At Rogers Arena, on Wednesday (September 14)

Madonna’s Rebel Heart extravaganza was "all mouth and no trousers”, to cop a weird phrase used by the pop icon when she goaded two guys into making out for the camera during Wednesday’s show at Rogers Arena (October 14). Or maybe it was like a bad Ridley Scott film, full of eye-popping design but basically empty and definitely interminable at two-and-a-half hours.

One suspects that her historical research was a bit dodgy too, as the show began with a parade of either Samurai Templars or the Jesuit Knights of Dune (or something) flanking the singer for the low-pulse funk of “Iconic” (not the most galvanizing of openers, to be honest.) Minutes later, diaper-wearing Siamese Geishas helped to keep us distracted as “Bitch I’m Madonna” ticked past—a fucking migraine of a song by anyone’s standards, including Madonna’s, so the spectacle was appreciated.

And so it was for most of the night. When the singer wasn’t alone with a Gibson Flying V or ukelele, proving she could hack her way through a garagey version of “Burning Up” early in the set, belting out “La vie en rose” much later, she was surrounded by her usual coterie of big budget dancers. If Madonna looked increasingly stiff inside that willowy and athletic crowd, it’s worth remembering that she always did, even when she wasn’t 57 years old. Chops were never the point with this artist; Madonna exists to symbolize a powerful cultural flashpoint from over 30 years ago.

To that end, we have to wonder what Madonna symbolizes now, besides the routine aspect of mega-fame that perpetuates itself into eternity. This show began with a crackpot video featuring Mike Tyson menacing the camera while Madge rolled around like an S&M version of Joan of Arc, moaning on and on about corporate branding until a climax that actually included—oh god, here we go—a call for revolution!   

I might be going out on a limb here, but I think revolution is the last thing in the world Madonna wants, given that her wealth has been largely dedicated to becoming weird and remote, and hiring people like Kanye West to help compose nonsense like “Illuminati” (Illustrated tonight by top-hatted Wall Street types swaying around on stalks like the polecats from Mad Max.)

On the other hand, my cynical ass is grateful for the largesse. It was quite the show, and it only got goofier, from the rhinestone line-dancers that belonged anywhere but onstage during “Deeper and Deeper” to the insane jazz-era collage that had one castmember doing the topless Josephine Baker bit through “Music” and otherwise turned “Material Girl” into a not-very-accurate lesson on the Bauhaus school.

Indeed, props go to Ms. Ciccone for all the attempted musical deconstruction, some of it successful (an acoustic “True Blue”) and some of it quite the opposite (the minimalist “Dress You Up”, which sounded like something meant to soundtrack scenes of a picturesque mental breakdown back in the star's dressing room.) That’s not to say that a straight-up and faithful version of “Holiday” wasn’t a kind of relief by the time this marathon bid for relevance came to a close.

Was it enjoyable? Amy Schumer seemed to think so—she was in the front row, doing a bit for the cameras when Madonna picked her out and asked how many drinks she’d had (“One,” answered Schumer. “One… after another,” hurk!!) I can also report that the 10-year-old girl who accompanied the Straight had a killer time, as did the two elderly gay gentlemen with the nipple clamps, and seemingly everyone else. At the very least, the lady has incredible reach.