SuicideGirls
At Richard’s on Richards on Friday, September 22
“We are an army of 1,202 unconventionally gorgeous pin-up girls devoted to changing your idea of what makes women beautiful.” That’s according to the SuicideGirls’ Web site. But after seeing eight of their finest perform in the flesh, I have to wonder what’s so punk rock about a blond Barbie giving herself a Molson shower with AC/DC blasting in the background. Yes, it’s hot, but you can catch that any night of the week at Brandi’s. From a burlesque troupe that prides itself on being an underground alternative to Baywatch beauty, it’s a little bit disappointing.
The night began and ended with the aforementioned peroxide piranha, who goes by the name Reagan and is seriously no different than every girl I’ve seen work the pole at the Arch. In between her intro and standing ovation, her troupe mates kicked out their own solo routines. But Reagan was clearly the star. The token skinhead and goth chicks merely played supporting roles.
The only slightly artistically bent performance was a Parisian skit that involved Mikey Manville of Vancouver’s Manvils volunteering for the role of a puppet brought to life by a miming, thong-clad vixen. The topless take on Napoleon Dynamite was good for a laugh or two. And then there was the hula-hoop dancer with the Shakira-like hip moves: as talented as she was, her recital did nothing to diminish the concert’s overall Gong Show feel.
Granted, the SuicideGirls have kept to their DIY ethos (lulls between routines, budget props, and electrician’s tape across their nipples), but most of their shtick seemed dated. For instance, they dusted off their signature Reservoir Dogs vignette, in which two dancers reenact the scene where Mr. Blonde severs the ear of the kidnapped cop. The Girls were doing this two years ago; it wasn’t fresh then and it certainly isn’t now.
Another sign that the SGs aren’t as cutting-edge as they were when they exploded on the Net five years ago is the crowd they draw. While we waited for them to hit the stage, a no-neck in the back shouted, “Bring these bitches out.” Nice—if you’re in gyno row at the No. 5, but it doesn’t exactly jibe with all the young-women-empowering-themselves twaddle that the SuicideGirls base their reputation on.
And musically, the SGs seem to draw most of their inspiration from television: there was a number set to the Driving Force theme song, and another created around the Rinôçérôse tune made famous by an iPod commercial.
But perhaps the biggest letdown was the grand finale. There was a time when the SGs would end their show with a sticky-sweet whipped-cream-and-chocolate-sauce fight. All we got this time was some Silly String shot out in every direction. The innuendo was clear, but they might want to consider trading in their party favours for some updated choreography and back-to-basics punk-rock nastiness.