(Editor’s note: The following article is about Crazy Horse Saloon, the now-defunct burlesque show in Singapore that closed its doors in January of 2007 due to low turnout. The author has taken this long to get over his heart palpitations and write about it.)
There comes a time in every young adult male’s life when he yearns to be treated to a government-sanctioned performance of topless dancing European women in Singapore. Or something like that.
So, yes, a group of fellow media freeloaders and I had a chance to visit our Southeast Asian neighbor, the city-state of Singapore, last year as part of their “Uniquely Singapore” tourism campaign. In fact, we were chosen to take part in their “Uniquely Adventurous” themed tour, a tour that was very appropriate for newsprint media-types who like to vegetate in cubicles, think exercise is inhumane torture and consider caffeine to be the fifth food group.
But on top of our athletic re-conditioning, the idea of having an adventure in the notoriously “fine” (in Pinoyspeak, “multa”) city of Singapore was something that worried me, especially since growing up in graffiti-ridden, traffic law-defiant and military adventurism-central Metro Manila has genetically predisposed me and my fellow freeloaders towards juvenile delinquency. When you say the word “adventure” (or, in Pinoyspeak, “gimik”), this often involves possible breaking and entering, followed by a fun and exciting Scooby-Doo chase with authorities, which leads to an impromptu papaya dance number, and then ends with a good laugh over several kegs of beer with the arresting police over the whole imbroglio, and then finally some karaoke. Then, if somebody refuses to yield the mike when the song My Way comes along, somebody gets stabbed, and the chase begins anew. But I digress.
Anyway, we were in the conservative city of Singapore — if you even think of a green joke, they will cane you without an afterthought. I was worried that I might return home as ground beef. This was a city that welcomed me with T-shirts that warned me of what I couldn’t do while I was there: “No chewing gum, no jaywalking, no spitting, no molesting small animals, no urinating in lifts, and no unnatural sex.” (I am not making this up, as much as I would have wanted to.)
On top of that, Singapore is Twilight Zone-clean: All dirt from Singapore has been deported and failing to aim properly at a urinal is a capital offense punishable by severe nipple-pinching. How would I even survive? Being a Metro Manila resident, my body chemistry is already composed of 90 percent pollution. I was afraid that a buzzer would go off once I passed through quarantine, then I would be disinfected, de-fogged, Brazilian waxed, tarred, feathered, pasteurized, tenderized, caned, body cavity searched, re-circumcised, neutered, and deported back to Manila. As ground beef.
However, despite my on-and-off aversion to body cavity searches, you may ask: What made me decide to visit Singapore aside from the prospect of a free flight, free beer, free hotel, free beer, free food, free beer, free transportation, free beer, free entertainment and, of course, free do-it-yourself bamboo canes? (And don’t forget the free beer.)
It was the Crazy Horse Saloon.
And, no, Yaya, this is not a place to go when you want to get a pedicure. Although that could probably be arranged.
The Crazy Horse is a cabaret, a form of entertainment that features comedy, song, dance and theater at a level of bawdiness that is dependent on the people who are watching the show. Much like our like noontime game shows, just not as bawdy.
The press release for the Saloon reads, “The most beautiful and artistic nude show, Crazy Horse occupies a unique position in the world of show business. The performance is unquestionably a temple to the lights, music, precision and choreography and beautiful costumes that adorn the perfectly proportioned dancers. The unique concept owes its existence to the imagination of a visionary genius, the late Parisian Alain Bernadin.”
Of course, like most men, I only read up to the word “nude.”
And after I was able to get past the words “perfectly proportioned,” I thought, “Wow, ‘nude’ and ‘Singapore.’ Those words belong as much together as ‘Arroyo’ and ‘impeachment.’ You can’t chew gum over here but you sure can view naked buns.” I knew it: that in spite of the “veddy prim and proper” stiff-upper-lip attitude that Singaporeans had picked up through osmosis from the British, I suspected that you could still find some bawdiness in the Lion City if you looked hard enough. Just take a look at their city’s icon: They boast of a Merlion (in Pinoyspeak, “Sirena”), a mythical creature which supposedly resulted from an illicit rendezvous between a lion and a very, very traumatized fish. See, my three female readers, this is what happens when you play with your food. However, the Singaporeans are lucky that this clandestine encounter led to the birth of a national symbol. Other interspecies relationships haven’t been as successful as the Merlion. Look at our own country: some self-centered jerks have been mating with crabs, some police have been mating with crocodiles, some bureaucrats have been mating with slugs and most politicians have been mating with leeches. No wonder Singapore banned unnatural sex. But I digress.
