‘Crazy Girls’: Plenty of ifs, ands and …

Melissa Schorr

Friday, May 21, 1999 | 10:09 a.m.

The Riviera's long-running "Crazy Girls" has been due for its annual brouhaha -- when an impassioned citizen declares the racy billboards to be more ban-worthy than beach-worthy. This year's honor fell to state Sen. Bill O'Donnell, R-Las Vegas, who hopes to strip area taxicabs of the posters for the show when their contract expires at the end of the year.

Alert the media! The controversial ad campaign actually contains wild inaccuracies. The infamous ad, featuring a rear shot of a chorus line of statuesque showgirls, states "no ifs, ands, or ... ." This is not true. There are, in fact, lots and lots of them.

Too bad this derriere drama has little lift otherwise.

At a performance earlier this week, the surprisingly small showroom -- with do-it-yourself drink service -- was filled with tourists, newlyweds and low-rollers. "In China, we don't have these kind of shows," the Shanghai tourist seated beside me confided.

The hour-long show began with the curtain rising on the girls' peerless rumps, as the audience gave a low guttural moan. In this surreal show, the Crazy Girls all but blaspheme America, marching in leather hot pants (sans rear panels) and helmets to the tune "Over There." Later, they twist to '50s rock tunes while holding onto nooses, and lip-sync through a song wearing hearts, not on their sleeves, but on their bottoms.

Farcical numbers such as "You Gotta Have Boobies" (featuring lyrics such as "silicone is a girl's best friend") were delivered in such a sappy, Sandra Dee golly-gee style that they all but belied any sexiness of the female form. The producers of "Chicago," over at Mandalay Bay, might be interested to learn that the show's "Cell Block Tango" is being replicated topless (and laughless) here.

The show's one true climax was achieved by the fabulously potty-mouthed comedienne Carol Montgomery, who noted that Vegas has gone so family-oriented that "the hookers are doing face paintings," and got progressively raucous (and unprintable) from there.

But the man from Shanghai seemed satisfied enough with the evening's entertainment, leaning forward intently during the show's sole sensual number, a seemingly solo sex act performed on a rotating dais. "The dancing was good," he declared. It was better, he added, than a live sex show he once caught in Thailand.