t need anyone to be our cheerleader. It’s just not his job to entertain us or to arouse our emotions. But worst of all, his comic spiel diverts the mood and momentum of the show itself. Much better, I think, would be for the company to lower the lights and have one or two of the scantily-dressed dancers slither out and do a sexually-charged routine or two. And then, after this stimulating interlude, onto the next act.

Granted, I may be alone in thinking like this. Perhaps, as a jaded, world-weary viewer (like one of Bryan Ferry’s personas), I was looking for a more intimate, small club, cabaret-style vibe to this show, whereas I should have assumed that in a venue that seats 962 patrons this effect would have been virtually impossible to create. I was just three rows back, and yet I scarcely felt pulled into what was happening onstage.

That said, the production values are first-rate, and the performers — mostly women — are slender and sensuous, with bellies as tight as a drum. They clearly relish their bodies, and are forever moving them seductively to the mostly thumping, thrusting beat.

The lighting, too, is a huge component, creating an enticing atmosphere. In one scene, three figures bathed in red light are so effective because they remain shadowy and indistinct and yet tantalizingly suggestive, the way that veiled figures can be more alluring than those fully exposed.

However, the Han Solo and Chewbacca number seems rather campy in comparison, lest we take this revue too seriously, and there’s also an ugly old character with large dangling testicles who rides a mirror ball, à la Miley Cyrus, that pendulums back and forth across the stage. I’m not up on who or what this is supposed to parody, but it seems guaranteed to make your private parts shrivel and recede.

The highlights are those that come before intermission and at the close of the show.

We’re in Jabba the Hutt’s palace, and you may recall that Jabba is something of a gigantic blob. The setting is evocative of a harem, with one Salome-like dancer who prances for his delectation, while additional characters look on approvingly. This may visually be the most memorable sequence of the evening because it’s atmospherically superb… although other patrons may leave the venue thinking more of the final sequence which involves several sexy Stormtroopers, with molded breastplates and other accouterments that are unfastened and discarded, one by one. This is also Darth Vader’s big number, and the choreography for these seven dancers is quite mesmerizing.

The title of this show is entirely apropos, because in almost every scenario a dancer or dancers “strips back” to the basest of essentials, leaving desperately little to the imagination. A breast or two may be flashed, but nipples are covered. You can almost see this much flesh on the beach in summer, although I have seen more on European shores.

In the end, this pastiche of titillating dance numbers is mostly enjoyable, but seems too much like a party with a rock concert vibe, at least as pushed that way by our emcee and apparently embraced as such by the audience, which seems mainly composed of men and women in their 30s and 40s. I’d recommend the show, if your pocketbook can also recommend it (with booking fees, about $47.08 to $127.33), but bear in mind this plays to a large crowd and therefore is low on subtlety. This is Hollywood, remember, and not an underground lounge in Paris.

The Empire Strips Back: A Burlesque Parody was created by Russall S. Beattie and originated in a 150-seat bar down in Sydney. It’s grown in every sense and currently is onstage at the Montalbán Theatre, 1615 Vine St., Los Angeles. Performances, Thursdays at 7:30, Fridays at 7, Saturdays at 7 and 9:30, and Sundays at 4 p.m. Running Time, two hours, including a 15-minute intermission. Closes Dec. 1. Tickets start at $44 and blast off from there, available at theempirestripsback.com. ER