What lies ahead in this story—its tone, sense of propriety and regard for emotional sensitivity—should be viewed through this cracked (with tongue wedged deeply in cheek) prism:
“You get in your editor’s face and you say, ‘I don’t give a flyin’ communist blank (a common profanity, used here as a noun) what you and your blanking (same profanity—now an adjective) reds have to say, I’m gonna write the truth and if you don’t like it? You’ve seen Network, you overblown piece of blank (another common profanity—yup, that’s the one). I’m mad as hell and I’m not gonna take it anymore!’ It’s a family magazine? Just override it! Go over their heads! Rise up!”
Meet the “Gazillionaire”—aka the whackjob/ringmaster of Absinthe, who refuses to step out of character during interviews.
Got it? Good. (And if you see a “flyin’ communist” please call the Department of Homeland Security immediately.)
Meet his ditz/assistant “Joy Jenkins,” too, who observes the same exasperating (though entertaining) policy. Describe yourself to our readers, Joy:
“I’m kind of like Ivanka Trump. Except I don’t have boobs or good looks and I have a hard time talking and sometimes I get confused where I am. But very similar in many ways.”
No, she doesn’t remotely resemble Ivanka Trump in any way. (Sorry, babe—Gaz ordered me to write the truth.)
As the strangest, saltiest, dirtiest show on the Strip—we dare you to find anyone who would argue with that—Absinthe also blows up the term “politically incorrect.” It’s politically nuts. We’d quote some jokes, gags and audience participation bits except … we can’t.
Suffice it to say that between the Gazillionaire and Joy, every racial, ethnic and sexual identity zinger is covered—and the sex references would fit in at the AVN Awards. (At a recent performance, this writer, sitting between two refined young women, redefined the term “nervous laughter”—while they laughed with abandon.)
Housed in a tent on the forecourt of Caesars Palace, it’s a circus of the surreal in which, in between the banter of the acerbic Gaz and the batty Joy, we’re dazzled by an array of acrobatic and variety acts.
Among them: “chair mountain” daredevil Maxim Popazov; four-man balancing team Atlantis; “Green Fairy” Melody Sweets; “Bubble Girl” Charlie Starling; “Skates from Hell” spinners Billy and Emily England; dance parodists Ivan and Ivana Chekov-Jones; the hand-to-hand acrobatics of Duo Vector; high-wire walkers The Frat Pack; and the dripping wet, aerial exertions of “Bathtub Boy” David O’Mer.
Tying it all together are these two … characters. You think they and the death-defying acts are a tight family? “If they risk too much, we just get rid of them and get another Ukrainian in here,” says Gaz—homely/resplendent with his stringy hair (apparently styled with a comb soaked in Crisco), John Waters pencil moustache, bug eyes, gold tooth and tacky tuxedo.
“I had to learn how to fill in when he was too drunk to hold it together onstage,” says Joy, a kewpie doll-goofy sidekick in a bowl-cut coif—apparently inspired by Moe of The Three Stooges—big glasses and doofus dress that makes her look like the most sexless girl at the prom. All of which adds visual dissonance to her outrageous, squeaky-voiced sex rants.
Want to get to know them? Stream of consciousness is the way to go.
Gaz on himself: “I’m rich and I’m rich. My charisma is a given. My natural intelligence is a given. The handsome features. The jawline. Very masculine. Large hands. And you’re looking at 24-karat gold threads sewn by little Chinese hands into this exquisite jacket.”
Joy on her job: “Somebody’s gotta help when he’s passed out. Not like he’ll ever say thank you. But I feel deep down he’s saying thank you, not with words, but just not hurting me. And I try to help people get dressed in the back. They usually tell me to stop.”
Gaz on Joy: “She has zero training, not just in performance but in life. She’s not educated. She cannot read. She can barely put together a sentence. And yet, 500 people seem to enjoy her every night. I don’t know why.”
Joy on the audience at Absinthe: “I like it at the top of the show where a lot of people are angry at us. And by the end, they’re laughing and having a good time. The most angry people are the ones who end up crying with tears down their faces, going red because they never laugh and they don’t know what it feels like to have that release. They haven’t laughed in so long because they are kind of terrible people. If
you’ve got a stick in a certain place and you don’t ever feel like taking that stick out, this is not your show.”
Gaz on walkouts: “I’m glad. We don’t give them their money back. We resell that seat to someone waiting on the outside, so we double-sell it.”
Joy on half-show, double-sold seats: “Half of Absinthe is better than any other full show out there—including Hamilton. And Hamilton is good, it’s just not Absinthe.”
Gaz on people misunderstanding some gags, say, when he launches into a bit about a particularly sordid sex act: … You know what? Never mind.
Let’s try Gaz on his post-show libation: “It’s not legal here but it’s from China, a concoction that’s mostly liquid cocaine. But there’s also some Robitussin in there. And bath salts.”
Thanks, you two nutballs.
As for you readers, if you take what Gaz and Joy have said here seriously, have another drink—apparently, you’ve already had a few. Which makes you ideally suited to experience Absinthe.
Caesars Palace, 8 & 10 p.m. Wed.-Sun., $99-$139 VIP plus tax and fee, 18+. 800.745.3000 Ticketmaster
