Enough to give you a sense of Civic pride
Engelbert Humperdinck
The Civic
Review: Russell Baillie
Finally, those folk known as the paying public got to see the Civic in all its restored glory.
The curiously appropriate opening act on Saturday night was Engelbert Humperdinck - apt because of his lasting appeal to the generation who remember the theatre in its picture palace heyday before the rot set in.
And, of course, his is a splendidly long name to have on the marquee under the "sold out" sign. Only, er, that bit wasn't quite finished ... but all the tickets had long gone.
Oh, and because like the venue, the Hump's undergone a bit of restoration himself in recent years. There's been his Dance album and the revived appreciation for all things musically lounge and louche.
And at times the setting and Eng's honed set of songs and comedy (complete with rimshot-accompanied punchlines - now that's class) and well-drilled backing band combined to an overall effect that out-Vegassed Vegas. Quite fabulous it was too.
Now here's a confession: I didn't actually see Herr Dinck live. I was downstairs in the Winter Garden with those who had missed out on tickets watching the show on a video wall.
Second best? Well, there was a very long, very staffed bar. There was Humpy twice as large and life at a pleasant volume and everything smelt new and looked like a million bucks (40 actually). Even the loos.
No, cheap seats don't get any better than this.
Of course it helped that on the big telly our man Arnold (his real name) was in fine voice, tanned to a T, and took the mickey out of himself and his age at every opportunity.
Between singing all the songs that were expected of him (though no Les Bicyclettes De Belsize, pity), he also wisecracked as if, indeed, he was in Vegas, from a socks-in-jocks quip about old rival Tom Jones to impersonations of Sammy Davis jun, Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis, Elvis the older, and Julio Inglesias.
Quite a few were rolling in the refurbished aisles.
His daughter Louise came on at half-time ("while I go and take a nap") and delivered some Celinesque ballads well enough.
Then Dad came back on dressed in a sheer black shirt and headed down the home straight giving the Civic its final test.
The restorers will be happy to know that neither the great octave leap in Please Release Me or a couple of thousand toes tapping along to local favourite Ten Guitars disturbed the new ceiling plaster.
Class acts, venue and performer alike.
Humperdinck ... restored.
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