The Crazy Horse cabaret has been a top tourist attraction for visitors who crave a taste of L’Art Du Nude (being bomba sounds so much more sophisticated in French). Le Crazy Horse de Paris, which has been flashing customers since 1951, has a reputation for choosing dancers who are indistinguishable in the size and shape of their breasts and in their height (Oh yes, they may be indistinguishable to the untrained eye… I am, of course, referring to the height). After titillating nude art connoisseurs in Europe for decades, the Horse galloped its way into C.S.I. territory in June 2001 with a 350-seat replica of Crazy Horse Paris at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas. Then, hoping to get a date with the Merlion, the Crazy Horse made its way to Singapore in December 2005. It looks like the Crazy Horse is growing into a worldwide franchise, much like the Hard Rock Café, but with breasts.
As we entered the Crazy Horse theater, I found it a bit unnerving that I would be catching this au naturel performance with a mix of male and female writers. Watching a topless show with male and female journalists would almost be like watching a porn movie with your parents. But what was more disconcerting was this thought: How come women can comfortably watch other women dance butt nekkid on stage but men cannot watch other men dance butt nekkid on stage? It was an idea that I did not wish to contemplate further nor bring to any logical yet humorous conclusion without fearing for my masculinity. But I digress horribly.
After we were seated by the hostess, who, much to my dismay, was not topless, I tried to maintain a thin veneer of civility and hide how excited I was that I would finally be watching a nudie show without being accompanied by my yaya. So I hope they barely noticed when I was whooping up and down in my seat while I was howling at the stage, “Game na game na!!!”
As the lights dimmed and the hostess strapped me to my seat, a widescreen monitor flashed the names of the evening’s performers: Among them were Venus Oceane, Fanny Oustiti, Fasty Wizz, Reva Romantika, and the subtly named Lady Pousse Pousse. “Amazing,” I thought, “these Frenchmen really know how to name their topless women.” These names sounded classier than our local starlets, who seem to be mistakenly labeled after soft-drink labels, business tycoons and coup leaders.
The grand opening consisted of a line of topless beauties kicking and screaming while elegantly garbed in top hats, fishnet stockings and birthday suits. Wow, I hadn’t seen this many boobs since… (I wanted to make a politically charged joke over here but was worried that I might be processed in Camp Crame). Needless to say, after their opening number, everything else in the show turned into a flesh-colored blur. I didn’t realize that seeing so many half-naked women all at the same time could be so disorienting. But despite my disorientation, I fought hard to continue watching. I do recall two performances that meeting: the first one I vividly recall was of two topless women doing acrobatic poses which resembled nude yoga (in Pinoyspeak, “dyoga”) while hanging on to large metallic hula-hoops. The second performance was one I was initially reluctant to watch as it was called “Lola.” Thankfully, a wrinkle-free performer with a pink wig and pink pompoms which were strategically covering her pink parts came onstage and danced like a whirly-gig. Until that time, I didn’t realize that pompoms could move that way. I’m just relieved that they had no performers named Yaya.
As soon as the show ended and I was bodily removed from the theater, I eagerly rushed to the lobby hoping to catch a glimpse of Lady Pousse Pousse and the other dancers and their bosom buddies. Since the ladies onstage were not identified by their names, I didn’t know how to catch the attention of my favorite performers except to scream, “Miss Double D! Yes, you!! Could you please sign your name across my hairy chest!?” However, the ladies did not make it out of the dressing room that evening. I wonder why. Sigh. I would have to settle for the topless Crazy Horse Barbie dolls being sold at Le Boutique.
And just how could you top visiting Le Crazy Horse Saloon in Singapore? How could our Uniquely Adventurous tour get more adventurous than that? Would our hosts finally let us do the Pinoy thing and defy authority by jaywalking or by tossing litter from our tour bus onto the streets or by chewing gum in public or by engaging in unnatural sex? No. It was much more than we expected. Our tour was capped by an all-expenses-paid performance of the world-renowned Vienna Boys Choir at the Durian-shaped Esplanade by the bay.
Ah, yes: nothing beats watching half-naked dancers with strategically-placed pompoms like watching little boys dressed in sailor outfits singing in falsetto. What a way to end our Uniquely Adventurous tour in Singapore. And the Vienna Boys Choir wasn’t that bad at all. I hear they went to Crazy Horse after their show.
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For comments, suggestions or a Crazy Horse Barbie doll, please text PM POGI <text message> to 2948 for Globe, Smart or Sun subscribers. Or e-mail ledesma.rj@gmail.com. To find out more about Singapore, visit www.visitsingapore.com. If you want to find out more about the Vienna Boys Choir, go find out for yourself.