Las Vegas Lite

Branson, Missouri is the lower midwest's attempted substitute for Las Vegas - minus the sex, booze, and gambling, all of which would interfere with the town's family-friendly identity. To call the city "world famous" would be a stretch, but it is a popular tourist destination for suburbanites in the surrounding area, and boasts a pretty impressive b-list of once popular entertainers from around the world, each housed in his or her own gloriously tacky theater.

Featured acts include Tony Orlando, the Osmonds, Paul Revere and the Raiders, the Platters, the Presleys, Todd Oliver and his talking dogs, and best of all Yakov Smirnoff. Smirnoff's theater is, hilariously, the most successful of them all, with the best location (on a hill above the freeway) and apparently sold-out crowds, even on a gray stormy day like this one.

I duck into a gas station, drenched in rain. Immediately I am ambushed by a woman standing just inside the door, brandishing a pamphlet at me and asking if I'd like to see a free show. The attendant behind the distant counter makes a silent "no" gesture, as if to assure me "you don't want to see any of the shows she's promoting, they're all terrible." But this attendant clearly doesn't know me - the worse the show, the more I want to see it, provided the price isn't any higher than Free.

Immediately after nodding yes, the woman bombards me with a series of questions, which she marks down on an official-looking form. What state am I from? California. What brings me to Branson? Curiosity. What shows would I most like to see? Yakov Smirnoff. Am I interested in becoming a part-time owner of a local property? No, unless that too is free. Have I ever been a part-time owner of a property in Branson? No...

Gradually the questions become increasingly focused on the timeshare angle and I suspect a trap. I assure the woman that I have no interest in buying anything or giving any contact info, and ask if my receipt of the free tickets is dependent on my answer. She assures me that I will get to see a show regardless of my answer, and holds out the form for my signature. I sign it Rodney Grahf.

"And... I just need your wife's signature, right down here..."

"Um, actually, I'm single..."

"Oooh. I'm sorry but this offer is only available for couples. Thanks for your time though!"

Now dry, I walk back out into the rain, grumbling silently at the woman for wasting my time. I wonder how many couples passing through are actually lured into her trap by the sweet scent of showbiz, and wonder if, had my life been different, I would now be begging whatever poor woman ended up my wife to sign her name, a Faustian bargain for Yakov Smirnoff tickets.

Above - the theater of Shoji Tabuchi, a japanese fiddler whose career apparently started right here in Branson. The fact that it settled down here, and will presumably die here is probably not any fault of Shoji's. Branson just doesn't seem to be a place with the starmaking potential of Las Vegas - and keep in mind that even in Vegas, that potential is very rarely realized.

Above - The golden stars of Hollywood: a fat Yul Brynner, a reanimated George Reeves, a cannibal Katherine Hepburn, and a hipster Adolph Hitler.

Above - the front of the apparently closed Waltzing Waters, a fountain-based light show set to classical music. I don't know if this show is successful or not, but if it is, it's proof that stoner culture is alive and well in Branson.

As someone who grew up with "Guitarzan" and "Ahab the Arab," it's particularly saddening to see the Ray Stevens theater up for sale. Sure, I haven't listened to the guy since I turned ten and discovered a world of music outside of "The Doctor Demento Radio Show" - but still, I can't see what makes him less appealing than any of the other showcased acts here.

I feel I must make a point to all who would mock Branson for being a particularly pathetic example of the Midwest, a region whose reputation takes all sorts of undeserved beatings especially back in snobbish California. While it's true Branson is an apparent lightning rod for tackiness, I've seen hit shows back home which were equally groanworthy. Mystery Restaurants in San Fransisco, for example, or "The Ten Tenors." No region of the country is free from this sort of silliness, and I for one am thankful for towns like this, which amplify this strangeness exponentially.