The Manolo has been musing at his humble shoe blog about how much the Madonna’s Super Duper Bowl halftime show resembled the Nuremberg Rally.
Beginning with its imperial fanfare and militaristic pomp, progressing through the forced adoration of the Glorious Leader (L-U-V Madonna! L-U-V Madonna!), and culminating in her apotheosis as the goddess and chief priestess of her own cult of personality, Madonna was urging on us nothing less than her hegemonistic vision of the Madonna-based future.
It was the strange performance, part greatest hits lip-sink-a-thon, part middle-aged prance-a-thon, part dawning of the New Age of Madonna-a-thon, in which all of us (including Cee Lo Green and Nicki Minaj) will be absorbed by the all-consuming Ego of Madonna.
No one will be spared!
It was, to use the oft used phrase, beyond parody, it was also, if you paid the close attention, more than the little bit creepy.
Word.
what he said
all that – stuff – in the service of – nothing.
I’d prefer a plain old marching band, and maybe a few t-shirt cannons and field-goal-for-a-Mazda-Miata kind of deal. Miata if you make the kick, Chevy Volt if you miss.
Nuremburg Rally meets Project Runway. Personally, I thought it looked like a vision of hell.
RuPaul’s Drag Race more than Project Runway. The wigs, the boots, the glitter, the stereotypes–it was a drag show.
Not creepy!
For gosh sakes, Madonna is an entertainer. Her singing ability is not that great, but look what she did with it.
She’s not an empress. She’s an impresario (her own). She’s not a Nuremberg fascist. She’s the consummate capitalist, an example to all of us just what energy and drive can achieve.
I’ve never been much of a fan, but I sure do admire her.
I forgot to say that in entertainment, you’ve got to blow your horn. Her self promotion is more than half the reason for her success. I’ve heard that the Harvard School of Business wanted her to teach her business philosophy and practise, but she refused.
Her entrance remided me of Cleopatra’s entrance into Rome in the movie Cleopatra. Her exit reminded my of the old Tidy Bowl commercials.
I had to avert my eyes! But at least she didn’t suck as badly as the Stones did when they “played” the SB Half-time. At least they brought in decent Country acts for the pre-game stuff, so nobody grabbed their crotch or screeched like somebody HAD grabbed their crotch, but Clarkson just had to go for that high note near the end of the Anthem that so many women make a hash of.
I’ll bet if you put me up there, give me 500 attendants, props, colored lights, lip synched audio, glitz, and electronics, I can bluff my way through it and with the exception of the hips and the poms, my show would be about as entertaining.
In other words, the halftime show was one step short of awful. If that is what passes for concert material anymore, I can save lots of money.
Morbid curiosity brought me to the set, and after five minutes of MaDonna, I headed to the Discovery channel.
Wow, really? Well, I guess we might as respond to exaggeration with hyperbole.
I thought she was downright tame, all things considered.
Ayyyy! The Manolo graces the Tatler with his musings!
The Manolo single-handedly converted my utter indifference to shoes to an appreciation of shoes. Glad to see him drop by.